Chapter One
“The wait is gonna be about forty-five minutes,” the girl said, staring down at a spreadsheet on the small podium. She didn’t seem at all sorry about it.
“So, you wanna wait, or go someplace else?” Fred turned to his dinner date, Marissa.
“I guess we can wait,” Marissa told him, checking her watch. “It’s seven o’clock on Friday. Every other restaurant will be packed, too.”
“Alright. You can put us down, two for dinner then,” Fred told the hostess.
While Fred made the dinner reservation, Marissa wandered into the bar section to see if there were any empty stools they could use while they waited for a table. She got lucky when she spotted two people getting up to leave and hurried over to the far end of the bar to stake her place.
The room was packed with hungry people waiting to eat, their voices raised to overcome the loud stereo system. Marissa thought about how she would rather be home in her pajamas, but Fred had been her best friend since junior high, and while he was only in town for the weekend, she had to grab as much time with him as she could.
“If I knew I was gonna get felt up this much, I would've come to The Stampede Steakhouse a long time ago!” Fred appeared, laughing as he tried to push his tall, lanky frame through the crowd.
“Make sure you still have your wallet,” Marissa replied sarcastically, moving her purse off the stool she was saving for him.
Fred laughed. “Everybody and their brother must be here for dinner.” He climbed up on the stool and looked at Marissa. “Come here often?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, only when I want to get felt up,” she replied with an arched eyebrow.
“Sorry, sister. These hands are reserved for Mr. Right. Or Mr. Tonight, depending on who's around.” Fred stretched his neck to get a good look at the people crowding the bar.
Marissa laughed, knowing that Fred was all talk. They lapsed into a conversation of half-heard sentences that only close friends could understand. They had known each other since the ninth grade, which meant they had basically grown up together. They had supported each other through dozens of failed relationships (including one failed marriage on Marissa’s part and one disastrous almost-marriage on Fred’s), college and several careers, the deaths of each other’s parents, and they still managed to talk on the phone at least every other day since Fred’s move out of state ten years ago.
“So how is school going? Are you still having trouble with that one professor?” Fred asked her.
She took a long sip of her margarita. “No, she hasn’t given me any more trouble. She is just so condescending.” Marissa was currently studying for her Master’s in Mythology and Folklore at Sunshine Coast University. Going back to school for her master’s at age forty-six was a big decision, but Fred had been nothing but supportive.
Marissa leaned forward to reach a pile of napkins and noticed a man at the other end of the bar. They made brief eye contact, and he smiled. She smiled back and looked away. The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. His thick, shiny, midnight-black hair, just a little past his collar, was brushed back away from his face. He had blue eyes — bedroom eyes some people might call them — heavy-lidded like he had just woken from a great dream, or was dreaming of things yet to be, and high cheekbones. His nose was strong and straight, his lips full. He had a square jaw, with a dimple in his chin which was covered in five o’clock shadow. He wore small gold earrings in both ears, adding a bohemian flair to the mix. The whole thing made quite a sexy picture, and Marissa fantasized that there was something about him that seemed European, but she couldn’t tell exactly what. When she tried to sneak another peek at him a few minutes later, he was still looking her way. She smiled again and nodded, not actually knowing the etiquette for that situation. In her forty-six years, Marissa had never been picked up at a bar. Under his gaze, she became self-conscious (she had never learned to flirt) and focused her attention back to Fred.
“So, are you sure you have to head back to Virginia on Sunday?” she asked. “Next week the Players-on-the-Marsh are mounting a production of Twelfth Night. We could get tickets to the dress rehearsal on Wednesday.”
“Awww…I hate to miss that. Who’s directing, do you know?” Fred and Marissa had graduated from the Hartley High School of Performing Arts, both of them theatre majors. For Marissa it had just been for fun, but Fred had become quite active in the theatre scene, acting with several different local troupes. Now he was teaching at a performing arts school in Langley, Virginia.
“I think Noel Jennings is the director this year,” she told him.
“Noel? God, he is a hack! Did I tell you the story about how he ruined our production of Neil Simon’s Plaza Suite…”
Yes, Fred had told her the story one hundred times, even though she had lived through it contemporaneously.
