17
M aeve doesn’t like coffee, but Briggs has lined up a tasting bar in the back of Mettā Café, hell-bent on convincing her otherwise.
“Nope. It’s gross.” She sets down a small paper cup of vanilla soy latte. Briggs growls and pins her between his arms, his hands on either side of her on the table. She spins around so they’re face-to-face, those bright eyes getting him even at this early hour. “Just give up, boyfriend. I’m never going to like coffee. I’m a green-tea girl.”
He clenches his jaw. “Green tea is piss water, Maeve.”
“Coffee is liquid rubber, Briggs.”
He leans in, close to her face. “You’ll pay for that.”
She smiles. “Are we fighting?”
“You bet your perfect arse we are.” Briggs pushes the paper coffee cups off the table, making a mess, picks her up by her ass, and sets her where the coffee was. “I’ll give you the choice of punishment. Fingers or mouth?”
Maeve giggles, her gaze warm with anticipation. “I think I can handle both,” she says confidently.
“You asked for it.” He goes at her then, tickling her sides and making her cackle. He lifts her shirt and blows a raspberry on her stomach while his fingers continue to play her sides like a piano. Maeve can’t get a word out, gasping for air between fits of laughter. She wiggles like a worm underneath him.
Three weeks they’ve been sneaking around the island together, and Briggs has never been happier. His bed smells like Maeve. When he gets home from the pub and finds her under the covers, his whole body relaxes. He’s taken to climbing back in bed after his morning plunge. Maeve’s warm body nuzzles into his side. She plays with his beard and tells him he smells like salt water. Her feet coil around his cold ones. He has no idea what he did before meeting Maeve, how he spent his time.
Maeve has single-handedly reorganized his life, and now he can’t imagine his days without her. He can’t believe it, but Briggs Murphy actually likes being someone’s boyfriend.
“Oi!” Aoife yells, coming back into the kitchen. “I know this place is called ‘The Love Café,’ but for feck’s sake, keep it down. People are getting suspicious. And clean up this mess.”
Maeve jumps down from the table and grabs a rag, apologizing.
Briggs starts to pick up the cups. “We’re leaving anyway.”
Maeve freezes, her wide eyes penetrating his. “We are?”
He nods, pleased with himself. “I’m taking you to the mainland today.”
Something like panic flashes across Maeve’s face, and she flinches. The café door chimes with more customers, and Aoife gives them another warning look before heading back up front for the morning rush.
“But we have to work,” Maeve says.
“Best part of owning our own pubs, love. We don’t have to request time off. They’ll survive without us for twenty-four hours.”
The Moorings and the Thatch aren’t just surviving, they’re thriving. The Thatch has made more money in the past two months than it did all last summer. As much as Briggs doesn’t want to admit it, Hugh was right about social media. It’s bolstered business exponentially, and with very little effort. Hundreds of times a day, people pose in front of the Instagram wall Briggs painted with hearts in every color of the rainbow. A tribute to his dad. People love it almost as much as they love Maeve’s pierogi. Inishglass is seeing more day-trip visitors than ever before, many of them coming just to take pictures in front of the pubs and buy a T-shirt at one of the local shops, which now carry Team Doherty and Team Murphy souvenirs.
The only downside is the increased attention that Briggs and Maeve receive, which is why he thought she would be excited for a day away from the chaos. But her body seems rigid in a way that he hasn’t seen in weeks.
Maeve wrings her hands. “But how can we get off the island without anyone seeing?”
“Derry offered to take us.”
“Derry?” she says.
“I asked if he’d be willing to take us over on one of his fishing boats. He was more than happy to. In fact, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.” But Briggs’s levity only seems to make Maeve heavier. “What is it, love? You don’t have to worry about the locals. We’re in this together, remember? They’ll keep our secret.”
She picks at her chipped nail polish from girls’ night, weeks ago. “It’s just ... this will be my first time off the island since I arrived.”
