Themoment I had set my eyes on Tom, my stomach fluttered with an army ofbutterflies, and my heart whispered the things my mind was so reluctant toacknowledge, knowing I would marry him one day. But what my soul's premonitionforgot to tell me, was we would also, one day, find ourselves better friendsthan lovers, and that our divorce would be a necessary evil to keep the peacebetween us.
Still,I never once regretted our marriage or the time we'd spent together.
Now,as I trudged beside Alec Brodie through wildflowers and tall, wispy grass, Istared at him, amid the tipsy fog clouding my brain.
Heseemed to walk through a permanent veil of darkness, with his head hung and hisshoulders slumped forward, like he was carrying the weight of the world alone.His hair was in a constant state of dishevel, his face always dusted in thickstubble, and his brows were lowered over brooding eyes. While most men wouldhave worn the look with purposeful arrogance, there was nothing overtlyarrogant about Alec. He was simply who he was, without any irony or conceit,and I hadn't been this attracted to a man since feasting my hormonal, teenageeyes on Bruce Springsteen.
Ifmeeting Tom had been a brush of God's hand against my back, guiding me in hisdirection, then meeting Alec was a violent shove.
Heled us to a circular garden, lit sparingly with a few iron lanterns, hiddenagainst a purposely chaotic backdrop of shrubbery, thistle, and grass. Anarranged palette of multicolored flowers bordered the circle, and there, in thecenter, was a worn, marble bench.
Alecwas quick to approach it, dropping onto its smooth, veined surface with the airof a man who had grown accustomed to such grandeur. But I stood back to marvelat the garden and its simplistic, natural beauty, certain it was the prettiestplace I'd ever seen. I tilted my head back and gasped at the constellations andthe deepest, darkest sky my eyes had ever known when Alec grunted a chuckleinto the still night.
“Haveye never seen nature before?”
Ilooked back to him, to see the dark strands of hair hanging into his eyes andthe bottle of whisky dangling from one hand between his knees. I fought theurge to pinch myself, because if I had managed to somehow stumble into sleepand this moment was in fact a dream, I didn't want to wake up. Not yet. Maybenot ever.
“Notquite like this,” I managed to reply, before stepping into the circle, to walkover a cobblestone path, dusted with dirt and moss, to where he sat.
“What'sit like where ye're from, then?”
Itook a seat beside him and felt the chill emanating from the stone. He handedthe bottle to me, and accepting the invitation, I put the mouth to my lips andtook a slow sip. Then, as I closed my eyes, my lips curled into a smile andwelcomed my mind to return home.
“Well,it's a coastal town, so you can't go anywhere without smelling the Long IslandSound when it's low tide. Tom hated the smell of it initially. He always saidit smelled like shit, and I mean, itkindadoes, butI love it, and eventually, he did, too,” I told him, opening my eyes to see hislips softly curl upward. “It's also ridiculously small. Everybody knowseverybody else, and that can get kind of annoying. Like, when you really justwant to get divorced in peace without your neighbors asking questions …”
Irolled my eyes as Alec chuckled. “You're notdoin'much to sell me on this place, lass.”
“Butit's so beautiful,” I hurried to say, suddenly desperate to make him like myhometown. “And there's a crazy amount of history everywhere you go. Like, youcan't go anywhere in town without learning something about the people who oncelived there years ago. And it is impossible to ever be lonely, not when there'sso many people who genuinely care all over the place.”
“Hm,”he grunted, nodding slowly. “Would ye be lonely otherwise?”
Somewherein the distance, an owl called into the night, and I considered his questionwith a melancholic sigh. The truth in my answer was one I seldom faced, and Ididn't care much to talk about it now. But what did I have to lose?
“Tomremarried a few years ago,” I said. “And then, not long after that, Gracie gotengaged. There was a big part of me that felt like I had been left behind, youknow?Like, everybody else was moving on with their lives,while I was still sitting in this little bungalow with my moody as hell kid. Imean, I date every now and then, but nothing ever comes of it.”
“Hm.”
Thegruff response was becoming more and more expected, and I didn't hesitate as Icontinued, “Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those women that thrives onbeing with a man, and I can hold my own. But sometimes, I just miss thecompanionship, you know? Not even so much … the physical stuff, but just …someone to be with.”
Alecreleased a slow breath as he nodded. “Aye,” he replied, speaking beneath thecalling owl and rustling leaves.
Therewas an unmistakable understanding in his whispered tone. I took a swig from thebottle, before allowing the persistent tug of affection to lure me closer tohim, as I slid against the cold stone beneath me. As my thigh met his, Aleccleared his throat and ran a hand over his mouth, then turned away, to staretoward the blinking glow of a nearby lantern.
“Rickand I used to get completely smashed out here, when we were lads,” he said.“His parents never cared much what we did, as long as we were here, at hishouse, and not outdoin' the stupid shite kids do.”
Helifted the glass in his hand to his lips and knocked it back in two heartygulps, then set it down on the marble with a melodic clink.
“Oneday, they found us here, totally fuckin' wrecked on this bench, and his dadgrabbed us both by the collar and threw us on the ground, right over there,” hesaid, pointing to a spot of lush, green grass. “He said, Idinnaegive a shite if ye two dunderheadswannaedrinkyerselfstupid, but yewillnaedoit where I proposed toyermother.” Alec laughedheartily, shaking his head, and I wished I could be buried in the warmth of thecomfortable sound. “Rick looked right at him, and said, so ye'd rather I passout in the dirt? And his dad just nodded and said, aye,laddie,nowhere to fall when ye're already on the ground.”
Iwas smitten, listening to him speak. I loved the way the words formed in hismouth and how the burr was emphasized when mocking Rick's late father. Thedepth of his voice reminded me of the whisky in my hand, warm and cozy, withthe perfect complementary hint of smoke. And without a second of hesitation, Isaid as much, with little thanks to the alcohol.
Aleclaughed again, and I swooned just a little more. “Ye're drunk, lass,” heaffirmed, turning away from the flickering lantern to find my eyes in itslight.
“Notdrunk. Maybe a little tipsy, butdefinitely notdrunk,” I corrected, while acutely aware of how difficult it was becoming tospeak coherently.
“Verraconvincin', Rosie,” he muttered, as his eyes hooded,and his gaze dropped to my lips.
“Ilove the way you say my name,” I whispered, shutting my lids and grinning.Then, I mocked, “Rosie,” with an enunciated roll of my tongue. My eyes opened,to stare into his, and I said, “It's the stuff fantasies are made of.”
