Page 148 of Fifth Avenue Fling

I smile for the first time since I entered Killian’s office. Teagan makes me laugh. No cap meanstell me the truth, apparently. How the hell does Siri understand teenagers?

I can’t tell her the truth because I don’t know it myself. Killian was distant and ambiguous, so I don’t truly understand why he fired me.

I’m looking for a grand explanation that will make me feel better. Maybe he was worried about Teagan. Perhaps he felt responsible for Alfred’s behavior or was uncomfortable with our age gap. Anything to make me feel better. But the reality is, he probably just got bored with me or had always planned for this to be a short-term thing.

“I’ve no idea. He said…” What bullshit did he use? “We didn’t fit. It’s probably best if you talk to your dad.”

“That is so stupid,” she wails, and my heart breaks a little more at the fact that Teagan cares.

“How did you know so quickly?” I ask tentatively. “Did your dad tell you?”

“Yeah.” I hear her sigh down the phone. “He called me. He wanted to make sure that he was the first to tell me. I think he felt bad.”

“I’m sorry. We can still stay in contact, though.”

She hums unhappily. “What are you going to do now?”

Fuck if I know.

“I’ll be grand,” I tell her because this is the perfect moment to apply the useless word.

***

One week later

“Flight BA4703 to Belfast is now boarding at gate 10,” the American flight attendant announces over the intercom. “Please have your boarding pass and passport ready.”

The waiting area becomes a flurry of activity as people stand and rush to the gate, juggling duty-free bags and luggage.

In front of me, a line forms. The other passengers look relaxed. Normal. Too content to be leaving. The lucky ones are going on holidays.

They don’t look like they’re leaving their hearts behind in New York.

On the outside, I’m sitting, staring at nothing, not eating the egg-and-cheese sandwich I’m holding because I haven’t had an appetite in a week. A frozen statue in this sea of hurry.

On the inside, I’m drowning in pain. Consumed with so much of it that I’ve tricked my body into a daze so I don’t break down in public.

I leave behind Orla, the Quinns, and all my hopes for a new life here in New York.

And my heart.

Goodbye, New York.

THIRTY-TWO

Clodagh

One month later

“They’re giving it to rain tomorrow.”

I look up at Tommy as he does the final sanding to the chest of drawers he’s working on.

I’ve been helping out at the furniture store in the village for three weeks now. It feels like three years.

“That’s the good weather gone now,” he says around the pencil clenched in his teeth as his arms move back and forth in a steady motion, sanding the curves. He always has a pencil in his mouth, like a child with a dummy. “The days will be getting shorter and darker. This is probably the last good day we’ll get this year.”

Bloody hell. It’s the beginning of August. I didn’t come here to be even more depressed than I already am.

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