Briggs grabs her face, trying to focus Maeve’s scattered attention. “Exactly. We can actually act like a couple. In public. We don’t have to worry about who might see us and take a picture. I can kiss you all I want, wherever I want. Imagine the possibilities.” He nips at her neck and whispers, “Aren’t you sick of this place yet?”
“I don’t know what I am.” Maeve peels away from him and starts to pace. She runs her fingers through her hair, anxiety rolling off her like a wave.
Briggs grabs her by the hips to make her stop. “Talk to me, Maeve.”
She chews on her bottom lip, like she’s tasting the words before she says them. “It’s just ... what if ... what if ... I change?”
He cocks his head. “Change?”
She shows him her fingernails. “This would never happen if I was in Chicago. There are five manicure shops within two blocks of my apartment, Briggs. The second that one of my nails chipped, I would have gone running to one.”
“So?”
“But here ...” She gets her planner out of her bag and shows him the blank pages. “I haven’t written in my planner all week.”
“You’re right,” he says, touching her cheek. “I should have told you about my idea, so you could be prepared. I’m sorry.”
“That’s not it.” She leans into his touch and pinches her eyes closed. “I like who I am here . On the island. But what if it doesn’t last? What if I set foot on the mainland, and the spell breaks, and I go back to the control freak I was?”
“Maeve ...” Briggs rubs a thumb over her cheek. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re still a control freak. Last night, you ordered me a folding board.”
She slaps him on the arm and then holds him close again. Briggs’s entire body sighs. He tries to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that Maeve has a life in the States. They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about her family and friends. She hasn’t mentioned Sonya since their fight. They talk about the future in terms of weeks, not months or years. Briggs doesn’t have the guts to ask her about the long term, but soon he’ll be forced to. For now, he has encased them in a fragile bubble that he knows damn well could break at any second.
“The folding board is gonna change your life,” she says. “I promise.” She buries her nose in his chest, and Briggs savors the warmth of her breath on his heart.
“Does this mean you’ll come with me today? Because I have something special planned.”
She nods in agreement, but a tension remains in the air. “I have something for you, too,” she says, reaching into her bag and retrieving what appears to be a long piece of a mangled sweater, possibly eaten by wild dogs.
Briggs hesitates as she places it in his hands, unsure what he’s supposed to do with it.
“It’s an Aran scarf. I knitted it myself. Well ... kind of. Barb helped me cast on, but then I did the rest. It’s the first thing I’ve ever made. Do you like it?”
Briggs examines its full hideousness. “I love it.” He wraps it around his neck. “I’ve never worn a scarf before.”
“Barb’s going to teach me how to knit hats,” Maeve says proudly. “Any preference on color?”
Briggs shakes his head, his neck already itching from the poky wool. “As long as it’s made by you, I don’t care what color it is.”
By midmorning, Maeve and Briggs are on one of Derry’s fishing boats, headed to the mainland. They stand on deck, enjoying the dry, warm day, though Maeve hugs her arms tightly around herself.
“Are you cold?” Briggs asks, tugging at the creation around his neck. “I have a scarf you can wear if you need it.” Maeve chuckles and shakes her head, her hair tangling around her face, her attention on the island as it disappears. Briggs can tell she’s nervous, so he gets her AirPods out of her bag and says, “I have an idea. Close your eyes.”
Maeve obliges, and he plugs her ears. For a moment, he just stares at her. It hit him the night after Maeve showed up in his bed after girls’ night. Briggs Murphy is in love. He hasn’t been able to say the words, but he feels it in his bones, so much so that it worries him. The emotional walls that he’d built have crumbled, and now he’s completely exposed. When he drives out to the water each morning, he panics about losing her. Then he jumps, reminding himself to let go of it, to prove he can handle whatever might happen. He’s experienced loss before. And when he gets home each morning and finds Maeve in his bed, relief overwhelms him.
