Chapter Thirteen
Aidan
“Is Cara’s grandma always that way?”
“Sometimes.” I hold the door to the floral shop open for June. “She has her moments.”
Stepping inside from the dreary, drizzly car park, I see what Dorothy must have experienced when she landed in Oz. Brilliant blooming petals in every shade of the rainbow adorn the room from top to bottom. The scene is a carnival of flowers, and I’ve never seen so many in so many hues before. June gravitates toward a waterfall of blossoms, which she touches with the tips of her fingers before bringing her nose close for a sniff.
“Her gran can be kind when she wants to be. She’s struggled to wrap her head around the marriage, though.”
“I can’t believe she treats Cara like that. Her own grandkid. And Evvie doesn’t care what she says?”
“Don’t blame Evvie for any of this,” I say, coming to her defense. “That Cara’s gran came today is a win.”
June cocks an eyebrow to tell me she isn’t entirely convinced, but I shouldn’t be the one to explain the intricacies of the O’Shea family dynamics. She’ll have to trust that Cara and her mam know how to best handle Granny.
“Afternoon,” a delicate voice jingles from somewhere behind a heap of bouquets. “How may I assist you?”
A thin middle-aged man with slicked-back silver hair appears. He wears crisply pressed trousers, a white-as-snow shirt, and a smart-looking waistcoat. A shiny silver pocket watch rests in his breast pocket.
“I’m here to buy a bouquet,” I say.
“Certainly. For what occasion?”
“Just for my mam. She likes ’em.”
The gentleman’s mouth drops open like that’s the most touching thing he’s heard all day. Truthfully, I regret missing brunch with her, so the flowers are for when I stop by later. Sometimes, I’ve no idea what to talk to my mam about, and I never know what her mood will be like when I show up. I have to monitor everything I say or do because she’ll break down into sobs at the simplest things. She insists it’s not my fault, just that she’s sad, but I wish I had a way to make her not sad. At least less sad. So showing up to the house with a bouquet might cheer her up. The gesture is, at the same time, the least I can do and the only thing I can do.
The phone at the shop rings and the florist excuses himself, encouraging us to stroll down the aisles and see what stands out.
“What flowers does she like?” June asks, wrapping her palms around something that looks similar to a tulip.
“Peonies. Her gran had a peony bush in her garden, and my mam told me that the scent takes her back to balmy summer days as a four-year-old. No clue if they’re in season.”
“Not this time of year. Dahlias have a similar petal structure, though, so maybe these would work?” She holds up a few pinkish flowers from a bucket, water dripping off the ends of the green stems. “We’ll pair them with something that drapes a little, like sweet peas,” June goes on, her eyes darting around the room to find precisely what she has in mind. In this wonderland of florals, she knows just what to look for. “My grandmother had a small garden in her backyard,” June says, answering the question that must be clear on my face.
“Ah. That’s why you seem so at home.”
I’ve witnessed June adapt to every new situation that she’s encountered since arriving, but I like seeing her more comfortable. Like her defense has come down a bit.
“That was her peaceful place. Her one peaceful place. My grandma put love into her garden and could almost guarantee she’d get something good out of it.” She pauses, her fingers trailing down some more flower stems. I’d listen to more about her past if she wanted to share. More about everything. “Sometimes I’d spend time with her there. Help out. She seemed lighter after an afternoon of gardening. Made life at home easier.”
“Goodness, Dan? Is that you?”
A familiar voice brings my attention away from the tenderness in June’s face to the store entrance. Mary stands there with her mouth open in surprise.
“Hi.” I’d love to rewind the last five minutes and pick any other flower shop to walk into—maybe one that doesn’t have my ex in it. “You’re…you’re here.”
“I am.” She laughs a little. “Oh, don’t be so shocked. I was bound to run into you sometime when visiting home. Here for the weekend.”
“Right.”
I don’t want to look at June and see the pity in her eyes as she watches this unfold.
“How’s the form?” Mary hops to adjust the teal handbag on her shoulder, her blond locks cascading down longer than I remember. “You doing all right?”
“Can’t complain. I’m, uh, buying some flowers for Mam.”
“Oh, how’s she?”