Thankfully, the hostess arrived to interrupt before Fred could launch into his diatribe against Noel Jennings. Marissa gathered her purse and jacket, and followed the hostess out of the bar, not daring to take one last look at the handsome stranger.
* * *
The restaurant itself was much quieter and cooler, but no less crowded. Because they were a party of two, the hostess sat them at a small table rather than a booth, and the tables were barely spaced far enough apart for the servers to walk between them.
After they had given their orders to the waitress and received some bread and another round of drinks in return, Fred whispered conspiratorially, “Hey, did you see that totally hot guy that was eyeing me at the bar?”
“No,” Marissa told him, “But I saw the gorgeous guy that was smiling at me in the bar.”
“Really?” Fred said, “You got one too? Mine was sitting at the other end, with the dark hair and the stubble?”
Marissa smiled. “Mine was at the other end, too. With the leather jacket and the gold hoop earrings.” She waited for Fred to put two-and-two together.
“But my guy had on a leather jacket, too. And he was wearing earrings……Hey! Wait a minute--"
Marissa laughed.
“No, he was truly checking me out,” Fred said.
“I don’t think so, Fred. I made eye contact with him a few times and he smiled at me.”
“Oh, he was probably just hoping you would introduce him to me. I’m sorry, Mars, that guy was unquestionably into me,” Fred pronounced.
“Sorry, Freddie, he was definitely not gay,” she said, “He was watching me.”
He sighed. “How many times do we have to go through this? I can tell…”
“Fred, you have the worst gay-dar I have ever seen in a gay man. How many times have you been wrong?” Fred rolled his eyes and started to object. “But I'll tell you what,” she stalled him. “Even If he did want me, I want no part of it. He's all yours to woo to your heart’s content.”
“Fair.” Fred agreed. “Wait, why would you bow out?”
“Because, Fred. That part of my life is over, I’m not really interested in dating anybody.” She picked at a napkin on the table.
“That’s the stupidest thing you have ever said,” Fred told her flatly. “Why would you say that? You are in your prime. Unbutton that sweater a little. Let the girls get some air.” He reached over the table, towards the top buttons on her sweater.
“Would you stop?” she leaned away, out of his reach. “After age forty, the fantasy of a lover is more fun than the actual work involved in getting one. I am just past all that, that’s all.”
“Mars, please tell me you’re joking. You are forty-six, not dead. You don’t need a man to complete your life, but you shouldn’t rule out the possibility of romance.”
“I just don’t think I can go through it again, Fred. All the drama, all the heartbreak. It’s too much for me. I’m done.”
Fred sighed. “It breaks my heart to hear you talk this way. It doesn’t have to be all drama and heartbreak. You’ve just fallen in with too many jackasses who didn’t know how to treat you. Don’t give up on love just yet.”
Marissa knew he was right. She had fallen in with some jackasses. She wanted to believe in the Cinderella story — that one day her Prince would come. But that was a fairy tale. The reality was that men were either looking for a substitute mother, or just another notch to add to their bedposts. She took a long drink from her third margarita. “I wish I could be more like you, Fred. More outgoing and adventurous.”
“Promise me this, Mars, promise me that you’ll give it another try. Just one more try before you give up and pack it all in. Please?”
Fred was serious and she knew it. “What do you want me to do? Put up a personal ad? Match.com? Tinder?” she asked him. “How about ourtime.com, the dating site for the wrinklies?” she giggled. The very thought was ridiculous.
“No. Not unless you want to,” he winked at her. “But just promise that if something comes up, you’ll stay open to the possibility.”
“Alright, Fred. I promise.” It was probably the tequila talking. Besides, she knew she would never have to live up to her promise. There were no prospects on the horizon.
Their appetizers arrived at about the same time that a busboy was clearing the table next to them. As Marissa was taking a bite out of a rather large stuffed mushroom, she looked up to see the hostess leading two men to the next table. It was their guy and his male dinner companion. Marissa almost choked on her mushroom cap; she tried to play it off with a petite cough.
“Geez, Mars, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a dry throat, that’s all,” she took another long drink. “Is it warm in here to you?” She pulled at the neck of her sweater.
“No, I’m fine,” Fred told her, still not noticing who was sitting three feet away.