He opens Maeve’s music app, finds the song he’s looking for, and presses play. She immediately smiles and opens her eyes as “Shut Up and Dance” begins.
Briggs takes one earbud out. “I’ll be here if you fall.”
Finally, a small smile. Maeve drifts into the song, her eyes closing again. Her shoulders start to move back and forth, her head swiveling, loosening up her muscles, letting the tension go. Months ago, she wouldn’t have dared to dance out in the open, with people around. But now, her knees bouncing, her head bobbing—nothing too overt—Maeve looks freer than the scared American Briggs met that first night.
As the island fades into the distance, Maeve’s phone rings. Her eyes fly open, and she grabs the phone from him, checks the caller ID, and declines the call. The tension is back.
“Who was that?” Briggs asks.
“Spam.” She puts the phone back in her bag and takes the earbuds out. Clearly the call rattled her, and Briggs wants to push her for more information. If she would tell him, maybe he could help. But she wraps her arms around her waist and says, “I’m a little cold. Can we go inside?”
They spend the rest of the ride in the enclosed cockpit with Derry, Maeve too quiet for Briggs’s liking. Once on the mainland, they make a plan with Derry for their return trip later in the day. Briggs rents a car, and they’re ready to start on the road toward Cork.
“Well, you got me off the island,” Maeve says. “Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
Briggs trails his lips up her neck to her ear, and goosebumps form on her skin. “No.”
“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that hideous thing.” Maeve pulls at the scarf around Briggs’s neck.
He swats her hand away. “Hold your tongue. My girlfriend made this for me.”
They stop at a red light. Maeve grabs either end of the scarf and pulls his face to her for a kiss. Briggs growls as her tongue slides along his bottom lip.
“Maybe we should just go to a hotel?” she says against his mouth.
“I didn’t bring you to the mainland so we could hide away in a hotel. Plus, where I’m taking you is better. Now close your eyes. We’re almost there.”
She does as he instructs with a groan, resting her head back on the seat. Fifteen minutes later they pull into a parking lot.
“OK. You can look now,” Briggs says.
Slowly and with a tense face, Maeve opens her eyes. It takes a second to register just where they are, and then she turns to him, mouth wide open.
“Oh my God.” She jumps out of the car and slams the door. Briggs follows, pleased with her reaction. “Oh my God!”
Maeve stands frozen, staring at the Organised Store, filled with every item a person could need to Home Edit a new apartment.
Three weeks ago, when Maeve texted Briggs that she was moving, he thought his heart would give out. The panic squeezed his chest so violently that he lost his breath. When he found her on Liam’s floor, surrounded by gifts, his relief was like a tidal wave.
Since that day, she’s spent hours furnishing Liam’s apartment from hand-me-down items accumulated on the island. She’s taken to the task like she did Stitches and Bitches, making sure everything is coordinated and pleasing, though she refused to let anyone see the place. Then three days ago, she announced that she’s throwing a housewarming party next week, when the place will be done. Like tiny breadcrumbs, Briggs took the news and stacked it with the rest of the evidence he’s silently collected that indicates Maeve isn’t leaving anytime soon.
“You found me a Container Store,” Maeve says. “It’s control-freak heaven.”
“I figured the new place could use some drawer organizers and colorful chip clips.”
She launches herself at Briggs, wrapping her legs around his waist and almost knocking him to the ground. She peppers kisses all over his face before landing one on his lips. “Thank you, Briggs.”
The words “I love you” are on the tip of his tongue, but Briggs restrains himself and simply nods.
She takes his hand and yanks him toward the store. “This is gonna be so much fun!”
