21. Aoife
Aoife
The cab winds through Dublin’s streets, the blend of red-brick buildings and glassy modern storefronts passing by in a blur. It’s been years since my last visit, long enough that the city feels distant but not unfamiliar. A place I recognize without truly knowing.
My phone buzzes in my lap. Erin’s name flashes on the screen, accompanied by yet another message.
Erin: How far out are you?
Aoife: 5 mins, max. Relax, I’m not standing you up.
Erin: You better not. I’ve been cooking. Like actual cooking.
Aoife: Should I be worried?
Erin: Watch it, world traveler. Some of us didn’t have unlimited Michelin stars to sample.
A quiet laugh escapes as I tap out a reply.
Aoife: Touché. I’ll try to survive whatever you’ve got waiting.
The cab slows, pulling up outside a stone-faced building with ivy creeping up the edges, its weathered exterior softened by window boxes spilling over with cheerful blooms. I toss a quick thanks to the driver, grab my suitcase from the seat beside me, and text Erin again.
Aoife: Outside.
Before I reach the front door, it swings open, and Erin’s face lights up like it's Christmas.
“Evie,” she squeals.
“Hey, stranger,” I call as I head up the short path.
She practically bounces down the steps to meet me, pulling me into a tight hug. “You’re really here.”
I laugh, hugging her back. “Told you I wouldn’t stand you up.”
She pulls back, giving me an exaggerated glare. “Yeah, after about a million, I swear I’ll visit soon texts, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me. And video chats don’t count, you know. I need the real Aoife experience.”
“I don’t think it was quite a million,” I say with a smirk.
“Come on, lunch is ready,” she says, looping her arm through mine and steering me toward the door.
The moment we step inside, the warm, savory aroma of butter and scallions fills the air, rich and comforting. It’s the kind of scent that wraps around you, making the entire apartment feel like a hug. There’s a faint hint of salt and cream in the mix, and my stomach growls in anticipation.
“You made champ?” I ask, grinning as I drop my bag near the couch.
“Of course,” she says, puffing up with mock pride. “It’s an Erin specialty. Potato perfection, thank you very much.”
A pot of mashed potatoes sits on the stove, still steaming. Fresh rolls rest on a cutting board nearby, their golden crust dusted lightly with flour. Two plates and cutlery are already laid out on the small table.
“Help yourself,” Erin says, gesturing toward the pot.
I scoop a generous helping of champ onto my plate, the creamy texture practically inviting me to dive in. The smell of the buttery scallions wafts up as I serve myself, making my stomach rumble again.
“Don’t hog all the butter,” Erin says, nudging me with her hip as she grabs a roll.
“Can’t make any promises,” I reply, but the laughter between us makes everything feel light and comfortable.
While we eat, Erin peppers me with questions, zeroing in on one location in particular.
“Okay, so, the Maldives,” she begins. “You said it was going to be a quick layover before you went back to Paris. But you stayed for almost two months.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Anytime I ask about it, you barely tell me anything. What gives?”
I shrug, taking a bite of champ to buy myself a second. “What’s there to tell? White sand, blue water, postcard perfection. Just as amazing as I imagined.”
Her eyes narrow, and she sets down her fork. “Uh-huh. You went from sending me constant updates, pictures of your meals, your beach reads, and even random sunrises to radio silence halfway through. Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” I say too fast. “I decided to take advantage of island life and unplug for a bit instead of documenting every second of it.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “The queen of look at this amazing view photos wanted to unplug?”
I laugh, keeping my tone light. “Even queens need a break sometimes.”
“Right,” she says, drawing out the word, her eyes narrowing as suspicion settles in her gaze.
I deflect with a joke, pointing at her plate. “You’re going to overthink this so much you’ll forget to finish your champ. That would be a tragedy.”
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes, but picks up her fork again. “But I will get the full story eventually.”
“Good luck with that,” I say, taking another bite and steering the conversation to safer territory.
The afternoon passes in a haze of laughter and stories, the kind of easy companionship I hadn’t realized I’d missed. By the time Erin’s boyfriend, Ryan, arrives, the apartment is alive with warmth and energy.
