Page 84 of Weekends with You

“You too,” I said, biting the inside of my lip to stop myself from smiling like a lunatic.

The kitchen itself was small and crowded, but it wasn’t hard to imagine a slew of Irish chefs dodging each other to prepare a Sunday roast. The ceiling on the right side curved into anupside-down U shape, and just beyond was a surprisingly large dining room. The same warm lights from the entryway studded either side of a dark wooden mantel laden with sunset-colored geraniums and a collection of mostly melted candles. I inhaled slowly before I joined everyone at the table, basking in the swirling scents of nostalgia.

“Lucy, so glad you could join us. Please,” Aoife said, dragging a chair away from the table and gesturing for me to sit down. Everyone else, aside from Henry, was already seated, mugs in hand.

“Whiskey or tea?” Rory offered both with a wave of his hand. At my hesitation, he spoke again. “Perhaps both?”

“A hot toddy,” I said, smiling. “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Mr. Kennedy.”

“Please, call me Rory. Mr. Kennedy is my father,” he joked.

“Who has been dead for fifteen years,” Aoife said.

“And a blessing that is!” Rory cheered, raising his glass. “Right bastard he was,” he added, clinking his glass against Jan’s. We laughed hard, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of appreciation at how willing the Kennedys were to welcome strangers with open arms. They were the perfect B-and-B hosts.

“What’d I miss?” Henry said, flopping into the chair next to mine. His wet hair smelled like shampoo and was already starting to curl along the back of his neck.

“Rory’s just lost the plot, is all.” Aoife swatted her husband’s arm and offered a tray of cold corned beef sandwiches to Henry, who accepted with a grateful smile.

He was wearing a battered green Henley that stretched across his chest, and I had to avert my eyes from the two undone buttons at the base of his neck. Despite being roommates for a couple of days every month, and despite the dozens of video calls, this was the most perfectly disheveled I’d everseen him. I had never before seen his dark eyelashes slick with droplets of water or his bare feet without dirt on the inside curve from kicking a soccer ball. He looked like a painting.

Rory’s voice interrupted my daydream, which was for the best, really, seeing as heat that I knew wasn’t from the fire was starting to crawl over my body .

“You’re the photographer, are ye?” Rory asked, nodding to Henry.

“I am, yes. I was actually hoping you wouldn’t mind if I took some photos of the place this weekend. It really is quite beautiful, and since I shoot musicians and venues for a living, I figured I might be able to get some cool shots of the property. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

“All right?” Aoife laughed. “It would be an honor, dear. Rory, can you believe we’re to have professional photos of our place? Oh, Henry, do please send them to us, will you?”

“Of course,” Henry said, returning her warm smile.

“And if you need a musician to shoot while you’re here, we have one in-house,” Rory said, looking at our faces and relishing our confusion. “Finn, play us something, would ye?” He gestured to the looming piano on the far side of the room.

“Da, please,” Finn said, more boyish than usual. “Now?”

“Aye, don’t be shy! I’m sure yer friends would love to hear ye. Wouldn’t they?” We nodded like children, practically begging Finn to play.

“Didn’t know you played,” Henry mused. “Let me get my camera. Then please, do play us something.” We all wore matching Cheshire Cat smiles, equally amused by the fact that Finn played the piano at all and that we were going to see it live.

“Where have you been hiding this, then?” Liv asked, resting her fingers on her pink lips.

“Change your mind about me, does it?” Finn took a seat at the piano, waggling his eyebrows at Liv.

“Depends how well you play,” she teased.

“Oh, shut up, you.”

“Finn, don’t talk like that to a lady,” Aoife scolded. We all shared a laugh at how much Finn had reverted back to a lad in Cork, but he just waved us off as he settled onto the bench and rested his hands over the keys. Henry returned with his camera, and we all looked on in silence, waiting.

All at once, Finn’s bony fingers began dancing from octave to octave, filling the silence with a classical piece I didn’t recognize. Minor chords unfurled into the night, and Finn’s eyes fluttered closed as the piece picked up.

The room seemed to assume a collective heartbeat, a tandem rise-and-fall of our chests as we breathed in the music. Finn rocked back and forth as he played, the old wooden bench creaking beneath him, drawing the charm of the bed-and-breakfast into the symphony.

Rory cleared his throat in a way that was hardly audible, and when I looked in his direction I caught him wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Despite having only known him an hour or so, I could see how generous he was with his heart, and for a moment, I envied him.

Applause broke out in the dining room as Finn played the final notes of the song, and all but one of us was smiling in his direction. I felt Henry’s eyes on the side of my head, but I tried to keep my own eyes trained on Finn at the piano.

“I could watch you listen to music all night,” Henry whispered over the cacophony of voices showering Finn with compliments.

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