Two hours later, their shopping cart is overflowing. Maeve has gone up and down every row, picking out different items for the closets, drawers, bathroom. The store stocks wicker baskets, plastic baskets, racks, storage containers, clips, labels—everything she’ll need to put the final touches on Liam’s place. Watching her shop was everything Briggs had hoped. Her glow has returned. Maeve stands tall, her shoulders back, a captivating smile on her face. He can see her head spinning with ideas, and holy hell, if her joy doesn’t infuse into him. Briggs hates shopping, but today, with Maeve, he’s enjoying watching her scrutinize every item, picking through aisles of boxes that to him all seem the same. But mostly he’s enjoying touching her in public, being her boyfriend in front of people. Briggs Murphy is damn proud he gets to love her.
Maeve reaches up on tiptoes for yet another container, some round spinning contraption, but she can’t reach it. Briggs manages it easily.
“And what the hell is this one, exactly?” he asks, giving it a twirl.
“A lazy Susan. It’s for organizing condiments.” Briggs narrows his eyes, and Maeve snatches it from him. “Don’t even think about using them at the pub. I saw it first.”
Cart full, they line up at the cashier and begin to unload. When they’re halfway through, Maeve stops and examines all that she’s picked out, her bottom lip tucked in her teeth.
“You know what ... I don’t need the lazy Susan.” She reaches to take it back. “Or the pantry canisters. Or a tea storage box. Am I really going to use that? I mean, how much tea does a person need ...”
She starts to put items back in the cart, her joy replaced by anxiety yet again.
Briggs stops her, taking her by the chin. “What is it?” And there goes that bottom lip again, stuck between her teeth. “If you keep chewing that lip, I’m gonna get jealous. That’s my job.”
Maeve grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She glances at the items. “I can’t buy all this.”
“Because you won’t use it?”
“No, I’ll definitely use it. I just ... can’t afford it,” she mumbles.
“I asked you here on a date, Maeve. It’s only right I pay.”
“But—”
He won’t let her refuse him. Instead, Briggs kisses her to stop her from saying anything else, relishing that he can do it in public. Then he starts unloading what she’s put back in the cart onto the checkout counter.
After they’ve loaded everything into the car, Maeve turns to Briggs in the front seat. “What now? Target? Crate and Barrel?”
“Now,” he says, “I show you off to Cork.”
They head to Fitzgerald Park first and spend a few hours walking the grounds, hand in hand, watching people in the gardens. They get brunch at the SpitJack, Briggs’s favorite restaurant in the city, where they both order the SpitJack Classic, a twist on eggs Benedict, and Bloody Marys. (Briggs takes his virgin.) They stroll through the English Market and finally end up at Costigan’s Pub.
“So ...,” Briggs asks as they sip their pints. “Have you enjoyed our first date so far?”
It dawned on him last week that while he and Maeve had spent nearly every day together, they had yet to go on a proper date because, well ... they can’t on the island. Not this time of year.
“I don’t have a lot of experience when it comes to these things, so I’m open to feedback,” Briggs jests. Maeve chuckles, and then her eyes well with tears. Panicked, Briggs reaches for her hand. “What is it, Maeve? Did I mess up somehow?”
“No!” She focuses on her lap.
“Are you not having fun?”
“Today is so perfect, I don’t want it to end,” she says between sobs.
“Then ... why are you crying?”
Maeve fumbles for the right words. “It’s not you ... it’s me. I have to tell you something.”
Briggs takes a breath to calm his racing heart. Every beat echoes in his chest like a drum. She’s going to tell him she’s leaving. That’s what her anxiety has been about all day. Bloody hell, how could he have been so naive?
“Look at me, Maeve,” he pleads. And again, the words “I love you” are on his tongue. But how can he say them now?
Then it’s like she snaps out of whatever trance she was in. “It’s just ... I found out recently that my grandpa is alive.”
Briggs exhales, and he swears his heart does, too. “Bloody hell, Maeve. I thought you were about to tell me something bad.” He relaxes in his seat and waits for her to continue.
“I’m sorry. I thought both of Liam’s parents were dead, but Barb told me my grandpa is actually in a nursing home that specializes in Alzheimer’s. Here in Cork. She and Linda visit him twice a month. Being here, knowing he is, too ... I’ve been thinking about him all day.”
