Chapter 6 Natalie #3
He nods. “Yep, she told me to list the cottage she’s lived in for three years, because the smell, quote, ‘reminds her of the aunt she hated.’”
“Did you ask her why it suddenly bothers her now?”
“Of course I did!” Cillian smiles. “Apparently her aunt died, and she’s convinced that she’s haunting the place, making it smell like menthol.”
“No way.”
He shrugs. “She’s one of my best clients. Never lived in the same place more than three years.”
I’m having an idea. “And she always sells the first place and buys the next through you?”
“Yep, has for almost twenty years now.”
“Single?”
“Does it matter?” He frowns.
“I’m just wondering if she’s ever flirted with you.” I can’t help it. I have my suspicions.
“She’s almost sixty.”
“A girl can dream,” I say.
He laughs. “No way.” His brow furrows again. “Though, she is pretty well-off, and I wouldn’t put it past her to use me to buy or sell because she’s bored. The designer she uses to redecorate is an old friend of mine, and he’s pretty good-looking, too.”
“I knew it,” I say.
“But he’s as unavailable as I am,” he says. “Maybe more.”
“Why?” I ask.
“He’s not keen on women.” He’s smirking now. “So she’d have two things working against her—age, and her gender.”
The rest of the dinner is just as light and fun.
He regales me with lots of other clients like Maude, and I tell him about some of our more interesting guests.
Even though things do improve, I expect this will be our one and only date.
We’re just too different, and we clearly value different things.
After we finish our pizza, I grab my purse, ready to be driven home in semi-awkwardness.
“Alright, so I wasn’t sure what kind of girl you are, but I’m guessing you’re the kind who says yes to dessert. . .” His voice goes up at the end, like he’s worried he’ll offend me.
I laugh. “You might think that Samantha rarely says yes, with as thin as she is, but actually all three of us Americans-turned-Irish residents are hearty yeses when it comes to dessert.”
He smiles. “Then you are going to love this. Usually they’ve closed by now, but I told the proprietor at Vinilo Bakery that if they opened today, and if he met me over there himself, we might have a partnership-in-the-making that could benefit both of you.”
“Vinilo?”
“They close in September, or right around there, and during the off-season, they stay closed. They reopen around March, but Natalie, you will love their pastries.” He shrugs.
“And you were saying you wanted someone who could make breakfasts easier at your place. I thought you guys might be able to help each other.”
“That was. . .” We round the corner, and the cutest little bakery I can’t believe I never noticed appears. Vinilo. A sign in the window says: Closed until spring.
“You were saying. It was. . .?” The bemused look on Cillian’s face is pretty cute.
“This is a surprisingly thoughtful thing to do.”
“I may not have had any kids, but I’m still a pretty thoughtful guy, when I can stop worrying only about myself for five minutes.” He frowns. “And I might point out that your ex, from what little I’ve heard, has kids, but he’s not very thoughtful.”
I might have been a little unfair.
Maybe I was even monstrously unfair.
“You’re right,” I say. “And I should apologize. I definitely had no right to imply that you’re selfish or self-centered or thoughtless just because you don’t have kids.
” My shoulders droop. “Look, I take back everything I said. It was stupid. But with regard to myself only, I had gotten pretty selfish and self-centered before I had kids, and I don’t regret losing myself in serving them.
It’s been the best thing I’ve ever done, but I’m very sorry for implying that it’s the only way to be good, or that you can’t be amazing without having kids to make you that way. ”
“Cillian!” A man wearing a black apron opens the door. His hair’s pulled back into a ponytail that’s liberally streaked with grey. A bell jingles faintly. “You made it.” He turns toward me. “And you must be. . .” He squints. “Ah, I see why you like her so much.” He winks at Cillian.
“He doesn’t like me that much right now,” I say. “We were loitering outside, because I just said something stupid, and I’m waiting to see whether he’ll forgive me.”
The man takes three ground-eating strides and claps a hand on Cillian’s shoulder. “He’ll forgive you. There’s no one in Lismore who says more dumb things than me, and we’ve been friends for three decades and counting.”