Marissa picked up the dessert menu and pretended to be engrossed by it, while she tried to get a good look at the sexy stranger’s date. There wasn’t anything remarkable about him. He was probably her age, a little paunchy and balding. Perhaps moderately attractive, she assessed. He certainly didn’t dress for the occasion. He was wearing jeans and man-sandals. With socks. Marissa wondered how a middle-aged man who wore socks with his sandals could attract such a hunk?
Meanwhile, the sexy bohemian was wearing a dusty-blue silk shirt (which made his eyes sparkle) untucked, with black jeans, and black leather boots. She couldn’t help but notice his big, strong hands as he picked up the menu. He had long fingers that tapered on the ends into clean short nails that were so perfect they had to be manicured. I guess maybe he is gay, she thought.
A round of coughing from Fred’s side of the table alerted her that he had just noticed who was sitting next to him. “Oh, Fred, are you okay?” she asked sweetly.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he rasped. “There must be some dust in here or something…”
Marissa smiled at him knowingly, perversely enjoying his discomfort, since she had experienced it herself just a few moments ago.
“Did I tell you I broke up with David?” Fred asked in a complete non-sequitur. His voice was just a few decibels louder than normal conversation levels, and in the quiet room it seemed to reverberate.
“David? Who? I don’t remember a David. And why are you yelling?” Marissa said, confused. She unconsciously kept her voice low to compensate for Fred’s volume.
“Of course you remember David. The guy I met at the airport? The one I have been dating for the past three months?” He looked at her pointedly, willing her to understand.
She did. There was no guy from the airport. David was a fiction, and the story was meant solely for the alluring golden ears three feet away. Fred had just announced that he was single, and gay, for all the world to hear. Marissa’s embarrassment bloomed. Not because her best friend was gay, of course, but because he was talking loudly in a crowded restaurant, calling attention to himself and, by extension, to her. This was a game they would have played in their twenties, but was it appropriate now, when they were closer to Medicare than to high school?
“Oh! That David,” she replied quietly. Embarrassed or not, she didn’t want to mess up Fred’s chances if the guy was interested. She would take the bullet for her friend if she had to. She would play his wingman. “I’m sorry you guys broke up, but I didn’t like him much anyway. See how forgettable he is? I had already forgotten his name.”
Fred flashed her a grateful smile. “What about you?” he continued in voce forte, “Are you seeing anyone new?”
“No, no one special,” she told him. “I’ve been busy with school.” ‘I am a full-time student’ was her go-to mantra to cover the fact that she was unemployed and boring.
“Well, don’t worry, once you’ve finished your degree, you’ll be back to fighting the boys off with a stick,” Fred said, enjoying his fabricated reality.
Thankfully, the salads arrived, which gave Marissa something to concentrate on. She silently mused on the situation. She had always been shy. Maturity had cured her of that somewhat, but she still found herself uncomfortable around men she was attracted to. Time had not been able to amend her slight inferiority complex when it came to physical beauty. If anything, the years had magnified it. She was average, she acknowledged. Her soft brown hair had blonde highlights and hung down to the middle of her back, heavily layered to frame her heart-shaped face. She had overly large blue eyes that seemed to change colors with her mood. In her opinion her nose was too big, and her smile kind of lop-sided, but at least her skin was smooth. She was currently waging battle against fine lines that wanted to creep up around her eyes, and she was engaged in a turf war against the grays, but she had Estée Lauder and Miss Clairol in her army. Her body was average. She had always been big breasted, which was great during her twenties, but lately she was beginning to see the downside of a large chest exposed to gravity. Fred would have told her (and had told her, on many occasions) that she was too hard on herself, that she was beautiful and to just embrace it. But being in the crosshairs of a sultry stranger (gay or straight) with shoulders as broad as the Blue Ridge Mountains, brought all of her insecurities to the forefront. She hadn’t looked over at him since he had sat down at the table next to hers, but she could feel his attention on her, whether Fred was willing to admit it or not.
Her brooding was interrupted by another inappropriately loud voice, this time coming from Man-Sandals at the next table.
“I’m glad you made the trip over to the States, Finnian. I have always wanted to meet some of my Irish cousins.”