No wonder she’s seemed distracted. Finally, her behavior makes sense.
“I’m well aware he won’t know who I am,” she continues. “Barb said he doesn’t even remember Liam, or that he died, but ... I want to see him, Briggs. Is that crazy?”
“Not crazy.” Briggs touches her cheek, and she leans into his palm. “But why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to ruin our date. You planned it so well, and I didn’t want to mess it all up.”
“I like your mess, remember? But are you absolutely sure you want to do this? You might not like what you see. It might hurt more afterward.”
“I know.” Maeve winces. “But ... I’d rather meet him and deal with the pain than have the regret of wondering what it would have been like. It’s a piece of Liam I actually get to see alive. A piece of ... me.”
Every time Briggs thinks he can’t admire Maeve any more, she says something like that. “You might be the bravest person I know.”
She brushes off the comment. “You jump into ice water every day, and I won’t set foot in a grocery store without a detailed list, or I’ll have a panic attack.”
“That’s complete shite,” Briggs says. “I don’t jump because I’m brave. I jump because I’m scared out of my head, and I hate the feeling. But you ... for all your packing squares and monthly planners and chip clips, you walk into chaos well.”
“Colored pens help.” She smiles.
He returns the grin. “Do you know the name of the place?”
Thanks to Barb, she does. They finish their pints and drive to meet Niall Doherty.
The nursing home is a sprawling property on the outside of Cork, surrounded by mature blooming gardens and pathways that wind around the estate. Patients and visitors stroll the grounds, enjoying the midsummer sun.
At the front desk, Maeve asks about Niall. If she’s nervous, she doesn’t show it. When she introduces herself as his granddaughter, Briggs’s heart squeezes.
“Well, that’s obvious,” the nurse says with a friendly smile. She escorts Maeve and Briggs to Niall’s room.
It’s small, a cross between a hospital room and an apartment. Niall sits in a wheelchair, perched by the window. When the nurse announces that he has a visitor, Niall turns, and Maeve sucks in a breath. Niall has the same crystal-blue eyes as his granddaughter.
They wait to see what will happen next, but Niall just turns back toward the window. The nurse had tried to prepare them for Niall’s failing condition. Communicating is difficult at this stage, she warned, almost nonexistent. And he can’t move much.
“What should I do?” Maeve asks.
“Just sit with him,” the nurse suggests. “He’ll like that.”
Maeve moves toward her grandfather and pulls up a chair. Briggs lingers in the back of the room, giving her space. Before she sits down, she glances back at him. He gives her an encouraging nod.
The nurse leaves them, and for a while nothing is said. Niall and Maeve look out the window at the courtyard.
Maeve finally says, “It’s a nice day outside. Why don’t we take a walk?” She covers Niall in a blanket, his body frail and thin, blue veins lining his hands. She wheels her grandfather through the hallway and out into the courtyard, picking a bench under the shade of a tree. Briggs hangs back, present but not wanting to interfere. They sit in silence, a lost look in Niall’s eyes. The longer they sit, the more evident it is to Briggs that Maeve is struggling. Maybe this really was a bad idea. She was gutted after reading Liam’s letter, and this is no better. Niall can’t give her answers. Can’t tell her stories. Won’t remember that she visited.
But right when Briggs decides it might be best to leave and spare Maeve any more heartache, Niall turns to her. Their eyes meet. He places a hand on Maeve’s and says, “I know you.” He seems to light up, as if snapped out of a trance. Briggs doesn’t dare move.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Maeve whispers, tears already collecting on her cheeks.
Niall smiles at her. “Liam said you might come.”
She gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth. And then as quickly as it happened, Niall’s clarity ends. The veil comes down over his eyes again. Maeve puts her head on his shoulder, tears running down her cheeks, and the two of them sit in silence until a nurse tells them it’s time to head back inside.
