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That wasn’t to say she thought they would talk, and swap numbers, and go on dates and fatedly fall in love like they could have done six years ago. But maybe they could have brought a satisfying conclusion to whatever they were instead of (from what little she could remember) how it ended the last time.
“Áine,” Fionn’s heavy voice called down the stairs with a slight unsureness to it.
She dropped the stack of papers and walked—no—joggedto the foot of the stairs, her heart booming in her ears so loud she worried whatever he had to say would be lost to it.
“Yeah? Are you alright up there?”
His elbows leaned over the railing next to the stairs carved with tangles of wood. In his hand was the key card. He flashed it at her, its sheen reflecting off the chandelier above them. “I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but it’s not working. I’ve tried it a few times to no joy.”
She bit her lip not to smile at his misfortune. “Come down and I’ll take a look at it. They can be a bit finicky.”
He joined her at reception, brown-laced Vans on his feet and without his bag.
Áine had encountered the key card problem twice already in the week, to delayed success in fixing it. She brought up the settings on the computer to at least show she was making an attempt to figure things out.
The circles under his eyes were darker in the minutes he’d left. She wondered if she should have felt bad after all. He could have had a meeting or something important in the morning he needed sleep for.
“Any luck?” he asked, trying to peer his head around for a look at the screen.
She exed out of the window and planted her fingertips on the desk to give him the lowdown.
“Here’s the thing,” she started, her professional voice turned on. “You’re locked out of the room until the card reboots. I’m very sorry, this happens sometimes, and our bellend of a manager won’t get it fixed.” Admittedly, that last part didn’t sound so great in her professional voice. “To compensate, we can refund half the room fee if that suits you? I’ll even throw in a free full Irish breakfast. Non-vegan.”
“Eh yeah, that’s fine. I won’t say no to free food.”
“Good. Perfect.” She slid three notes of different colours from the till and passed them into his unprepared hand. “Thanks for being so understanding when you don’t have to be.”
She lingered as he stuffed the money into his pocket.
In return, helingered by the desk, a little unsure what to do with himself apart from cupping the back of his neck beneath his hair. “Is there somewhere . . . where I can wait for or—sorry, how long did you say it would be?”
Áine made a bold decision. One that threatened to make her vulnerable, against her very nature to suppress it. The beating in her heart picked up again, making her chest noticeably rise.
“So it takes about two hours to reboot. And to answer your first question. You can wait right here with me . . . if you like, that is.”
Fionn rested his hands a fraction from hers, but it was his immediate, uneven smile that stole her attention and lowered her guard even more. He had a way of doing that and vice versa. The result in the past being both cathartic and unravelling truths most wouldn’t dare to say.
With that in mind, and despite the dryness in her throat saying otherwise she said, “Fionn, when you told me one night is all you need, did you mean the accommodation or was it a double entendre?”
He paused, searching for something in her eyes she wouldn’t let him have, even now. “I did mean getting the accommodation, yeah. But—” he said quickly to cut off the words ovalling Áine’s mouth. “If that key card worked just fine, and I was up in the room right now . . .” A redness spread over his ears again. “I probably would have found another excuse to come back down and see you. Does that answer the question you wanted to ask?”
Falling victim to the allureshewas the one usually known for emanating, Áine managed to get one more thing out before a mirroring flush found her.
“Yeah. I think it does.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Dublin 2016
Fionn
What struck Fionn quickly during this reunion with Áine was the reminder that his ability to be honest about his hardships was rare. Even in the months gone when honesty was the crux of his recovery, he had never quite managed to reach the connection formed with her.
Amidst the lingering silence, he nostalgically smiled at her across the reception desk. He had forgotten this connection between them. This connection that had scared him when they were younger, for how easily she pried out the truth. Not so much in the beginning, but by the end, resistance was futile. All it took was the right look or question, and Áine near always asked the right question. Questions with answers he immediately gave despite never reflecting on them previously.
She’d ask something as simple as, “Are you having a good day?”
And he’d respond as he joined her at the back of English, “I don’t think I am.”