Ryan is tall and broad-shouldered. His solid, athletic build, paired with an easygoing smile, immediately puts me at ease.
Beside him stands another man, slightly shorter but no less imposing, with sandy hair and sharp blue eyes that seem to take everything in.
He carries himself with quiet confidence, his presence calm but undeniably self-assured.
Erin ushers them in, all smiles. “Aoife, you remember Ryan. And this is Shane, his flatmate. I thought you might appreciate some extra company tonight,” she adds.
I shoot her a look that says we’ll talk about this later but manage a polite smile for Shane. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says, flashing me a smile that reveals a faint dimple.
Before I can say much else, Erin grabs her purse, announcing, “Let’s get moving. I refuse to be late to my own party.”
Ryan laughs, shaking his head as he follows her out the door.
Shane and I trail behind, his gaze briefly meeting mine before he looks away without a word. When we reach the car, Ryan takes the driver’s seat, and Erin slides into the passenger side. I hesitate for a split second before climbing into the back.
Shane follows, settling beside me with an easy, unhurried motion. The car is spacious, but his presence feels closer than it should, his broad frame taking up more space than I expected.
“So,” he says, his tone casual but polite as Ryan starts the car. “Erin tells me you’ve been traveling a lot.”
I glance at Erin’s reflection in the rearview mirror, her eyes practically twinkling with excitement.
“I have,” I reply. “Spent the last year or so bouncing around Europe and Asia. It was nice to get away for a bit.”
“Any favorites?” he asks, turning slightly to face me. His voice is calm and steady—no pressure, just curiosity.
“Hard to choose,” I say, smiling faintly. “But I’d say the Maldives was pretty high on the list.”
“The Maldives?” he repeats, a hint of surprise in his tone. “That’s a bit of a leap from Belfast.”
I shrug. “White sand and blue water are hard to beat.”
“You don’t miss home when you’re gone that long?”
The question hangs in the air for a moment, and I notice Erin shift slightly in her seat as if listening in. “Sometimes,” I admit. “But there’s a freedom in being somewhere new. No expectations, no familiar faces.”
Shane nods, his gaze thoughtful. “Fair enough. Sounds like you’ve had some incredible experiences.”
“Definitely,” I say. “And what about you? Do you travel much?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” he replies with a small chuckle. “Work keeps me busy.”
Before I can ask what he does, Erin cuts in from the front. “Shane’s being modest. He runs his own business.”
“Oh?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, brushing off Erin’s praise. “Just a tech startup. Keeps me out of trouble, mostly.”
“He’s downplaying it,” Erin interjects, glancing back at me. “It’s one of those app things that everyone’s obsessed with.”
Shane chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s just software for streamlining small business operations. Not exactly groundbreaking.”
Erin snorts. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s got investors and everything.”
“Sounds impressive,” I say, though I catch the faintest trace of discomfort in his expression as if he’s not used to the spotlight. “What kind of businesses use it?”
“A mix,” he replies, his tone easy. “Retail, hospitality, some independent contractors. Basically, anyone who needs to stay organized without the headache of spreadsheets.”
“Smart,” I say, genuinely intrigued. “You must be good at solving problems.”
He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I try.”
“Don’t let him fool you. He’s annoyingly good at it,” Erin adds.
The conversation shifts to lighter banter as we pull up to The Emerald Briar, its elegant stone facade glowing softly in the evening light. Erin claps her hands together, practically bouncing in her seat. “Right, let’s get this party started.”
Shane steps out first, holding the door open for me with a polite nod. “After you,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply, straightening my dress.
As we head inside, I can feel Erin’s satisfaction radiating from her. She planned this perfectly, maybe too perfectly, and I can already tell the night is going to be anything but simple.
The private room at The Emerald Briar is cozy but stylish, with warm wood paneling and several tables set for Erin’s party. Fairy lights hang along the walls, giving the space a soft, intimate glow. The hum of conversation fills the air as we step inside.
Erin takes my arm and immediately flits from one group to another, introducing me to her friends.
I recognize a few faces from our college days, but there are plenty of new ones, too.
They all greet me warmly, their curiosity polite but persistent as they ask about my travels.
