EPILOGUE

2 years later

“Come on, would you open it before my arms fall off?” Cathal urged her. Excitement and impatience mixed in equal measures in his voice.

“No. I can’t!” She knew it should be easy. After all, her hands were free and she was standing an arm's length from the cottage door with its black glossy paint glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. She ran her fingers down the paintwork; it was warm, inviting, just like the dream house itself.

“I’d gladly help, but…” He nodded at the shopping bags in his arms containing enough food for the week that they’d planned on using to isolate themselves from the world. The relentless corporate world being what it was, it was the first time since Avery moved to Ireland two years ago that they had a full week off simultaneously. The hard work had paid off though—she was now the proud owner of not only a new house but also a "critical skills" employment permit. She was as good as native now and had promptly resigned from her hi-tech job in Dublin to celebrate.

“It’s just... what if—what if I don’t like it?” She frowned up at him.

“Oh my God, get in there or do I have to sling you over my shoulder?”

She had to grin. “Is that a promise?” They had no neighbors for half a mile so there was nothing stopping them messing around and her inner cavewoman liked the idea. But her feminist soul won out; she wanted to walk into her future business premises on her own two feet—anything else would be tempting the wrath of the gods of enterprise.

She was still nervous about her new B&B endeavor here on Ceann Sibeal. Yes, the sale of her fan vlog company and recent earnings gave her a financial cushion but her cautious, entrepreneurial spirit dreaded the thought of not succeeding. Two years of a stable, happy relationship hadn’t blunted that.

“It’ll be grand.” Cathal’s voice was soft near her ear. As usual, he’d sensed her thoughts. “And we’ll be grand.”

She nodded, confirming what she knew in her bones to be true. Even if their new careers in B&B management here in Kerry turned out to be a non-starter, they would be fine, together. Weirdly, it was something she'd never had to stop and question. Sure they scrapped and argued, and teased—good grief, so much teasing. But the fundamental foundations were rock steady, so much so that she'd forgotten what it felt like to live in constant angst about existential stuff like that.

“Okay.” She pushed open the door which swung inward fluidly on new hinges without even a whisper of a squeak. A gasp of relief escaped her. Unlike their first visit, everything was now renovated to the latest standards. An open-plan kitchen and living room in bright grays and white tones enticed them to move further in and smooth their hands over the simple, elegant furniture. The raging blues and greens of the Wild Atlantic Way pulled Avery’s attention out the large bay windows. As requested, the décor was muted so the tumultuous natural beauty got to speak for itself.

There was no twinge of disappointment. None. It was perfect. She could envision what this space would be like when the first paying guests arrived next month, lounging in that alcove there, loitering around that kitchen island, or gazing out the huge bay window as the stars sparkled in the clear, Kerry night sky. Cathal, who had turned out to be an amazing cook, was keen to take over meals and accounting whereas she would handle the advertising, procurement, the tours, the day-to-day management. She knew there would be challenging days ahead, but bring it on.

They scampered though the rooms, marveling at the transformation, inhaling the fresh smell of paint and varnish and fresh wood. Flopping down finally in the front seats of the half-underground cinema theater, they stared at each other and laughed out of sheer exhilaration.

She sank back in the extra comfy seat, watching with inner satisfaction as Cathal ran his arms along the leather arms. If you were going to watch six—or even nine—movies in a row, you needed to get the ergonomics right.

“Can’t wait to watch Star Trek here,” he said with an impish grin.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “Could be a possible side business. If you get bored.”

“Over my dead body,” she declared.

“Now we can’t have that. I didn’t book Skellig this year.”

They’d both decided that when they died, they wanted their ashes thrown off Skellig Michael, Conor Seamas Cosgrave-style. Whoever survived longest would have to make the trip with the other's urn and recruit a volunteer for their own when the time came. This kind of conversation may be morbid, perhaps even premature in every sense of the word, but that was their sick sense of humor in a nutshell really.

“How about we warm this place up?” he said. “Instead of talking about death all the time?” He slid his hand over hers, engulfing it in his warm palm. Interlacing their fingers for a firmer grip, he rose and pulled her up to stand in front of him.

They faced each other in spine-tingling anticipation. The stillness of the house reverberated around them. It had been so busy lately that they had precious little time for them. She had almost forgotten how magical it was just to collapse into his chest and let the worries of the day melt away.

