Conor looked out the window and scowled at the fierce rain pelting the courtyard. When he had suggested to Felicity they meet at this out-of-the-way café known for their sweet as well as savory offerings, he had rather optimistically hoped they could sit outside and enjoy a bit of late winter sunshine with their chat. But the Dublin weather had other plans for them.
Thankfully, the café was cozy, with black and white checkered flooring, clean white walls, and mismatched kitschy floral-patterned vinyl tablecloths. As the day was getting late, there weren’t very many other patrons.
It was well past four o’clock now and Conor looked at his phone to see if Felicity had left him a message about being late. Or calling the reunion off. When he had phoned her, she was reluctant to get together, refusing his suggestion of a drink. Then he scaled it back to an offer of a late afternoon tea or coffee and she agreed with the caveat that it had to be quick.
He found no message but as he looked up again and through the window, he saw a rain-soaked Felicity leaping over puddles on her way to the front door of the café. Standing up, he watched as she shook off excess water while under the awning before then opening the royal blue door. Her blue eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed from the brief jaunt. The frilly pink umbrella she held closed in her hand had apparently not served its purpose as her dark brown hair was mostly wet.
“You poor thing. Here you are,” one of the waitresses said as she greeted Felicity with a tea towel.
“Ah, thanks so much,” Felicity said with a warm smile. “Could you rubbish this for me? It’s quite useless as you can see.”
The waitress accepted the umbrella from her with a sympathetic smile. Felicity then took a moment to run the towel over her hair and pat her face as Conor watched from his table, still standing in anticipation.
She had dressed casually in jeans and a V-neck sweater with a light jacket she was now taking off. She folded it over her arm and looked around, meeting his eyes quickly in the small café. There were only ten tables hugging the walls and he had chosen one directly in front of the large windows.
“Hi Fee,” he said, leaning down to give her a hug. She raised herself on tiptoe to meet him. In the brief moment their bodies touched, he could feel her shaking. He wondered at that. It wasn’t that cold out and she was barely dampened by the rain.
“How are you, CQ?” she asked when they sat across from each other.
“Better than you, aren’t I?” he said with a smile. “I managed to avoid the worst of the rain out there. Because I was on time.”
She slapped at his arm playfully. “If you hadn’t chosen a place that is so ridiculously hard to find, I would have been early, thank you very much!”
His smile lingered as he watched her. Her hair, a bit drier now, fell almost to her shoulders in beachy waves with long side-swept bangs. She had a wide, expressive mouth and had always been quick to laugh. She wore little makeup over the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose and cheeks. He recognized something Irish in her face and he liked it.
Everything about the grown-up version of her was a contrast to the schoolgirl he had known. Back then, she had tried so hard to project toughness—from her severe bob haircut, heavy charcoal eyeliner, and the combat boots she wore with everything, to the barriers she put up with him to keep her heart protected. She had always planned on leaving Ireland in search of freedom from the mother who had depended too heavily on her, so it hadn’t been a surprise that she went to Toronto for university. That was over a dozen years ago, just as Rogue was making their way onto the music scene.
The years and the distance had served her well, though. Her edges were softer, the pretenses dropped. He had glimpsed this when he visited her in Toronto after she separated from her husband. He had wanted to be there for her but, as was her habit, she kept her own counsel. The visit had been too short and with frequent interruptions from Colette calling, but he came away feeling that though Felicity was having a rough time, she was going to survive just fine. She always had.
As kids, he had been privy to episodes of Felicity left waiting for her absentee father to pick her up for visitation. She claimed she couldn’t be bothered by the fact that her father had left her and her mother and started another family. But the hurt of her father’s random presence in her life was made clear in the way she built up walls around her heart when other girls her age were only too happy to declare they were hopelessly in love with their first crush.
When years later she said she found all she ever wanted in her husband, Conor was happy for her. It seemed, from his distance, that she had finally let down her defenses and gotten the stability she had hoped for. Their worlds were truly opposite as she focused on married life and career while he and the band recorded and supported albums on the road.
Now everything had come full circle with her back home in order to care for her mother once again.
“Well, you look gorgeous, wet or no,” he told her.
“Charmer.”
The waitress who had greeted Felicity came to their table to take their order. Her attitude was less friendly now that she saw who Felicity was with. She looked and spoke only to Conor, even as he apparently made her a bit short of breath.
When Felicity couldn’t decide whether she wanted something savory or sweet, Conor asked for two of the café’s most popular items each along with tea.
“I see you still like to take control,” she said when the waitress left.
“Is that how you think of me?” he asked, lowering his voice seductively. “When you think of me, that is.”
“Conor Quinn, don’t you dare bring that up!” She laughed despite herself.
“It’s nice to see your smile, honey.” Being in her company felt good, easy. It made him happy to realize they were able to pick back up as if they had never had years and a lifetime apart.
“I have to say, it’s nice to smile. It’s been pretty bleak since I’ve been back.”
“What is it your Ma is dealing with, then?” he asked, leaning forward as he rested his forearms on the table.
“She’s got lung cancer. She doesn’t have long.”
“Shite, I’m sorry,” he said. “And it’s just you taking care of her?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine.”
“Does she have everything she needs? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Felicity gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Conor. We’re fine.”
“The circumstances are no good, but I’m glad you’re back.”
She held his gaze for a moment before looking away as a battered metal pot of tea was set on the table. The waitress leaned across Conor’s side of the table to point out the bowl of sugar and a mini pitcher of milk, clearly anxious to turn his eye to her ample bosom as she did so. But he quit his involuntary glance almost immediately and gave her a quick thanks, dismissing her.
“Fair play, that,” Felicity told him with a wink.
“What?”
“You did well not to stare too long at the show she was trying to give you.”
“I’m not a complete cad, thank you very much.”
“Just a bit of a rogue, then?”
“Aren’t you clever?” he said with a laugh. “Want to guess how many times I’ve heard that over the years?”
“You did bring that one on yourselves, though,” she said playfully.
“Sure, we did.”
He found himself enjoying watching her. She was comfortable in her own skin, no doubt something that had been earned after many trials. He imagined breaking away from her mother all those years ago and finding security with her husband, only for it to have been torn away hadn’t been easy. But she seemed to have come away in decent shape. More than decent shape, if he let his eyes wander. Her clothes weren’t sexy but they were form-fitting, suggesting a nice figure.
“So, tell me all about your fiancée. You didn’t say much when we saw each other before.”
“She’s . . . well, Colette is something else. Keeps me on my toes, you could say.” He shook his head with a rueful smile.
“That must suit you, CQ.”
He struggled for a moment to agree.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“I guess the fact that you’re getting married to her,” she replied with a laugh.
“About that. What advice would you have for me as you’ve been down this road.”
“My road led to divorce, didn’t it? I’m the wrong person to ask.”
He watched as she turned her gaze to the rain still coming down hard outside. When he had visited with her in Toronto she hadn’t gone into the details of why her marriage had ended and he hadn’t pushed. The best sense he could get was that it wasn’t her choice, that she was, in fact, blindsided by it.
“I think you’re being watched,” she said before he could try for some way to fix his blunder.
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