Mismatched (35 page)

I sit up in bed and scrub my face with my free hand, trying to get the blood pumping enough to wake me up. “Is this advice for the lovelorn or legal advice? Because I’m not sure I’m awake enough for the legal kind.”

“Both. Go make yourself some coffee. This is serious business.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching in an effort to get the cramp out of my middle back. Seven hours of sleep isn’t enough to work out the kinks that come from hunching over a desk for three weeks straight, fourteen hours a day. “When is it not serious business with you, Erin?”

“True. I do live a very important life. Come on, then, chop chop. I don’t have all morning.”

I shuffle into the kitchen, throwing a tiny pot of ground coffee beans into my machine and pressing the button next to the waiting cup. “Okay, I’m awake. Start talking.”

Her voice drops down a few notches, giving me the impression that she’s hiding this conversation from someone.

“Okay, so I took your advice and showed Michaél the town yesterday.”

“Hmmm, is that why I didn’t get any texts for a whole twelve hours?”

“Yes. Probably. And because I’m your only friend.”

I bite my cheek so I won’t laugh at her stupid joke. I have friends, just not the kind of friends I’d text with. That is a privilege reserved just for her. Not that there’s room on my cell phone’s screen or time in my life for anyone else to text me. Erin texts enough for ten people.

“And?” I prompt.

“Well, it was confusing for most of the day. I wasn’t sure how he felt about me, about us, about anything really…”

“You know now, I hope.” I take my first sip of coffee and wait for the caffeine to hit me. Something tells me I’m going to need it soon.

“Oh, yeah. I know now.” She starts to squeal like a little girl. “He loves me, Rid! He really does!”

“Of course he does,” I say, not impressed. “If he has a single brain cell in his head, he’ll hang onto you with kitty claws.”

Her tone goes suspicious. “What’s that mean?”

“It just means, Miss Paranoid, that you’re an amazing person and he’d be lucky to have you.” Another sip of coffee and I’m almost feeling human again.

“He said that last night. That and more.”

“All of it good?”

“Yes. All of it. And we uh … sealed the deal.” She giggles.

I’m talking to a girl who goes to high school now. “You had sex with him?”

“Yep. Totally.”

“You little slut. Good for you.” I take another sip of coffee, almost done now.
Why do espressos have to be so tiny?
“Okay, so he goes from bad guy stealing your bar one day to lover the next. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” My friend has a very tender heart, and I feel like I need to be the one talking sense right now. I’m afraid she’s too gaga over him to think straight.

“Yes. He’s been driving me mad for weeks and this was the best end to it all.”

“So that’s it, then? This is the end? When does he leave?”

“No, no, it’s not!” She’s back to being excited. “That’s the best news of all! He wants to stay. He knows he’s not getting any of the bar, but he wants to stay and work here with me. Live with me. See where this thing goes.”

I sigh, trying to figure out how to say this to her without sounding like a total killjoy.

“What? I know what that sigh means. Just tell me straight, don’t hold anything back.”

I slug back the rest of my coffee wincing as it burns all the way down. “Okay, fine. Here’s the deal. He can’t officially work there with you, for one. He’s on a special visa that only allows him to be a tourist or conduct business that doesn’t end up in him being paid. Second, he can’t stay any longer than his visa says he can. My guess is he was granted six months, but it could be as little as three. You have to look at what they gave him at the border.”

“This isn’t sounding very good.”

“Don’t get too upset. If there’s a will, there’s a way, right?” I pause and then shift into a softer mode. I have to tread lightly here. “But have you thought about his life in Ireland? I mean, what’s he going to do with his business? Is Siobhan going to be willing to run the thing entirely by herself for months and months? Does he want that? And what’s your end game here? Is he planning to immigrate here? Because the only way that’s happening is if he gets married to an American citizen.”

“I’m an American citizen,” Erin says, sounding hopeful.

“Yes, exactly. So are you guys planning on getting married?” Doubt flavors my tone, but I can’t help it. One night of sex and she’s ready to tie the knot? I don’t buy it. Not Erin. She’s way too tough for that.