Briggs doesn’t say a word when they leave. He didn’t want to interrupt Maeve, but now they’re too late to meet Derry. It would be treacherous to sail back to Inishglass in the dark. They’ll have to wait until the morning.
Now in the car, Maeve says quietly, “Do you think he really knew me?”
Briggs wants to tell her yes, but he can’t lie to her. “I don’t know, love. Maybe.”
She turns to him, emotionally overwhelmed, like the day he found her surrounded by Liam’s presents. Damn it. He wanted today to be a good memory. One they would remember fondly for years to come. And now he can’t even get her back to the island.
But her hand lands gently on his, and a smile slowly grows on her face. “That was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, Briggs. And it’s because of you. Niall may not remember me, but I will never forget this day. It felt like ...” She searches for the right words. “Like Liam was there. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t know him. But I swear I could ... feel him. Do you think that’s possible?”
After Briggs’s father died, he begged for a sign that Joe Murphy hadn’t completely left the Earth. None came. Weeks, months, years went by without even a dream of his father. And then one day, Briggs was walking to the pub and heard his father’s voice. He whipped around, startled, thinking Joe was behind him. He heard the voice again, but he couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t conjured from his own imagination. It was Joe. He’s never told anyone about the experience, and still today, as he tries to describe it to Maeve, it remains inexplicable, mysterious.
“Maybe it really was him,” she says. “And maybe Liam was there today.”
“Maybe.”
She settles back in her seat, seemingly more serene than she’s been all day. “Today was perfect.”
An idea comes to Briggs, and he asks Maeve if she can handle one more adventure. He knows of a place they can sleep tonight.
“One of the best views in the city,” he says.
In Cork city center, they pull up in front of a three-story town house, blue with white-trimmed windows lined with colorful flower boxes. They walk up to the front door, and Maeve looks adorably pinched, fighting her need to know, to plan, to prepare. But right as Briggs is about to open the front door of his mother’s home, Peggy Murphy comes barreling out and almost runs into her son.
“Mum,” Briggs says as he stumbles back.
“Briggs,” Peggy says at the same time. Usually more chaotic, her shoulder-length curly auburn hair is styled. Her face, normally bare, has a touch of light makeup. “What are you doing here?”
Normally, Peggy delights in seeing her son, but tonight, she seems nervous. Something is off. Briggs takes in the scene—her bag, the makeup, the nice clothes. “Are you ... going on a date?”
“Don’t give me that look.” Peggy feigns annoyance. “I’m fifty-seven years old. I don’t need permission from my kids to spend the night with my boyfriend.”
“You’re spending the bloody night? And since when do you have a boyfriend!”
Peggy adjusts the overnight bag on her shoulder. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m not that old. And what the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
Briggs introduces Maeve and explains the situation broadly. Peggy does a terrible job trying to act like she has no idea that Briggs is dating Liam Doherty’s daughter, when he knows damn well that Isla hasn’t missed relaying a single detail.
“So the rumors are true?” Peggy asks with a broad smile. “God, your father would get a kick out of this. Even he couldn’t have seen this one coming.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Murphy,” Maeve says bashfully. When she moves to shake hands, Peggy snatches her into a hug.
“Guest bed is made, and there’s wine in the kitchen,” Peggy says with a wink. “And next time, Briggs, maybe call before you come. For both our sakes.” She adjusts the overnight bag slung over her shoulder, and Briggs cringes at the thought of what his mother will be doing later on.
He knew she dated. Hell, he was happy for her when she finally put herself out there, five years after Joe’s death. But Isla had conveniently forgotten to mention an actual boyfriend, a fact that he plans to bring up with her once he’s back on the island.
But on the bright side, he and Maeve have the house to themselves, not a bad turn of events. He guides her inside. The downstairs has a living room, dining area, and kitchen, all neatly decorated in modern furnishings.
Maeve takes it all in, as if absorbing the first floor one breath at a time. Framed on the fireplace mantel in the living room is the first painting Briggs ever made. She homes in on it immediately.