Cousin?! Both Fred and Marissa picked up on that and glanced at each other.
Finnian’s cousin continued, “It’s too bad my wife couldn’t join us for dinner. She could have brought one of her pretty friends to fix you up with. She knows lots of single ladies from her office.”
Fred’s face fell. Marissa’s semi-drunken spirit soared. She knew he wasn’t gay! They both strained their ears to hear what information would be revealed next.
Finnian replied in an Irish accent, lowering his voice instinctively the way Marissa had lowered hers, “It’s sorry I am that Betty couldn’t be joinin’ us, but don’ be goin’ to no trouble fixin’ me up. My visit here will only be for a few months, won’t it?”
His voice was like honey. Thick with rolling r’s and soft o’s that he wrapped his beautiful lips around, and golden deep tones. Images of gentle rain falling on rolling green hills filled Marissa’s head. She didn’t even realize she was gazing at his mouth until she saw the flash of white teeth exposed by his smile. She looked up into his eyes, feeling guilty at being caught.
He smiled at her, looked over in the direction of the bar and then back at her with slightly raised eyebrows.
Is he asking me to go meet him in the bar? she wondered. She wasn’t expecting to be forced to keep her promise to Fred this soon. She glanced toward the bar and then back at Finnian. He was still gazing at her with a question and an invitation plainly written on his face.
A millisecond of blind panic and indecision and then, “Oh no! Fred, I think I left my cell phone at the bar! I’d better go look.”
“I don’t remember you having your phone out at the bar,” Fred told her, “Maybe it is in my car.”
“No. No, I definitely had it in my hand when I was sitting at the bar. I’ll be right back.” It’s now or never, she told herself, biting her bottom lip.
* * *
The bar was much less crowded than it had been only thirty minutes earlier and significantly quieter. There was a small café table in the corner with two empty chairs. Marissa sat down and checked her purse to make sure she really did have her phone, while a million thoughts swirled through her mind. The walk to the bar had sobered her up enough to realize that she was acting completely out of character. What am I doing? This is crazy. He isn’t going to come to the bar. Why would he? Oh my god, what if he does? This is crazy. What do I say? What do I do? Oh god, that salad had onions. Jesus…… she found a mint in her purse and chewed it quickly. Ok. That is managed. Now, what would Fred do in this situation? She stifled a giggle at that. She definitely would not do what Fred would do.
“Hello,” the honey-voice sounded in front of her.
She looked up. He was at least six-foot-two. “Hi,” was all she could manage. Her tongue felt thick. Oh god, was she acting drunk? That would explain the behavior.
They smiled at each other.
“Would you like to sit?” Marissa asked, motioning to the chair opposite her.
“And sure. Thanks.” He sat down and leaned forward against the table, like a person who was comfortable in his own skin. Must be nice, Marissa thought. He probably does this all the time.
“I’m glad you got my signal to meet in the bar,” he continued, “I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”
“I was surprised to get the signal,” she said.
He laughed — a mountain stream bubbling over smooth stones. “I was thinking we would be better off saying hello by ourselves, instead of our well-meaning companions playing the town criers all night.”
Marissa laughed. “It was a little obvious, wasn’t it?” she agreed.
“And sure, it was. My name is Finnian, as you’ve already heard, but I hate that name. My friends call me Finn. Finn McKenna.”
“Hi Finn, I am Marissa Byrne.”
“Hello again, Marissa.” Her name fell off his tongue like an angel’s song.
Geez, get it together, Mars. He is just a dude, she scolded herself. To him she said, “It is really nice to meet you, Finn. I heard your cousin say that you were visiting the States from Ireland?”
“I am,” he stated. “I am here visiting my Grandda.”
“Oh!” He must be close to his family. “That’s really nice. Do you come here often?” Echoes of Fred’s cheesy pick-up line from earlier that night set off alarms in her head. “To the States, I mean. Do you travel to the States a lot?” she added quickly.
“Sure and no. This is my first time to America.”
“Oh.”
“It would be nice to have a local friend to show me around a little.”
“Well, I’m sure your cousin….” She started, and then realized maybe he meant her.
He gave her a sideways look. “Well, I’m sure he could be showing me the sights, I guess…but, maybe I had someone else in me mind.”