“Well, no. We didn’t discuss that. He did say the L-word, though.”

“Oh. Well.” I’m surprised by that. I expected him to do more playing around with her heart before he opened up to that degree, based on his past behavior. “I guess that’s a good start.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what to do this time. It’s just as confusing to me as it is to you. The negative part of me says maybe he’s just messing with you as revenge or maybe he wants to marry you just to get a greencard and he really doesn’t care about you.”

“Ridlee! How could you say that? That man spent thousands of euros to get over here and be with me. He admitted as much, that the whole lawsuit thing was a ruse to be with me again.”

“But why didn’t he just come and be with you? Why make it about the bar at all?” I hate playing devil’s advocate when she so clearly has fallen for him, but someone has to do it.

Her voice comes out very weak. “I didn’t ask him that.”

“Maybe it’s time you guys had a very honest, very
open
conversation.”

“We did last night. About a lot of things.”

“But not about the things that need to be discussed. Do you have a pen? Because you need to write these things down.”

“Hold on a sec.” I hear shuffling and possibly even a piece of furniture falling over and a glass breaking before she’s back on the line. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Do you have paper?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“Shit. No. Wait.”

I start another cup of coffee as I wait.

“Okay. I’m back. Pen and paper at the ready.”

“Number one: Why is he here using the bar as an excuse and not just here using you as an excuse? Number two…”

“Slow down!”

“No. Use shorthand. Number two: Who’s going to watch his shop? Number three:…” I pause because I can literally picture Erin right now, frowning as she scribbles, biting her tongue as it hangs out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

I speak slower this time. “How long is his visa valid for, and does he know he can’t earn any money while he’s here? Does he have savings for living expenses, and if he uses that money, will his business in Ireland stay afloat?”

“This sounds like very personal information,” Erin says, sounding uneasy.

“Of course it’s personal information.” She’s making me kind of cranky. I definitely need more caffeine. My second cup is ready and I take a sip with lots of air, trying not to burn myself.

Ouch. Fail.

My voice is hoarse from the hot liquid. “If he’s busting out the L-word, and you’re thinking about how to keep him here with you, these questions need to be asked and answered. Is he expecting you to support him? Can you do that? Do you
want
to do that? When it’s time for him to leave, what will you do? Will you stay? Will you go? Will he stay or go? He can’t remain here beyond his visa expiration or he could get blocked from coming in again for ten years.”

“Ten years? Oh my god…”

“Yes. It’s not pretty. You don’t want him becoming an illegal alien.”

“This is a really big deal, isn’t it?”

She sounds so lost and worried, I can’t help but try to fix it. “Yes, but love conquers all, right? And I know you really like him. Maybe you even love him, as much as you can love a person you’ve spent such limited time with. If he’s really serious about you, and I think he must be, he’ll answer your questions. He’ll do the right thing. That’s how we’ll know if he’s the right guy for you.”

“He’s a good man, Rid.”

“Let him prove that to you.”

“I will.” I can imagine her with her chin in the air, her Irish attitude shining out through her green eyes.

“Excellent. I can’t wait to hear what happens. Call me after you talk to him.”

“No matter what time of day or night?”

She’s playing with me now. “Might as well. I’m up at the crack of my ass dawn now, aren’t I?”

“You whinged.”

“Yeah. But I got up and made two cups of coffee and drank them by six thirty a.m., and it’s my day off.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Damn straight. Now go get your man, would you? All this drama is giving me a rash.”

“Maybe you need a little trip back to the olde sod.”

A flash of memory, Donal riding his giant horse, comes to mind. An ache strikes my heart so hard, so fast, I inhale sharply in surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, ridding it of the vision. “My coffee is too hot. Call me later.”

“O’kay. Bye!”

“Bye.” I put the phone down and walk to the bathroom as I rub my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s settled in there. I’m hoping a shower will wash the memories away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ERIN

I TIPTOE BACK INTO MY bedroom, pausing for a moment at the door to watch Michaél sleep. His breathing is steady and even, just like him.
Why does Ridlee have to be so practical all the time?
I climb into bed and gaze at him some more. Sometimes I wonder if my best friend has a romantic bone in her body.

