Page 71 of Twist of Fate
I bite my lip because I know what he wants to say. Now that I’m on his tour, things are different. He can’t act on whatever we might have felt that night because this is his job, and our relationship must remain professional for the entirety of my time in Ireland.
“Well, regardless of what pub it was, I’m just glad we found our way back to each other,” I say. “I could really use a friend in my life right now.”
He swallows and then eventually nods, letting the lie slide from my lips as effortlessly as his. “Yeah, me too.”
NINETEEN
Finn
PAST
I had a friend at university. She was studying music and wanted to become a big music executive. She once shared with me that music was the soundtrack to the human experience—an extension of our souls—and that there was a perfect song for every moment.
As Ash and I stroll down that tree-lined trail and utter the unspeakable word, I can’t shake the feeling that she might be right because suddenly, the lyrics to “Friend is a Four Letter Word” by Cake start echoing in my head like a mantra.
Because, fuck. I do not want to be friends with this woman.
Not unless it’s the kind of friend you also happen to date, marry, and make incredibly cute Irish American babies with. I feel like a pot about to boil over every second I’m around her. I’ve had my share of one-night stands and casual flings. I know what lust feels like, and while there’s no shortage of that when it comes to Ash, I still know…
This is different from anything I’ve ever felt.
We just arrived back in Galway after a long day. Tonight, the group has free time, so I’ve been giving nonstop dinner and pub recommendations since we got off the bus. When the last couple heads off toward the city center, I walk into the lobby. I need a shower and a night in. Otherwise, I’m going to wander back down here, hoping to run into Ash. Because I always do—we’re like magnets—and then we’ll spend more time together, and that torch I’m carrying for her will get even heavier.
Just as I approach the elevator, I hear that familiar voice at the reception desk and can’t help but turn back.
“Hi,” Ash, who has her back to me, greets the young woman behind the desk. “I received a message saying there was something for me at the desk. Did I lose something?”
“What is your name?”
I really should leave since she seems to have this handled, but for some reason, I stay rooted in place, watching the interaction.
“Aisling Farrell.”
“Oh!” The woman perks up. “No, you didn’t lose anything. You got a delivery! Let me go fetch it for you.”
Ash steps back as she waits. I move closer to her. She turns, and with just one glance, I can tell she’s anxious. “They say I got a package or something.” She exhales a breath. “Maybe it’s a mistake.”
I begin to ask her if maybe her mom arranged for something to be delivered from one of the shops, but before I can open my mouth, the receptionist returns, holding a huge bouquet of blood-red roses.
“What the hell?” Ash steps back as if she has just been offered a bouquet of snakes instead.
“I believe someone misses you,” the woman gushes. “Aren’t they lovely?”
“Those can’t be for me,” Ash says, her voice revealing her turmoil.
“They were delivered just an hour ago,” the woman says, pointing to the card that clearly displays her name. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Ash nods absently.
“Thank you.” I intervene, grabbing the obnoxiously large bouquet and taking her hand. I then lead us to one of the small alcoves in the lobby, set the flowers on the coffee table, and guide Ash and me to the loveseat. Ash’s eyes are fixated on the card that juts out of the flowers.
“Do you know who they’re from?” I ask.
“I have a pretty good guess.”
“Do you want to read the card? I can just toss it if you prefer. Hell, I can trash the whole damn bouquet if you want.”
She shakes her head. “No. Maybe. But I do want to know what he wrote—otherwise…”