“Grand. Grand. Everything’s—she’s at home and well.”
“Lovely. That’s good.”
A Colin Farrell look-alike swoops in and throws an arm around her waist.
“Heath,” she says to him, “This is Aidan. Dan, this is Heath, my boyfriend.”
“Good to meet you.” Heath holds out his hand for a hearty shake. “Mare’s told me a lot about you.”
“Hi!” June interrupts my morose thoughts with an exceptionally bright tone of voice and a subtle glance my way that inquires, This is the Mary?
I nod in return.
“Mary, Heath, this is Juniper. June. She’s come into town…well, she’s visiting, but—with Cara’s wedding, she—” June stands next to me through my excruciating rambling, and as I’m about to excuse myself to go scream, she steps in.
“I’m Aidan’s girlfriend.”
The proclamation pours out of her mouth, stunning me. Another subtle glance from her says Play along , and I’m too floored to do otherwise. The whole charade feels unnecessary considering I’m happy to have Mary out of my life and don’t need a new partner to prove that point.
Although seeing Mary’s pure and poorly hidden shock does give me a dose of satisfaction.
“Girlfriend,” I say, as if testing the word out. “Right. June is my girlfriend.”
We look nothing like a couple, though, with such a wide gap between us. June and I scuttle toward one another—she steps closer and I loop my arm around her. The sensation of our bodies pressed side by side jolts my senses. She fits me like we’re two statues carved from the same stone. And does the shop smell like honeysuckle, or does June?
As the four of us talk with an abundance of politeness about the wedding, their weekend plans, and general catch-up, June melds into me more and more. Her presence gives me a kind of courage, helping me realize that after all Mary and I went through—after all Mary put me through—the bitterness about our relationship has dried up.
And more than that, I notice that standing by June is the most natural thing. When she tilts her head onto my chest—the act alone knocks the breath out of me. Our eyes meet, and I’m compelled to lean down and kiss her cupid’s bow lips. I wouldn’t—shouldn’t—so I calm that impulse by tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin against my fingertips sends every synapse off in my brain, and for a second, nothing around us exists. Not Mary and Heath, not the store, and not the classical music playing on the radio.
Her eyes track my fingers, and for a flash, I fear that I’ve taken the ruse too far. But the moment passes, and the corner of her mouth tilts up in a fragile smile.
“Sorry for the wait.” The florist reappears and breaks the spell between us. June pulls away. “Have you decided what you’d like to get? I can assist you with assembly.”
“Yes,” June says. “We picked out a few.”
“I can help.”
“No, don’t worry.” She places a swift kiss on my cheek before bounding away without a backward glance. “Stay here and talk some more, babe.”
Mary and Heath continue chatting, but I only partially listen as I replay what just happened over and over in my head.
The knowledge of what June’s body feels like, up close and personal, makes me crave more of what I can’t have. As we climb into the car, I dream of reaching across the center console and pulling her face to mine—to find out just what those lips taste like. Those lips that should remain off-limits.
Those lips that were on my cheek only moments prior.
“You didn’t need to do that.” I turn the key in the ignition. “When word gets to Mrs. Abernathy, she’ll be all over with the news.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You just looked kind of panicky, so I said the first thing that popped into my head.”
Panicky. She means I looked like a total eejit.
“No worries,” I say. “Haven’t seen her since the breakup, so in a way, I’m glad I got that done. We were going to run into each other at some point, since our families are from the same area.”
“Small town.”
“Everyone’s your bodega guy.” My callback to one of our first conversations causes her to chuckle, and the sound eases some of the tension in the car. “Sometimes…sometimes I get tongue-tied,” I confess quietly. “I’m a bit embarrassed you saw me like that.”
“What? No. From what you said, Mary was super shitty to you. And you don’t plan to get back together with her, so…I mean, do you?”
“No.” I can’t emphasize that any quicker. “We’re done. We’ve been done, and I’ve moved on.”
“So you showed her that.”
June looks at me long enough that I can admire the streaks of golden honey in her brown eyes. She shivers, so I turn the dial to get some heat going.
“You’re a, uh, you’re a very skilled actor,” I say.
“ Moi ? Please, you were the one who was all…you know.”
“What?”