Granted, I was like that too. I still am, I think… It’s been a point of pride for us; no guy is going to come along and tear down everything we’ve built, the way they do in those chick flicks where the girls gamely change the entire direction of their lives for the guy in order to live happily ever after.

There’s a reason those films end there. No-one wants to see the money stress that follows, eating away at their love like a cancer, or the gaggle of kids running around robbing the young bride of all her energy and any ambition she may have once had.
Nooo… they never show you that bit
. Ridlee’s right. It’s time to talk.

“Michaél!” I lean in and yell in his ear.

He jerks in his sleep. “What? What? What’s wrong?” He rubs his eyes all disorientated and snaps his head to look around the room.

“Morning,” I say in a softer tone. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

He rubs his hand across his mouth, still confused. “Erin, what time is it?”

“Eh, around seven I think. Did you sleep well?”

He sits up and yawns. Then he looks over at me. “Come here you,” he says reaching for me.

“Just a sec.” I slide off the bed, leaving him to grab a handful of air while I hurry out to the kitchen. Pouring two coffees I snatch up the paper I left by the phone with Ridlee’s instructions on it.

Back in bed we sip our coffee in silence. I sneak a peek at him; he’s watching me, a bemused look on his face. Carefully, I place my coffee cup on the bedside table and glance at the paper.

“I sense you want to talk, Babe.”

“Me? No, not particularly.” I answer breezily. I scan the paper again and try to memorize the first question. I clear my throat. “Well, ye know, maybe now would be a good time to run through a couple of things about us.” I wince.
Shit!
Guys
hate
when you say that you want to talk about
us.

“Sounds like a good idea. I’d love to talk about us. Do ye wanna start?” He puts his coffee cup on the bedside table on his side of the bed.

I panic momentarily.
Is that his side of the bed now? And is this to be my side?
I usually sleep in the middle. Ridlee’s right, things are moving way too fast. How could he possibly know that he loves me already? I’ve never bought into that love at first sight shit. How on earth can you love someone,
really
love them, until you’ve seen their worst parts? That’s what love is; accepting someone warts and all.

I sit cross-legged in front of him, which allows me to read Ridlee’s instructions discreetly. I decide to just go for it, since according to her, we don’t have much time.
Oh well, in for the penny, in for the pound,
as Granny would say. All Ridlee’s queries come rushing out at once and not in the oh so casual manner that I’d planned.

“Well, I was just wondering, firstly, why you’re here using the bar as an excuse and not just you, I mean
me
, as an excuse.” Furtively, I peek at the paper again. “And who’s going to watch your shop? And, how long is your visa valid for? Do you realize that you can’t work or earn money on that visa? Do you have savings for living expenses? And if not, how will the business in Ireland stay afloat?” I try to slow down and speak as though these questions are just occurring to me now. I continue. “Are you expecting me to support you?”

Ouch.
He winces at that one.

“And when it’s time for you to leave, what then? You don’t want to live here as an illegal alien, do you?” I crane my neck just a little reading my almost illegible shorthand to make sure that I’ve covered all bases. Yup; the list is done. Now for the fallout.

Michaél jumps up, pulls back the duvet cover, and looks under the bed. Then he walks over and opens the closet and sticks his head in there. He even checks behind the curtains.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for Ridlee. She’s here, right? That was definitely her talking. I just thought she might be hiding under the bed or in the closet.”

I can’t help but smile as he walks back to the bed naked and sits down beside me.

“Erin, I didn’t mean to put the heebie-jeebies up ye yesterday when I told ye how I felt about ye. Maybe we should slow down a little.”

I gulp involuntarily.
Is he going to dump me? Am I interrogating him too much?

He reaches past me and picks up the list Ridlee has dictated. There’s a seriously pregnant pause as his eyes skim down the page. “Uh huh…” He turns the page over and reads the other side before looking at me again. “I’ll address each point in order, if that suits ye?”