Briggs scratches the back of his neck as she examines the stick figure of his father. The whole body is painted in yellow, with a sprinkling of brown across the face where Joe’s beard was. A green square serves as a jumper, and for pants Briggs painted two long rectangles of dark blue. The eyes are brown, the lips are red. No nose, those being too hard to paint at five. But his mom’s favorite part is the arm that holds the pint and looks like it grows from Joe’s ribs instead of his shoulder.
Maeve picks up the painting. “This is my new favorite.”
She walks into the kitchen like it’s her own and rummages around the cabinets, pouring a glass of wine for herself and a glass of water for Briggs.
“I’m glad we’re stuck for the night,” she says. “I guess there are advantages to being late ... sometimes.”
They continue the tour, making their way to the second floor where Peggy and Isla have bedrooms. Maeve stops to admire Isla’s shoe collection, and finally heads up to the third level, which boasts a guest bedroom and a terrace. The evening is warm, and Maeve leans on the railing, gazing out at the city around them.
Briggs stands next to her, resting his forearms on the railing, and chances a question he hasn’t dared ask until now. “Do you miss Chicago?”
Maeve nods, and then shakes her head, and then shrugs. “I don’t know. I miss Chicago like you miss your dad. I miss how I used to love it.”
That he understands.
Maeve takes a sip of wine, the setting sun making her skin glow and her eyes sparkle. Seeing her like that, radiant in the fading light, has Briggs’s fingers itching to capture the moment on canvas. “Don’t move,” he says, disappearing inside to search for art supplies. When he comes back, Maeve is right where he left her. She laughs at the markers and construction paper in his hands, art supplies lying around for when his nieces come into town.
Briggs shrugs. “It was all I could find.”
He gets to work drawing her in the dimming light. His attention roams every inch of her, taking in her curves, her legs, her lips. Maeve is the most relaxed she’s been all day.
When he’s done, Briggs hands her the drawing. The laughter that booms from the back of her throat echoes across all of Cork.
The stick figure has long brown hair, red lips, and blue eyes. One arm juts out from her ribs, holding a glass of wine. “Like I said,” Briggs teases. “I don’t do portraits often, but I think this one’s pretty damn close.”
Maeve throws herself at him, nuzzling her face in the nook of his neck. “I’ll cherish it forever,” she whispers.
Finally, the words that have been building up all day gush out. “I love you, Maeve.”
Maeve lets go of him. “What?”
He’s surprisingly calm when he repeats the words. “I love you. I’m not asking you to say it back. I just need you to know how I feel.”
Maeve blinks, her eyes wide, as if calibrating what he’s just said. “Thanks for telling me,” she says casually, as if he just told her he wanted Indian food for dinner.
They stare at each other, gobsmacked, and then burst out laughing. Briggs grabs her around the waist and throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Well, this deserves a proper fucking.”
He lays her down on the guest bed and strips her clothes off as she giggles. How he lasted all day without licking her from top to bottom seems unfathomable now that she’s naked before him. His tongue teases the softness between her legs as he slides his fingers inside her. Her back arches, her breath catches, and every time she says his name, he grows harder, knowing she wants him. And now that he’s told her how he feels about her, Briggs feels more like himself than ever before. Like his love for Maeve fills in for his shortcomings and makes him a better person.
“I’m going to do this to you for as long as you’ll have me,” he says, and they both gasp in relief as he slides inside her. She grinds her hips into his, panting his name, pulling him closer. “This is just the beginning of our story, Maeve, but if my heart gives out tomorrow, at least I know that every last beat of it went into loving you.”
He ignores the hiccup in his chest at his own words. The tightness that, over the past few weeks, has gotten worse. The fact that walking up the three flights of stairs earlier made his head light and his vision speckle with stars. And as they unravel together, Briggs says a little prayer, asking for more time and yet knowing prayers like those usually go unanswered.