I know thatloveis a common term in Ireland and the UK, but hearing it from his lips in reference to me has me all sorts of flustered.
“Now, go to bed. You look completely wrecked after a night of drinking. That won’t do at all for a seamstress queen,” he says with a wink.
Lord have mercy.
He starts to step off the porch but turns and says, “Goodnight, Norah. Pleasant dreams, lass.”
“Goodnight, Eamon,” I say quietly before unlocking my door and stepping inside.
Chapter Fourteen
Norah
It’s not so bright, but definitely early when my alarm goes off, as is typical for costume weekends. Stretching my arms over my head, I smile thinking back on last night. It took me longer to fall asleep last night due to my mind racing with thoughts of Eamon. He told me to have pleasant dreams, and once I finally did fall asleep—after practicing several breathing exercises—my dreams were indeed pleasant.
My phone starts buzzing incessantly, which effectively keeps me from slipping back into those dreams. Rolling over, I grab the device and scowl at the screen. There are eighteen text messages. Apparently, when my friends didn’t get a response in the group chat, they each sent individual messages asking the same questions, as if a private conversation would get them answers quicker. I roll my eyes at their antics. They’re relentless. Tomy surprise, there’s even a message from Myra, but I’m not in the mood to even touch that situation yet.
Opening the group message, I skim through them as they become more and more obtrusive. I should probably be annoyed at their lack of respect for my boundaries, but find myself chuckling. I don’t respond to any of them. They can wait a bit. But I do finally open the message from Myra.
Myra:Norie, I’m so sorry about last night. I was drunk and stupid, and that’s no excuse. Please forgive me!!! I love you!!!!
Shocked that she’s actually apologizing, I text her back.
Norah:I love you too, but we will need to hash this out. I’m sorry for my words as well.
Then, I cave and respond to the group text.
Norah:Calm your tits, ladies. All is well. Eamon walked me home and dropped me off at my door. Nothing exciting to report. We’re getting to know each other.
With that, I get out of bed and head for the shower. Normally, on sewing weekends, I stick to sweats and my hair in a topknot. It’s just me, sequestered in my sewing room all day, so there’s no one to impress. Today is different. I’m still comfortable in black yoga pants and a light blue tank top, but I put some mousse in my hair to control the frizz and take the time to put on a touch of makeup.
Padding into the kitchen in bare feet, I head for the coffee pot before making breakfast. I turn on the TV just for background noise, and the meteorologist is saying that today will be cooler than yesterday with the possibility of a thunderstorm in the afternoon. It’s currently in the sixties, so I open all of the windows. I love listening to the breeze outside and feeling it cascade throughout the house; it’s so peaceful. Satisfied with the weather report, I switch from the TV to Spotify, opening up a recent playlist I put together of European men crooning love songs at me.
With a coffee mug in hand, I walk out to my sunroom. The morning sun is filtering through the windows, casting shadows on the floor and warming the tiles under my feet. Gathering my sketches I begin to map out the layers of Belle’s gown. Soon, I’m surrounded by yellow fabric. I’ve been working diligently and just finished the lining, petticoat, and base layer of the skirtwhen my body tells me that it’s time to stretch. My back is aching from sitting in the same hunched-over position for so long. Once I’ve worked out all of the kinks, I trek into the kitchen for a glass of water. As I sit the glass down, there’s a knock on my door. I glance over at the microwave clock to see that it’s already a few minutes past noon. The morning passed by in an absolute blur. I run my fingers through my hair then straighten my shirt as I walk to the door.
With butterflies in my stomach, I open it. And my mouth runs dry. Eamon is standing there in a white t-shirt and faded jeans, his dark hair mussed in the sexiest of ways, and the stubble along his jaw beginning to look thicker than normal.
“Hello, Norah,” he drawls, gifting me with that crooked smile.
“Hi there,” I say, breathlessly. “Would you like to come in?”
“Please. Unless you’d rather eat on your porch,” he teases me.
Shaking my head with a smile, I step back to welcome him inside. I can’t believe I’m willingly letting a man into my home. And not just any man, but Eamon Kennedy. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wrap my mind around this.
Eamon
Stepping into Norah’s small but cozy house, I take in the living room that’s painted a warm beige color, and the large window on the same wall as the front door. The navy blue couch is deep set with plush white and yellow throw pillows scattered over it. It’s the kind of couch meant for sprawling out and watching TV or reading a book. Or curling up with a significant other. The rectangular coffee table sits on a patterned rug and has a stack of books in the middle of it. To my left is the kitchen, and like the rest of the house, it’s small but welcoming. The narrow island separating the kitchen from the living room has three wooden bar stools sitting neatly against it. Directly between the two rooms is a small hallway that leads to what I’massuming are bedrooms and a bathroom. The house suits her perfectly.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Norah asks, interrupting my observations.
“That’d be grand, thanks,” I reply, suddenly feeling nervous for reasons I don’t quite understand.
I watch her walk to the fridge, trying not to stare at her backside in those tight-fitting pants, and pull out a pitcher of lemonade. She sets it on the island before turning to a cabinet to pull out two glasses. She fills them carefully and slides one across the island to me.
“Thanks,” I tell her, taking a drink. “Did you accomplish as much as you hoped to today?”
“I think so,” she answers, taking a sip from her glass. “The base of Belle’s dress is finished. I just need to finish the bodice and the petals of the skirt.”
