The Coincidence of Coconut Cake by Amy E. Reichert

Author:Amy E. Reichert [Reichert, Amy E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Adult
ISBN: 9781501100727
Google: 5lcjBQAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1501100718
Goodreads: 25650078
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2015-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •

A large stage towered in front of the audience, plaid- and green-clad revelers dancing the best they could with a beer in one hand. The loud music gave Al a reason to lean closer to Lou while the partiers gave him an excuse to keep touching her so they wouldn’t get separated.

“I can’t believe they’re here. I loved these guys at university,” Al said into Lou’s ear so she could hear him above his favorite band from home, his lips touching her hair.

Irish Fest won as his favorite Milwaukee event. While not the homesick type, he missed HobNobs, Cadbury Flake bars, and good tea and he could buy them all here. The fiddle and bodhran called to a part of him he usually ignored.

Lou had surprised him late this morning with a simple text.

Irish Fest? You free?

He’d had a reservation at a new Italian trattoria, but he canceled it. They arrived late afternoon, walked the grounds, argued about their favorite dog breed (he always fancied an Irish wolfhound but he wouldn’t hold Lou’s preference for Westies against her), and watched the afternoon parade, complete with bagpipes and dancers.

“Why do I find it so hard to imagine you partying in college?” Lou said.

“That’s because I went to university. And we didn’t party—we had diversions.”

“Complete with picnic baskets and polo, I suppose.”

“Precisely.”

Lou turned to see whether he was teasing. And he was, only partly. He had attended a lot of polo matches, since Ian was the captain. Those days seemed so far away from the evening’s muggy air. After he’d danced in the crowd, sweat dampened his hair. He couldn’t hear drums and fiddle without at least tapping his toes. Even back at university he couldn’t help patting his hand on his leg under the table. Ian’s crowd didn’t dance at pubs, even when the music was good. Here, he could dance a jig, sing a song, or slop a little beer.

Lightning flashed behind the overpass looming over the stage. A few cool bursts of air chilled his damp neck. The band played on.

“I think a storm’s rolling in. Will the band have to stop?”

“It depends on lightning, I think.”

In answer, thunder boomed and the sky dropped its cargo. Before the band could finish announcing their forced break, the crowd scattered. Lou and Al looked for shelter, but every spot filled. Within a minute shelter didn’t matter anymore.

Before the downpour, Al had thought Lou looked alluring in her pale pink T-shirt and simple flowered skirt. Her soft brown waves bounced around her shoulders with the humidity. She was simply beautiful. But with the addition of water, she evolved into a siren. Her thin cotton clothes clung to every curve. She slicked her hair away from her face, as if emerging from an enchanted lake. He simply had to touch her.

Without the band playing, Irish music piped through the speakers to fill the dead air until the concert could begin again. Al remembered a dance from festivals back home. The steps were simple and repetitive, and he recalled the basics.

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