“You’re right,” she agrees with a smile. “And I think I could do with a friend.”
Hazel
“And the little smart asses taught Sean to say the alphabet in the wrong order, didn’t they?” Moira says, a happy sheen on her skin as she reminisces about her sons’ childhood. “Mr. Kelly and I were called into the principal’s office and asked if the alphabet was recited differently in Ireland.” She places her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle before she can go on. “So, Mr. Kelly and I look at each other, and it’s like we were both thinking the same thing at the same time. We turn to the man and Mr. Kelly says, ‘What do you mean, sir? Doesn’t everyone say it like, A,B,C,L,Q,S,T?’” Laughter roars around the table. “And wouldn’t you know it? He believed us! I had to hold my breath so I didn’t fall off the chair laughing. And poor Sean had to be reprogramed to recite the alphabet the ‘American way’.”
As everyone laughs at the story and teases the youngest brother, Sean, with mixed renditions of the alphabet song, I take a moment to look around the table, absorbing the warmth in the room. His parents look like the Irish version of Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and all of his brothers have their own unique look, but you can tell they’re family.
Branagan, the oldest, is an enormous man with a quiet demeanor. I get a sense there’s a bit of a rough side to him since it looks like he’s had his nose broken a time or two, but by the expensive threads he wears now, I’d hazard a guess that he’s changed his ways and straightened out as an adult. He has an aura of responsibility about him that is different from the carefree vibe Patrick gives off beside him. Patrick prefers to be called ‘Trick’, and if I didn’t guess by the tattoos covering most of his body, he’s a tattoo artist and is responsible for all the tattoos the other brothers sport. He’s sitting with his wife, Wren, a pretty brunette who doesn’t look much older than me. But that’s where our similarities end. She’s half my size and fits in with the family like she’s always belonged. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb, sandwiched between Cillian and Sean, as food gets passed around and stories are told. They do everything they can to include me, which is so sweet and wonderful. For a girl who spent the last few years in a boarding school feeling anything but included, and most of her life wishing she had a bigger family, it’d be easy to convince myself that I could belong here.
“Poor Sean,” I say, laughing along with everyone else.
“Thank you,” Sean says, flashing me a smile. “I like this one, Cillian. You can bring her to dinner whenever you like.”
“Gladly,” he says, giving me a wink as he lifts his bottle of beer and takes a swig. My insides flutter. I’m mesmerized by the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. I’m not sure how I’m going to cope with this ‘friends’ thing he’s offering. He’s too damn attractive to be anything but a want in my life. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. And if friendship is all I can have, I’ll just have to accept that. “You got enough to eat?”
I nod. “Plenty. I’m stuffed,” I say, placing my hand on my stomach. “You’re an amazing cook.”
He grins. “I do OK.”
He does better than OK. If my father had any sense, he’d be letting Cillian rewrite the entire menu. I’ve never had beef more tender in all my life.
“I don’t think it’s fair that we’re telling stories about me when Cillian is the one who brought a girl home,” Sean says from my other side.
“That’s because he says they’re not dating,” Branagan says, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Otherwise we’d be telling her all about the time we dressed him up and tried to pass him off as our sister because he’s so damn pretty.” Branagan widens his eyes in mock surprise. “Whoops, did I say that out loud?”
“That did not happen.” Cillian laughs, his thick thigh brushing against mine from under the table. I suck in my breath and try to keep my focus on the conversation.
“It did too,” Mr. Kelly says. “You were only a wee ‘un. Sean wasn’t even born yet, and Patrick was but a toddler. And Branagan decided he was tired of having brothers and he wanted a sister. So he dressed Cillian up and insisted his name was Katie. He looked such a bonnie wee lass that took a roll of film. The photos are in the attic to prove it.”
“Oh my god,” Wren says, her eyes lighting up. “Can we get them out? I would love to see Cillian dressed up as a little girl. I’ll bet he was adorable.”
“Oh boy, is that the time?” Cillian says, looking at his wrist, absent of a watch. “I should get Hazel home before her father thinks I’ve kidnapped her.”
Oh shit. My father. I shoot to my feet faster than I mean to, only now realizing that he’s probably freaking out about me since I took off after lunch service ended and haven’t come back. Crap. “Yes, actually. I need to get home before he does, or he’ll kill me.”
The raucousness around the table dies down as Cillian and I say our goodbyes, and I’m told I’m welcome back any time. A warm glow forms in the pit of my belly. I would love that. But with the way I’m feeling towards Cillian, it’s probably not a good idea. I keep that thought to myself though, and thank them all for sharing their meal with me.
“Shall we?” he says, holding out my coat for me to slide into before we head out the door. I swoon a little harder because he’s so fucking perfect. And then I curse my wretched luck as we head out into the still-awful weather. Why does he have to be someone I can’t have?
“Thanks for letting me join in,” I say, after we’ve been walking in silence for a moment. “I really enjoyed meeting your family.”
“They enjoyed meeting you too,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slowing his pace. “And I enjoyed having you there…” His eyes swing to mine as he lets the sentence hang unfinished in the air.
“Do you think we can make this work?” I ask, my chest feeling tight from just looking at him. “Being friends, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” he says as we turn into my street. “As with all things, time will tell, I suppose.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
He flashes me a small smile. “I don’t know.”
We walk in silence, the air thick between us, buzzing with attraction, want and need. I may be young and inexperienced when it comes to men, but I’m not so inexperienced that I can’t recognize what this is when I feel it. And I don’t know if I can deny it.
“Cillian,” I start as I reach my front gate and pause, turning to him, hopeful.
“Goodbye, Hazel,” he says, giving me a curt nod that cuts off my words before he steps away, taking my hopes with him. This isn’t fair.
Cillian
Monday a week later, I’m up early to go for a run before I head out to visit a would-be supplier for Hunt and Gather. We’re farm to table, so we source our ingredients within a hundred-mile radius, keeping things as fresh and local as possible. This new organic farm is promising the most vibrant and flavorful fruit and vegetables without the use of pesticides or chemicals in the farming process. I’m taking the day to go and see if their produce is as good as their sales pitch.