Chapter 4
Four
If Fin had expected his family to act cool about the engagement when they arrived at the lake on Tuesday, especially given most of them had been at the sixtieth party, he’d been quickly disabused of the notion.
They were mobbed like a couple of Hollywood A-listers—clearly keeping a low profile the past two days had only left everyone panting for more.
The local newspaper hadn’t helped. Yesterday a picture of them and that kiss was front-page news under a headline proclaiming Ballyshannon Childhood Sweethearts Set to Say I Do—Finally!
Between that and the grapevine running hot with gossip about an apparent clandestine, long-term affair, it seemed the Murphy clan could not get enough of them.
His cousin hadn’t helped, either. Donny had given them a cute, cringey couple name—Feeney—which had been resoundingly adopted by all at the lake gathering and, well, there was nothing else for it …
Donny had to die.
But for now, despite their strategy to arrive late and get separately lost in a sea of celebrating Murphys, Fin and Sweeney were stuck with each other.
Not that he minded being in Sweeney’s company, especially not in that green and white sundress she was wearing, with its snug top and flared skirt, and her hair piled up in a messy configuration on top of her head.
It just wasn’t what they’d planned. And it meant they were having to make up vague answers on the fly to a bunch of very specific questions they hadn’t considered.
What was their song? He’d blurted out ‘Teenage Dirtbag’. She’d blinked at his not very romantic choice but hadn’t contradicted him.
Where were they going to live afterwards? He’d said Dublin at the same she’d said New York and they’d laughed nervously, dismissing it as a conversation in progress.
Were they going to choose good Irish names for their babies? For the love of all that was holy …
Fin had no idea how compulsive liars did it. Two hours in and he was sweating up a storm which had nothing to do with the heat of the day.
‘Teenage Dirtbag?’
Finally alone—although probably not for long—thanks to an impromptu kids-versus-adults football game, Fin glanced at Sweeney, who had sidled up to him. Her cheeks were flushed—from the heat or the lying, he wasn’t sure.
‘I panicked.’ He took a chug of the cold beer his Aunt Catherine had brought him, before she’d thankfully abandoned him in favour of refereeing the game. ‘And anyway, it is. Or it was. Or it would be … if we had a couple song. Which we don’t. Because we’re not.’
Christ … He took another hit of beer.
‘We must have listened to that song a thousand times,’ she mused.
‘At least.’ It had been the soundtrack to many of their angsty teenage chats. ‘I swear I still get turned on by a woman in tube socks.’
Sweeney laughed, her hand clutching at his arm, which Fin found delightfully familiar in the midst of this strange situation. No matter how bonkers everything was right now, they were in this together.
‘It’s not exactly Bruno Mars, though, is it?’ she said when her laughter stopped.
‘Can’t do a bridal waltz to it,’ he agreed.
She sighed, leaning her head against his arm as she absently watched the game. The top of her hair brushed the shoulder seam of his t-shirt and he felt a moment of calm amidst the wacky.
‘We suck at this,’ she proclaimed.
Fin laughed. ‘We do. I guess that’s a good thing, though, right?’
‘Sure. But we’re either going to have to get better at it or go into hiding.’
‘I vote for the hiding option.’
‘God … can you imagine the headline then?’
‘Newly Engaged Childhood Sweethearts Disappear to Make a Grandbaby,’ he offered in a deep TV announcer voice.
‘Finally!’ Sweeney added.
They both cracked up and somehow, in the process, she grasped the front of his shirt and Fin’s arm went around her shoulders and they leaned against each other as the laughter overtook them in a kind of manic hysteria, the way it often had when they’d been kids without a care in the world.
By the time it subsided, they were both a little out of breath. ‘Maybe we really will laugh about this one day,’ she said.
‘I’m sure we will. Let’s just not tell our mums, okay?’
They grinned at each other then, like a pair of loons, still trying to catch their breath, and Fin really couldn’t think of another woman he’d rather be with in this mother-induced predicament. Her eyes were sparkling and it was Sweeney and hell, he’d missed her.
Also, how easy would it be right now to lean in and kiss her?
Fin blinked at the errant thought and suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore. Neither was she. They were just staring at each other. He was acutely conscious of his breath and the faint thud of his pulse through his ears and his arm slung loosely around her shoulders.
Almost in unison, they straightened, and she unclutched his shirt at the same time his hand fell from her shoulder. She cleared her throat, her gaze tracking to the lake. ‘Think I’m going to go for a dip.’
