“Why me?”
“I’ve asked myself that question many times.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“At times, you drive me up the wall. You really know how to push my buttons. You have no filter, and you do some outrageous things, and it drives my OCD insane.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“But you’re also a beautiful, warm, intelligent woman who makes me laugh. No matter what I’m doing, I can’t help but imagine it would be more fun with you. Whether it’s sitting on the couch watching a movie or flying over Manhattan in a helicopter. You’re always at the back of my mind. I haven’t felt this way in so long, and I won’t let it go.”
A tiny squeak escapes me.
“Clodagh.” He takes my hand, and this time, I let him. I haven’t felt his touch in so long. “When we first met, you said you thought you were a good role model. Well, you’re right. You are the best influence my daughter could have.”
Another squeak. My knees are about to give out. I won’t remind him that our first meeting was actually with me on my knees with soaps and glass.
Stay strong, woman.
“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” I finally say.
He nods as if accepting this. As if he expected this. “I can work at winning back your trust. Answer my question. Do you want to be with me?”
Yes.
I want to say yes. I want to shout it.
Fear keeps my mouth shut. I can’t say the words.
“Do you want to go to London? Is that truly what you want?”
“Yes,” I say. No. Maybe. I don’t know. My throat is tight and full of fear. I don’t want to open my heart to him only for him to crush it again as he did before.
Fresh tears brim in my eyes. “I have to go, Killian.”
He looks so sad as he says, “Your green card to the States has been processed. You can live and work where you want. Look, I’ll give you space but don’t let this be why you don’t come back home.”
Home.
Where is home for me now?
I turn away.
“This isn’t goodbye, Clodagh. This isn’t the end of us. I’ll wait.”
***
I gaze at the flight information in a daze. The screen changes, and a gate number for my flight appears.
“British Airways flight BA4703 to London is now taking off at gate 16.”
“Are you okay, love?” the woman beside me asks, watching me in concern.
“Yeah.” I manage a nod and make my way to the departure gate.
Clodagh
Two weeks later
I tilt my head back toward the sun and close my eyes as the ladies chitchat and set up their mats. It’s a gorgeous Saturday morning, and I’m exactly where I should be-teaching yoga for free in the park in Queens.
I can’t help but smile.
A new start.
Tomorrow, Orla and I move into our very own apartment in Brooklyn-the dodgy end. Sure, we have no lounge area because it’s been converted into a second bedroom. That’s the only way we can afford it, but it’s still all ours.
A throat clears, a deep voice cutting my daydream.
I snap my eyes to see Killian standing in front of me. My heart practically stops as I take in his handsomeness. A shiver of excitement runs up my spine as our eyes lock. I haven’t seen him since that day in Ireland.
“Is there room for one more?”
“How did you know I was back?” I mumble.
He smiles. “I knew the second you landed. I told you I would give you your space. I’m playing the long game. It’s the only way I’ll win your trust.”
I stayed in London for five days before spending a shit ton of money on a last-minute flight to New York. As I stood atop the Shard, the tallest building in Europe, I had a realization. An epiphany.
Sure, you can exchange one exciting city for another; you can surround yourself with cool tourist attractions, never-ending nightlife, appealing job prospects, quirky restaurants…
But you can’t take your heart with you. While looking out at the Tower of London, I realized my heart was still in New York. No pretty view could make up for not being near that brownstone, its grumpy owner, or his daughter. Or Orla, of course. I bawled loudly on the viewing deck, and my cousin was very embarrassed.
“Are we starting, Clodagh?” Dominic, one of the footballers, grumbles from his mat.
My cheeks flush as I look around at the guys on their mats, waiting patiently. The women are watching me like a hawk, winking and grinning. One of them has the audacity to wolf-whistle.
I grit my teeth at her in warning.
“Well?” His brow rises expectantly. “Can I join in?”
My pulse soars. “Sure.”
His eyes flicker with emotion. “Good. I’d like to buy a block of ten classes. I’ll be back every week.”
***
Three weeks later
We settle onto barstools as the bartender makes our Manhattans. We’re celebrating Orla getting to the next set of exams to enter the police force.
I haven’t been back to Killian’s hotel bar since #soapgate. The first time I clapped eyes on the grumpy billionaire owner. Memories of that day come flooding back. I felt so desperate. Nothing was in my control.
Now I’m in a happier place.
The jazz band plays softly in the corner, creating a quiet backdrop for conversation. I smile thinking about the difference when the band in The Auld Dog plays; you get a sore throat shouting over them.
“What are you smiling about?” Orla asks as the drinks appear in front of us.
“I’m just glad to feel settled finally,” I say. I’m starting a new job at a furniture store in Brooklyn.