Page 120 of Beneath the Quiet

“Anything you want to tell me.”

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time.

“She was a journalist. Grew up here, but she lived in Cork at the time, and we met when she was here to write a piece about the Cloonmara Spring Festival. It was only the second year we’d held it, and we needed publicity. The town held a meeting about how we could bring in a journalist, and lucky for us, her brother, Niall, convinced her to come home for a while to write it.” He sighs on a low chuckle. “We met up at the pub, started chatting. I couldn’t believe that the little thing I’d seen around the village when we grew up had grown into such an interesting, beautiful woman. One who knew what she wanted. She went home with me that night.”

I smile softly. “You fell hard for each other?”

“Yeah. We did. She was a spitfire, always on to the next story, but she was also a big fan of staying home when her social battery was used up. She was kind. Not a hounding type of journalist who sticks their nose where they don’t belong. She respected people, and she treated everyone equally. I loved that about her. I ended up going to Cork every weekend, and I proposed six months after.”

“What?” I gasp. “Really?”

“Yup. I was madly in love from the moment I saw her, and I knew I wanted to spend my life with her.”

“Wow. And she said yes?”

He chuckles.

“Actually, no. She turned me down.”

“But you stayed together.”

“Yeah. In the end, it took me another year courting her, and she finally gave in. We got married right here on the beach, and then she got pregnant…”

My stomach flips when he grows silent, lost in the memories.

“Hair tie.”

I loosen it from around my wrist and lift my arm, the hair tie dangling between my fingers. He takes it, and I feel the slow tugs at the end of my hair as he tightens it.

“There.”

I reach behind me and catch his hand in mine before he has the chance to pull away.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

We both know it’s for more than braiding my hair. Still holding on to his hand, I pull it to my front and rest it on my chest. His strong front settles behind me, and I rest my head on his chest and close my eyes for a moment. Heat spreads in my cheeks, and warmth settles around my heart that this man–my friend–trusts me so much that he shared his broken heart with me.

“I think I need a nap.” I sigh.

He presses his lips on top of my head and steps away.

“Go up and rest. I’ll clean up, and then I need to get to the farm. I’ll check in with you later.”

I open my eyes and lean forward, releasing his arms, and turn my head, seeking out his eyes. The sadness in them sends me reeling. I wish I could take away his pain.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He frowns at me. “Why not?”

I avoid his probing gaze and take a sip of coffee, buying time. “It’s just a little weird.”

“I’m not allowed to check in with you just because we’re fuck buddies?”

I wince.

“No, it’s…” I stop talking and rub my temples, because what do I say? I scramble for the right words without hinting that I’m scared.