She felt like a deer in the proverbial headlights. How to respond? This was certainly the last thing she expected when she left the house today. “I guess maybe I could find the time for a quick tour and a cup of coffee one day.” Did I really just say that? God, I’m a nerd!
His smile was beatific.
* * *
“Alright…I want every single detail. Every word, every look. Right now. Go!” Fred wasted no time once they were safely back in his Chevy Blazer with the windows up. She looked around and saw Finn and Phil getting into an older model sedan. He waved goodbye and she waved back.
“I don’t really know what to tell you, Fred. He signaled to me to go to the bar, and I did. Then he followed me and introduced himself. He asked me if I would show him around town.”
“What?! Did you say yes?”
“Well, I couldn’t think of a nice way to say no.”
“Why in the hell would you even consider saying no? My god, he looks like a rock star. Wait. What do you mean he signaled you? When? How?”
“When we were at the table and you were talking about the non-existent David and his cousin Phil was talking about his wife fixing Finn up. He just gave me a look that said ‘Let’s go to the bar.’ ”
“And so you went?! Oh man — you little hussy! I knew you had it in you somewhere! It is about damn time!” Fred was enjoying teasing his best friend, but it was true that it was very unlike her to let herself get picked up at a bar. “So, when is the big date?”
“Probably never.”
“What are you talking about? You promised!”
“Because…I don’t know. You know I get too nervous.”
“Oh, please. Get over it. That guy is a catch. Can’t you tell I am salivating over here?”
Marissa sighed. “I know he is good looking, Fred. But we don’t know anything about him. He could be a serial killer.”
Fred rolled his eyes. “I seriously doubt he is a serial killer. He seemed really cool at dinner. Stop trying to make excuses to not go out with him. You are going.”
“He probably won’t call.”
“When he calls, you are going.”
“I was a little bit drunk when I gave him my number.”
“Good. It lowered your inhibitions. When he calls, you are going.”
“How old do you think he is?”
“Ummm…I don’t know. Probably early thirties. What does it matter?”
“Because Fred. If he is thirty, that makes me old enough to be his mother.”
A growl of frustration from Fred. “Okay, if he is exactly thirty, and if you had gotten pregnant at age fifteen, you would technically be old enough to be his mother.” Fred sat silent for a moment and then let Marissa have it. “You know, your pessimism about love and relationships drives me crazy. If I have to tie you up and deliver you on this new date, I will do it.”
“So you’re agreeing I could be old enough to be his mother,” Marissa replied, ignoring the threat.
“No, I agree that you’re delusional,” he replied. “Come on, let’s go back to my hotel room so we can get drunk and Google his ass.”
* * *
“Well, she seemed like a nice girl,” Phil told his cousin when they got in the car.
“Yes, she does seem nice.”
“What did you two talk about at the bar?”
“Just introduced ourselves and exchanged phone numbers. We will probably meet for coffee.”
“Did you tell her you tipped the hostess one hundred dollars to give you a table near her?”
“Jaysus no! And don’t you be telling her either!” Finn was emphatic.
“Why not? It’s a good story. It’s kinda romantic,” Phil said.
“She might not see it that way. I just wanted to be close enough to find out if she and the bloke were a couple, that’s all,” he explained.
“Do you do that kind of thing a lot?” Phil had been privately shocked when his cousin drew a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket and told the waitress he wanted to sit near the blonde in the pink sweater. He thought for a second Finnian didn’t realize how much money he had handed her.
“No. Never done it before.”
“Man, she must be some girl,” he commented.
“Yeah. I think she just might be…”
Finn grew quiet as he watched the unfamiliar scenery slide past him and contemplated Marissa. Marissa. For some reason, he wanted to keep saying her name over and over. She was beautiful. But it wasn’t just her looks that attracted him. He had watched her with her friend at the bar. She talked with her hands. She laughed so openly — full-throated like a woman who wasn’t afraid to be herself. She was animated, bursting with positive energy. She had no pretenses. She was like a blazing flame in a haze of blurry faces. From the moment he first saw her, he felt some inexplicable pull towards her.