“Like getting close to me and stuff,” she says as her hand gestures back and forth between us. “If anyone gets an Academy Award here, it’s you.”
The creases at the corners of her mouth are flirtatious little hooks that reel me in. I stumble over my words again, and through the mishmash of thoughts, I insist that she leaned into me and not the other way around—a fact she vehemently denies.
“No, you scooted over and put your arm on me, and you pushed my hair back,” June says as she recreates the scene on her own. “And you did the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing . The look .”
“You’re mad.”
“Come on.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”
Except I do. I know what she means because I’m pretty sure the same one was on her face too. One of longing, desire. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to see that look on her face again.
“You kissed me.”
“On the cheek. That doesn’t count.”
“Sure, but still.” A chaste peck on the cheek—of course it doesn’t count. What am I, twelve? “We can stop the act, though.”
“She almost fell over when you introduced me.”
I smirk in satisfaction. To have the awareness in my heart that I don’t regret the breakup with Mary is savory knowledge—for Mary to know that too, well, that tasted sweet. “We were together a long time.” I fiddle with the radio dial to find a station not playing commercials. “Most of my twenties.”
“I’ve run into guys before. Like in public, sometime after…” She breaks eye contact, but the masochist in me wants her to keep going. What type of men does June find attractive? Does she have a type? I shake the thought out of my head.
“Sometimes it’s weird,” she continues. “Not years-and-years-of-history-together kind of weird, though.”
“Bet you handled it better than I did,” I joke, using self-deprecating humor as a crutch.
“You were great. Very suave.”
“ Suave ?”
“You were.”
“Some people may disagree with that. Most people, actually.”
“Well then, most people are wrong.”
June says this like it’s a fact she can prove from a textbook, and I’m too chuffed to argue with her.
We head back to Ballygrá with faint rock tunes from the ’70s on the radio. Even though we’ve driven all over the place, even to Dublin and back, June keeps her eyes glued out the window. She seems fascinated by the small farms with herds of sheep trotting around and the lazy towns that we pass through. Cara mentioned that this is June’s first time out of the country, and I enjoyed showing her some of Ireland. She’ll go home a few days after the wedding—it’s a shame I can’t show her more than Ballygrá and a bit of the capital.
Best that she’ll be gone soon, though. June’s already got my mind all mixed up, and she’s only been here a week.
“We’ve checked off a lot of Cara’s to-dos on here.” June holds the list in her lap and crosses off the tasks we completed. “This all seems very doable by Saturday.”
“Most of what’s left are miscellaneous jobs about town.” I still have to pick up my tux, Thursday we have the hen party, and Friday marks the first of the wedding festivities. “I should sort out my speech by tomorrow too.”
“Sure you don’t want to give one for the both of us?”
I glance at her. While her voice is light and humorous, her expression gives away some worry.
“You’ll do great. Standing up in front of a few hundred strangers isn’t my idea of a Saturday night. But you’re outgoing, and…” Charming. “You make easy conversation with everyone you’ve met here.”
“I feel like…” She trails off and worries her bottom lip.
“What?”
“A fraud.” We pull into my driveway, and concern has worked its way into her brows as she unfastens her seatbelt. “I would hate for Cara to regret this choice. To realize I shouldn’t have given a speech in front of all of her family and friends.”
“There’ll be plenty to drink, so even if you make a fool of yourself, half the people there will be too pissed to remember a thing.”
Her laugh fills up the car, and that dire concern seems to lessen. “Thanks.” June sighs, resigned, and opens the door, but she halts before exiting. “Maybe you could help me?”
“How?”
“Well,” she says, “since you refuse to do my speech for me—which, okay, fair—could we at least talk about them? Together?”
The cool air from outside the car sends a chill down my spine. “Not a bad idea. If we’re both speaking, we should make sure they match up.”
“Yeah, they should complement each other.”
“Exactly. In that case, think about what you might say, and gather your thoughts. Then you can run ideas by me and give it a practice go. How’s that sound?”
“Amazing. Thank you. Seriously.”
I tell myself that my motives are entirely selfless and that I can’t have June going into the wedding reception unprepared. But the way June’s gratitude sets sparks off in my chest tells me otherwise.