Erin loves to make me the center of attention, a habit I’ve tolerated over the years, but tonight, it feels heavier.
Shane sticks close to me, which I can’t decide if I appreciate or not. His quiet presence feels steadying, a barrier between me and the room’s buzz, but it’s also unnerving. I’m not used to being watched so closely, even if it’s done with polite interest.
As the group settles in, I do my best to stay engaged, laughing in the right places and answering questions when asked. But my thoughts keep wandering, drifting to places I wish they wouldn’t.
“So, world traveler,” Shane says, leaning in slightly as we linger by the drinks table. “Does this kind of thing feel mundane to you now?”
I glance at him, startled out of my thoughts. “What do you mean?”
“You know,” he says, gesturing toward the room. “Hanging out here. Compared to everything you’ve seen, this must feel so ordinary.”
I hesitate, swirling my drink in its glass. “I wouldn’t say ordinary. There’s something nice about coming back to the familiar. It’s easier in some ways.”
He nods, studying me for a moment. “Fair point. But you seem a bit distant.”
I force a smile, deflecting. “It’s been a long day of travel.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
Ruairi: You never called to say you got there.
I sigh, slipping the phone back into my bag, determined to ignore it.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply quickly. “Just my brother checking in. He worries too much.”
Shane raises an eyebrow. “Older brother, I’m guessing?”
“My twin, actually.”
“Twins, huh?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “That explains the extra layer of protectiveness.”
I roll my eyes, leaning back slightly. “I guess. He likes to pretend I can’t manage without him.”
Another buzz cuts through the conversation.
Ruairi: Aoife. Are you there?
I stifle a groan, standing and excusing myself as casually as I can. “I have to take this. Please excuse me,” I say, flashing Shane a quick smile as I step out of the room.
The hallway is quieter, the low hum of the hotel’s music filtering through the space. I tap out a quick reply as I walk, my fingers flying over the screen.
Aoife: I’m here. I’m fine. Stop hovering.
I hit send, distracted by the familiar push and pull of Ruairi’s need to check on me. So distracted, in fact, that I don’t see the man coming toward me until I collide with him.
Hot liquid splashes against my arm and the unmistakable aroma of coffee hits me as I stumble back, my phone nearly slipping from my fingers.
“ Dia ár sábháil ,” the man mutters, his voice rough with irritation.
I freeze, recognition slamming into me as I look up. Standing there, scowling down at the coffee stain spreading across his shirt, is Eamon.
For a second, I can’t speak. My mind reels as his gaze lifts from the mess to meet mine. The piercing blue of his eyes is like ice, sharp and unrelenting, locking onto me with the same intensity they always had.
“Eve?” he asks, his tone incredulous.
“Eamon.” His name leaves my lips in a breathless whisper. “What are you doing here?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He gestures vaguely around us, his tone calm but firm. “This is my hotel.”
That takes a second to register. “You own The Emerald Briar?”
His smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Surprised?”
I don’t answer. My thoughts are too jumbled to form a coherent response. He told me his family owned hotels, and this is exactly the kind of empire he’d run—polished, successful, untouchable.
“What about you?” he asks, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “What are you doing here?”
“A friend’s party,” I manage, keeping my tone neutral.
His gaze sharpens, scanning my face for something I’m not willing to offer. “And are you staying?”
I shake my head, my answer coming quickly. “No. I’m only here for the evening.”
Before the silence stretches too long, I notice a subtle shift in Eamon’s posture. His shoulders stiffen, and his jaw tightens as his eyes focus on something behind me.
The change is so sudden, so sharp, that it sends a prickle of unease down my spine. I glance quickly over my shoulder and spot Shane approaching. His gaze is steady, curious but relaxed, as he closes the distance.
When I turn back to Eamon, his expression is harder, and the faint smirk on his lips is gone entirely. His piercing blue eyes have turned cold, as he watches Shane approach. It’s not only anger.
It’s jealousy—pure and unmistakable.
The air feels heavier, the tension between us palpable. My heart pounds in my chest as I meet Eamon’s gaze, the unspoken tension in his expression enough to make my breath hitch.
This isn’t going to end well.