Hearts in Ireland by J. C. Long

Author:J. C. Long [Long, J. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63533-450-0
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-05-10T04:00:00+00:00

Caibidil 12

I WOKE the next morning to the sound of rain beating against the house. I opened the curtains and looked out. It was no light sprinkling; the rain was coming down in heavy sheets that made it hard to see more than ten feet beyond the house.

I washed, dressed, and started downstairs, then stopped when I heard Hannah and Brendan’s voices. They were standing near the front door, Hannah’s arms around Brendan’s waist, her head against his chest.

“…to go,” Hannah was saying, voice sad.

“I know,” Brendan replied. “If you’d just say yes, we wouldn’t have to be apart much longer, you know.”

“Brendan, I don’t want to rush into anything,” Hannah said. She sounded like she was repeating herself.

Realizing I’d walked into something I should I have, I turned on my heel and tried to climb the steps quietly. The wood beneath my feet squeaked, though, and Hannah and Brendan looked up at me. I flinched. “Sorry—I wasn’t trying to spy on you or anything.”

“It’s fine,” Hannah said, stepping out of the circle of Brendan’s arms. “We’re just saying good-bye before Brendan goes back to London.”

It was bad enough that I was interrupting an intimate moment between them, but I’d probably overheard more than Hannah or Brendan wanted me to at that point. “I’ll just go back upstairs.”

“No, Ronan, it’s fine,” Hannah assured me. She turned to Brendan and kissed him sweetly. “Have a safe drive. Let me know when you’re back in London.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” Brendan pressed.

“Of course I’ll think about it,” Hannah laughed. “Now get going before the roads flood.”

Brendan kissed Hannah one last time and then hurried out into the rain, tugging his jacket collar up around his ears since he didn’t have an umbrella.

Hannah stood in the door, watching until Brendan’s car disappeared from sight.

“I’m really sorry, Hannah,” I said, coming up behind her. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” she demanded, shutting the door at last. “Come on. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“Where’s Aunt Gwendolyn?”

“She’s working alone today. The shop is only open for a few hours, so she always handles Sundays alone. What do you want to eat? I’m going to make some eggs.”

“Eggs sound good,” I said, sitting at the island on a stool while Hannah went to the fridge and pulled out a handful of eggs and a carton of milk. She placed them on the island and then pulled out a block of cheese. “How was your weekend with Brendan?”

“It was good,” Hannah said. She busied herself making eggs—omelets, judging by how she was cracking eggs into a bowl and mixing vigorously with a whisk. “I’m more interested in how your date with Fergal went.”

“It wasn’t a date,” I countered immediately, even as thoughts of the near-kiss came rushing back to me. “We had a good time. He took me to the James Joyce House, and to St. Patrick’s. Oh, and to this great breakfast place—it was incredible.” I stopped talking and just watched Hannah. She was still furiously whisking the eggs.

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