His gaze followed hers, past all the locals and tourists enjoying the warm weather and festival atmosphere, past the tent where there was a demo of Irish dancing taking place, to the narrow strip of sand and the expanse of water beyond.
There were a few swimmers frolicking around the rickety old jetty, off which a few kids were leaping.
But largely, water pursuits had been abandoned in favour of group picnic blankets and communal food, the air heavy with aromas of woodsmoke and sausages frying on the BBQ.
Ordinarily, Fin would have joined Sweeney, but not after whatever the hell had just happened. Maybe they would laugh about this one day, but for now it was just weird. There was probably a fancier Latin-based word for it, but weird suited best.
She departed without further comment and Fin drained his beer as he watched her walk away.
She paused to snatch up the brightly striped canvas holdall she’d brought with her before heading towards the lake edge, meandering around picnic blankets, dodging little kids hyped up on sugar and narrowly avoiding a stray ball that bounced across her path.
When her feet hit the sand, she dropped her bag and, in one quick shimmy, she stepped out of her dress and holy strapless one-piece, Batman, Fin almost choked on his tongue.
He was today years old when the realisation hit him—he had a type.
Until now he’d never understood the need to limit himself, but staring at Sweeney’s ass and the way it curved out from her waist and sat round and full and luscious—barely contained by the fabric of her cherry red swimmers—was a religious experience.
Not to mention that sweet undercurve drawing his eye to the lush softness of her thighs that kissed at the top as she strutted to the water.
Well, fuck.
‘You dirty, dirty devil, you never said a word.’
Starting guiltily, Fin turned to see Donny at his side. His cousin grinned at him and handed over an icy cold beer. Fin took it and chugged back several mouthfuls, hoping a severe brain freeze would derail the tropical rush of lust fogging his brain.
‘I don’t get it,’ Donny said. ‘She always fancied me over you.’
Fin snorted. ‘She barely tolerated you.’
‘Nah, man. She used to shoot me those withering looks. Everyone knows that’s shorthand for I’m totally hot for you.’
‘You used to pick your scabs and eat them.’
Unperturbed, he shrugged. ‘What can I say, girls loved me.’
It was true. Despite him being a short, pale kid with a shock of fluffy red hair, Donny had been smoother with the opposite sex at eight than Fin had been for most of his life. A boy with five older sisters just knew stuff.
‘Still can’t wrap my head around you being married with two kids. How does that even happen?’
‘Well, when two people love each other, they have special cuddles and—’
Fin interrupted his cousin with a ha-you-so-funny look. ‘I can’t believe Mai agreed to have special cuddles with you twice.’
Donny got that same goofy grin on his face he always got when thinking about his wife of eight years.
Mai, who was currently standing on the sidelines of the football game cheering on the kids with a gaggle of other Murphy mums, was second-generation Vietnamese Australian.
She and Donny had met in Melbourne during their uni years—her studying at the conservatorium, him engineering at MIT—and Fin was godfather to both their kids.
‘It’s a miracle,’ Donny agreed good-naturedly.
‘You know you’re punching above your weight there.’
‘Totally.’
They paused to drink their beers and watch the game. Or at least Donny did. Fin’s gaze wandered to the water, where Sweeney was paddling around in that damn swimsuit.
‘Word around the family is, Feeney has been a thing for years now.’
Fin blinked, dragging his eyes away from the water. ‘Word is wrong,’ he said bluntly, returning his attention to Donny. And that, at least, was the truth. ‘Thanks for the Feeney thing, by the way.’
‘I knew you’d love it.’
Yep. Fin took a swig of his beer. Like a heart attack.
‘Ooh, hello,’ Donny murmured around the lip of his beer bottle. ‘Don’t look now but Maria Jennings coming in hot at nine o’clock.’
Surprised, Fin swung his head left and Donny muttered, ‘Real cool, man.’
‘Hey, Fin.’ Maria smiled at him as she approached. ‘Hi, Donny.’ She sauntered to a stop in front of them, slid her hand onto Fin’s arm and leaned in to peck him on the cheek. ‘It’s been such a long time since we’ve caught up. We didn’t really get a chance at the party.’
Fin nodded absently. When had they ever caught up?
Her hand slid from his arm and there was an awkward silence during which Donny quickly threw back his beer, finishing it with a loud burp before announcing, ‘I think Mai’s calling me,’ and skedaddling away.
The last thing Fin wanted was to make small talk with a woman who’d barely said two words to him prior to this moment, and his cousin knew that damn well.
Yep, Donny definitely had to die.