“She’s also much prettier, and she apologizes much better than you do.
I forgave her as soon as she started talking.
” Cillian steps forward and pushes the door open again.
“Come on in, and you’ll see why I’ve forgiven Gabriel so many times over the years.
” He says his friend’s name the French way, Gab-ree-el.
“When did you meet?” I ask.
“My mother dragged me to tiny little Lismore in secondary school,” Gabriel says. “I hated it all four years.” His smile’s sly. “I left as soon as I could.”
“But then Gabriel discovered the one thing Paris didn’t need more of. . .” Cillian’s chuckle is hearty. “Pastry chefs.”
“Shut up, dodger.” Gabriel’s smiling though, and they interact casually, like they’ve been ribbing each other for decades. “The truth is that I don’t like working quite as hard as I’d have had to work in Paris, and Lismore gives me a much slower off-season. I enjoy it.”
“But he also needs to make rent, so. . .” Cillian opens his hands, showcasing a glass case full of the most beautiful pastries I have ever seen outside of the girls’ trip we took to Paris.
Pear and cheese tarts. Chocolate and pistachio swirls.
Bear claws that I’m sure they have some fancier name for here in Europe, fruit tarts, tiny cheesecakes, brownies, chocolate croissants dusted with powdered sugar, almond croissants, and tiny cakes that are bigger than a petit four, but somehow smaller than a cupcake.
“These all look amazing.”
“They taste even better.” Cillian smiles. “I hope you’re not on a diet.”
I pat my stomach. “I should be, but it never seems to take.”
Gabriel smiles. “And that’s another thing I love. French women are always watching what they eat. I can’t seem to find one that appreciates me without stressing over it.” He winks at me. “Cillian better treat you well, because we appreciate curvy Americans here.”
I swat his shoulder. “Stop.”
Cillian steps closer to Gabriel and puffs up his chest. “Flirting right in front of me? French people are outrageous.”
“But no one questions our taste,” Gabriel says.
“How many times did you say your nose has been broken in bars?” Cillian arches an eyebrow.
Gabriel starts laughing, thank goodness.
About three pastries in, I’m grateful that they both appreciate a woman with an appetite. “Well, Gabriel, I did like Cillian, but now. . .” I smile. “You may have lured me away?”
He laughs.
“But seriously,” I say, “we do have a lot to talk about. I’d love to chat about ways we could partner.”
“Not tonight,” he says. “Tonight’s your first date with my finest friend, and he’s been talking about you for a while. I’ll come by the hotel in the morning.”
“Perfect,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll have even more ideas by then.”
Gabriel packs a box of pastries for me to take so Sam and Vanessa can try them, too.
After we leave, Cillian says, “I have a few more people to introduce you to, local vendors we could work with for the Halloween party and maybe beyond.”
“We?” My eyebrows pop up.
“Well, you.” His cheeks actually flush. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You’ve been helping me for a long time now.
” I think about how helpful he was in navigating all the international complications when we bought Fortwilliam, and how he helped when we moved, getting my business license and navigating the approvals.
Finding contractors for remodels and repairs.
Negotiating with the insurance company. The list goes on and on. “I really appreciate it.”
We’re back to where he parked his car. He opens the door for me, but once he’s seated, instead of starting the car, he spins to face me.
“Look, I know you and I—we’re very different.
Your life revolves around your children.
Mine obviously doesn’t. At first, I thought that would be a deal-breaker, and maybe it will be in the end.
But I like the kind of person it’s made you, and I want to be around you.
So if you don’t think I’m so selfish that you feel differently. . .I’d like to take you out again.”
I sigh. “Cillian.”
“I don’t mean that in an argumentative way. I mean it in the nicest way possible. I know your life and mine may not fit easily together, but sometimes things that aren’t obvious are nonetheless still beautiful.”
I think that we’re probably wasting time.
But maybe, just maybe, he might be right. “Alright,” I say. “Another date won’t kill either of us.”
He’s laughing as he pulls out onto the not-at-all-busy off-season road of Lismore and starts to drive me home. I suppose that’s a good sign, at least.