His hand snaked to the back of her neck, cradling her head, taking all the weight between his thumbs and fingers. His lips crushed onto hers, hot, needy, and possessive, as if you say, give up, you’re mine now, all mine. They clutched each other with the fervor of sex-starved lovers. It had only been a week but felt like eons. Cathal's tongue and lips worked against the erogenous zones on her face and neck—the ones he knew how to activate with deadly precision. She was soon a trembling mess in his arms, her knees soft like Mozzarella sticks.

She was also hot and needed to get rid of these clothes. She pushed the jumper over his head, taking the t-shirt along with it and she collapsed her heated cheek onto his hard chest. He let her rest there for a moment, listening to his heartbeat thumping. Then, with concentrated slowness, he lifted her t-shirt by the hem and inched it up her torso, over her breasts, up her neck and over her head, pressing kisses all the way. Their gasping breath was the only sound in the darkened room as he gently removed her bra and let it slide to the floor.

As if sensing they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom, he hoisted her by the buttocks so she could latch onto his hips with her legs. He propped her back up against the wall, cool against her spine. Paint fumes mingled with his soap as he explored her upper body with his mouth, lips, tongue. She writhed and squeezed his hips like a boa constrictor, grinding, seeking closeness, negative distance between them as heat bloomed in her core. All thought was reduced to monosyllables like Yes. More. Now.

The silence was punctuated by the rip of him undoing her jeans zip. She dismounted and shimmied out of her underclothes as he did the same, then She quickly molded her body against his, bucking her hips, inviting him in to where her wet hungry core awaited.

She was so close to coming, she had to force her hungry body to wait. "Oh Avery," he breathed as he buried himself within her, holding still for a moment as he knew she liked him to. His eyes glowed darkly, expressing all the desire she felt sure was equally plain all over her face. Several thrusts later, she couldn’t contain it—she exploded in a supernova of ecstasy, gasping out his name into the muscles of his neck. He joined her in that cosmic place soon after. They were a sweaty, shivering mess as they clung together in the aftershock, unwilling to let go.

“We’ve got all week, that’s the best thing,” he said, his voice humming with satisfaction, some time later. Time and reality was a bit of a blur right now but that was okay—for once, they weren't on a timetable. No deadlines. Her phone was in airplane mode.

“I know. We can do quick and dirty and slow and languorous, just as we please. Luxury.”

She didn’t know how long they’d been lying there, enjoying the post-coital buzz and the softness of the new Blarney wool carpet. The wall they’d just christened was where the future silver screen would be, which, she felt, was kind of fitting.

Cathal’s hand was resting in the curve of her waist, stroking idly with his thumb, and she was expecting some smart-alec remark when he came out with the words, “You’re my world. I didn’t know how to love before I met you. I didn’t even know how to live.”

Her heart filled with warmth. And yet, she felt the old need to laugh it off. “You were a pretty strange cookie all right. But then again, I was a completely wound-up nutcase too, if I recall correctly. I reckon I’ve mellowed and you, Farm Boy, have got tougher.”

“Is that so?” His olive eyes creased with mirth. “Or is it just your rampant imagination trekking off through the galaxy again?”

“I know so,” she declared steadfastly.

“In that case…” He took her fingers in his hands and looked her solemnly in the eyes, “let me, in my toughness, take advantage of you in your mellowness and ask you to be mine. To marry me. Will you, Avery?”

Her stomach lunged, repeatedly, like she was hurtling to warp-speed on the Millennium Falcon (on one of those occasions when the drive was actually working.) She stared at his face, searching for signs of joking, but his forehead was smooth with earnest determination, his jaw a little clenched, as if bracing himself for rejection—and it was this that convinced her that holy hell, this is for real!

She was so unprepared for such a seismic shift in her world. But then, through all the detritus of ego-based confusion, a warmth of knowing filled her. This was, of course, right. And the way he was doing it, spontaneously, lying naked before her, was exactly the way she would have wanted it had she thought about it beforehand which of course he hadn't because she was too busy being, well, busy.

“What?” she stammered nonetheless. “I mean, of course I heard you, but do you actually mean that?”

His eyelids lowered to half way. “Is it so hard to believe? I’ve only been wanting to ask you for a year.”

“A year?” Her voice faltered with wonder. “I must be clueless.”

“You are. Sometimes." He sighed. "Well, take your time because—”

“Shut up,” she interrupted, waving her hands in front of his face. “The answer’s yes. Of course it is!”

The look of utter joy and pride on his face before he clutched her into him was one she would never forget. And even if she were to, she was certain there would be many more like it as they built their crazy life together on this little green island. In life, and even (sorry to be morbid) as tiny particles of cremated ash swimming in the Atlantic, they were going to conquer the universe together… because of the incredible, undeniable, and irresistible force between them.