Yes—he had offered the hostess one hundred American dollars if she could find him a seat near Marissa. He would have paid one thousand if he had that much in his pocket. He just wanted to get close enough to introduce himself, to let some of her beautiful energy spill out onto him.
Of course, she had been more reserved when she was talking to him than with her friend. But from her first glance his way, his fondest wish had become to incite that excitement in her, to provoke that kind of laughter and buoyancy. He knew it would come in time if she just gave him a chance.
He had never had this kind of reaction to a woman before, and he found it invigorating, and a little bit puzzling. He usually dated girls he met through friends or maybe someone he met at the pub. He had, had a few long-term relationships and they all ended amicably. Just two people agreeing that the relationship had run its course. No big deal. But what he wanted was the kind of love his parents had shared. He knew that kind of love didn’t come along very often. Some people lived their whole lives without ever witnessing it, much less feeling it. But he had witnessed it, and having done so he could never settle for anything less. His sister accused him of being too much of a romantic, of not being realistic in matters of the heart. She said he never gave girls a chance because they couldn’t live up to his ideal.
But he had never felt the kind of attraction he had felt tonight toward Marissa, this kind of need to get to know a total stranger. Where did it come from, what did it mean? And most importantly—did she feel it too?
* * *
When Fred came to town, he always rented a hotel room so he and Marissa could stay up all night gossiping without anyone to overhear. It was always fun to just let go for a while and revert back to their teenage selves, when their biggest worries were prom dates and scheming against the mean girl’s clique at school.
The big difference now was they could afford the oceanfront suite for their slumber parties. And the mini-bar. They sat on the balcony, watching the tide roll in at River City Beach and drinking Jameson Gold Reserve (Irish whiskey) in honor of Finn.
“Are you sure his last name’s McKenna?” Fred was typing and clicking on his laptop, scouring the internet for any details he could find.
“Yes, that’s what he told me.”
“Well, I can’t find him on any of the social networks. Who doesn’t have a Facebook page? Where in Ireland is he from?”
“Umm…I don’t know. I don’t think he ever said.”
When it came to internet stalking, Fred was a master at his craft.
“Wait a minute!” he exclaimed, “Wait…just…a…minute…”
“Did you find something?” Marissa’s curiosity was peaked.
“I believe so. Yes! This is him. There’s a picture! Wow, I almost forgot how hot he is.”
“Let me see. Where did you find him? What does it say?”
“I found him on LinkedIn, the site for professional contacts. It says he works for a company called ‘SatCom’. Wow, he has a master's degree in software engineering from the University of Westminster in London…Hey! Stop…” Marissa swung the laptop around so she could read the screen herself.
Yep, there was his picture in a little circle. Same gorgeous eyes and smile. “It says here that he also received an undergrad degree in environmental science from Trinity College in Dublin, and he does freelance work as a graphic designer.”
“Geez, Mars. This dude sounds like your dream guy. Interested in nature, computers, and an artist. How much more perfect could he get?”
“He does sound kinda interesting…It doesn’t list any dates on here, no graduation dates, no birthday.”
“Would you get off that age thing, already? It doesn’t matter. What matters is he is not a serial killer, he has a decent job, a top-notch education, and he wants to go out with you!”
Fred just didn’t get it. The age thing did matter. She was forty-six years old, she didn’t have the body of a nineteen-year-old anymore. Hell, she didn’t even have the body of a thirty-year-old. Sometimes she got a pain in her knee. Sometimes, when it was cold, the knuckles in her hand hurt. She refused to say it was the beginning of arthritis, but still…Finn probably didn’t get a pain in his knee or hands. Finn didn’t have to smear cream all over his face every night, praying the wrinkles would hold off just a few more years. No, Finn just sauntered around in expensive silk shirts and picked up strangers in a bar. She sighed.
“Now, don’t go getting all gloom and doom,” Fred warned. He could read her like a book. “Marissa, all you are going to do is go spend a few hours with the guy. I’m not saying you should marry him. Just get out. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself for a change. You’ve been cooped up in that house taking care of your grandmother for too long. And you promised me you would try.”
His tone was serious and concerned.
“I know. It’s really fun to think about. If he calls, I’ll meet him somewhere.”
“That’s my girl,” Fred smiled, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “And at your first opportunity—jump his bones.”