Page 86 of Unrequited
And then he's inside, windblown and flushed, his chest heaving as he brushes the sweat from his brow. His longish dark hair is damp and messy.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, his voice low, roughened by exertion.
I’m already walking toward him, tea in hand. Ready to serve him. Ready to love him. Ready to fight every part of me that still doesn’t know if she belongs here.
But maybe… maybe I do.
“You told me you like cream in your tea, no sugar, right?”
“Aye,” he says. “Thank you, lass.” He takes the tea, lifts it to his mouth, and takes a long sip. Exhales like the weight of the whole world is leaving his lungs.
His breathing begins to slow.
“You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and not be alone here anymore,” he says quietly. There’s something so raw in the way he says it, like he's afraid to name it, like saying it out loud will make it too real.
I don’t say anything. Just reach for his hand.
It's maybe the first time I’ve initiated touching him, at least since we came here. My fingers curl gently around his, and I feel him still under my touch. Time feels suspended, hung in the air like dust in sunlight.
Two heartbeats.
“Any word from your family?” I ask softly as we sit on the stone steps outside.
The waves crash on the distant shore, and the scent of salt clings thick in the air. It’s all wind and sea and salt air.
“Aye,” he says, but doesn’t offer any details. Just that one word, like it’s enough. “And yours?”
“Yes.” I nod. “They just want to make sure I’m okay. That I’m not here against my will.”
He sets his cup down beside him, turns to me, and reaches for my hand again.
“And are you, Zoya?”
I let out a breath, long and shaky, like I’m about to hand him a piece of me I’ve kept tucked away.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, Seamus. Things haven’t gone the way I would’ve chosen… but maybe I can hope a little anyway.”
Because it’s true. All of it.
“I’m here because I want to be,” I tell him. “With you.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His hand tightens around mine.
“And I will have you fall in love with me, Zoya.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. His arm curls around my waist, drawing me into him like a secret he wants to keep close.
“You know, I used to want a bakery,” I say, curled into his warmth. One foot is tucked under me, the other brushing against his leg like it’s accidental. It’s not.
He looks at me like he’s waiting for the punchline.
“You? A bakery?”
I nod, smiling. “I liked the smell of baked things. Bread. Cinnamon. Sugar. Things that prove something soft can survive heat.”
His eyes sharpen. There’s something about that that gets to him.
“Aye. You can have that, if you want.”
