Chapter 37

The Virgin Airlines jet touched down on the tarmac of Dublin Airport. She’d never seen it this sunny. The air steward had promised a whole week of this, which she had to take with a massive grain of salt. Her waterproofs took up most of R2-D2.

The excitement at being here again was just too strong. She wanted to hug everybody, even the little kid who’d been kicking the back of her seat through most of the flight. Gordon had cautioned her against the trip at this critical time and he was sulking over there in his San Francisco office, but she’d have to live with that

The first boat for Portmagee was scheduled for tomorrow morning so she had to make a beeline to Kerry. She’d check in with Mrs. Nolan first of all, and then Brenda, who would be at the Bridge Bar tonight with her passengers. Having succeeded where she hadn’t last year, she’d take videos on Skellig Michael, send them to Jeremy, and then hopefully have a few days to play around with.

Not wanting to try anything new, she took the same route and same modes of transport as last year. Places she’d barely noticed before now shone with magical possibility. Dingle, once she got to it, was a hub of tourists, buzzing about. The sea was a constant tempting presence, deep blue and magnificent.

“I was so pleased when I heard you’d be coming back to me,” Mrs. Nolan said when she knocked at the B&B door. It brought a lump to Avery’s throat to get the cherished-daughter treatment from this sweet old woman.

“I’m thrilled to be here, Mrs. Nolan. And with the weather so good.”

“You’ll be going out to the port in the morning, won’t you?”

“I’m actually going there in about three hours, to see Brenda. I don’t have any idea what time it is. Feels like 3 a.m.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be grand after a wee sleep. If you like, I’ll wake you to have a little supper before you head out to Portmagee.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Nolan.” After four months of impersonal hotel living, this was sheer bliss.

Three hours later, she jumped out of the taxi in Portmagee and traipsed down the road to the Bridge Bar. It felt like coming home. The same brightly colored façades of the low-walled houses greeted her; the same fishy smell of the harbor filled her nostrils; the same chatter of tourists and locals mingling pulled her attention this way and that; and the same bumps in the pavement under her feet made her watch her step.

She sidestepped a wandering black cat and examined the front of the pub across the street. The same cheery red paint, same Guinness ads in the stained-glass windows. Only the sign outside the bar was different, luring people in with cocktails and good cheer: May the craic be with you.

Just as she was about to cross the road, the door opened and a man emerged. A tall, stocky blond man, twisting to yank something higher on his shoulder.

He’s still got that stupid rucksack, was her first thought, calm and collected and clear. And then her mind went berserk. Because it was him.

Cathal.

Farm Boy.

Same as her memory of lying in the snow in Finse calling him, she didn’t trust that this was actually happening. Which was why she didn’t call out. She couldn’t even move her limbs. A strange mixture of disbelief and jetlag held her in suspended animation. She could only watch, dumbfounded, as he glanced up and down the street and then into the sky as if divining the weather. He hadn’t seen her. His trademark look of concern crinkled his forehead.

Then a noisy tractor trundled by, blocking her view. Panicking that she’d lose him, her feet rediscovered their ability to walk. She skittered across the road behind the tractor and slowed her pace on the other side, coming to a standstill. He was still there, but now he was looking straight at her. He did a visible doubletake, then frowned, then rubbed his forehead. Finally, a wonderful smile broke out, transforming his face, creating explosions of happiness in her heart.

Once again, she couldn’t move. But she didn’t have to because he was coming toward her.

Her throat tightened because she’d missed that smile so much. That manly walk. That shake of the head, that flop of the hair.

He came up close, moving in, destroying the distance with an air of certainty that seemed new for him. Her body and her emotions had gone out of control, crying out for him across the chasm of disbelief. She told herself to focus on one thing, so she homed in on his eyes. His olive eyes, stormy and intent, which were now bearing down on her face because he was right there, chest to chest.

“I thought you hated Portmagee,” he said in a low rasp.

“I thought I’d give it a second chance.”

His mouth came crashing down on hers, possessive and demanding. She gave back everything. They trembled, clutching at each other like there was nothing beyond the two of them, and there wasn’t. He was her everything. The feelings ran so deep, this strange feeling of eternal connection with him. He challenged what she thought she knew about herself, and made her appreciate what she had, here and now.

A honking of horns interrupted their passionate kiss. Avery swung her head to glare. Not only were the drivers of the vehicles staring at them, but also about half the people on the street. Two guys loitering on the wall of the pub opposite gave them the thumbs-up.

“Fuck’s sake,” she said. “Haven’t they ever seen a public display of affection?”

“They’re jealous.” Cathal put his hand on the small of her back. “Let’s get inside.”

*

They trailed hand-in-hand into the pub. Brenda gave her a surprised, then delighted, look when she saw that she’d brought Cathal along.

“Well, look at the pair of ye! I’ll be taking the credit for that one,” she laughed, plonking down two pints on the table where her crowd was sitting. “Hussy,” she muttered in an aside to Avery.

Avery was glad Brenda’s table was full so they could grab a table on their own without being rude. They sat facing each other in a stupefied kind of wonder. She greedily drank in the details of his face. He was slightly more tanned than last year. The hair was longer. He had an air of contentment about him that hadn’t been there before. Then a shadow crossed his features. “Oh my God, your ear.”

She met his gaze levelly. “Frostbite. Souvenir from Finse.”

He winced. “Did it hurt?”

“It stung like hell after the painkillers wore off but nothing too bad. I… I got lucky that I was rescued when I was.” She peeped at him, self-conscious. She wasn’t ready to admit she’d called out for him. Maybe he had a better explanation for what happened.

He shifted in his seat. “My father and I are taking the boat tomorrow,” he said quickly, tapping the strap of his rucksack. “There’s a seat for you. Will you come?”

She narrowed her eyes. “A seat for me?”

“When I booked, I still had dreams.” He flashed a sheepish smile.

“I won’t take it though.”

“Oh. Right.” He looked down at his hands.

“Because I booked as well!”

He lifted his gaze.

“But only one seat,” she admitted. “I didn’t think this could happen.”

He leaned in. “You’d given up on us, hadn’t you?”

“Do you find my lack of faith disturbing?”

He shook his head. “I’m just glad you’re here. Now. That’s what counts. Oh, and I want my fifteen thousand credits.”

She interlaced his fingers with hers, laughing. “Well, if money is all you care about…”