Mrs. Dillon pats me on the shoulder, taking her leave, as Rachel smooths her hand over my hair. “You look a bit thinner but essentially the same! Not at all as if you’ve been trapped underground.” She squeals, hugging me again. “How are you feeling?”
Rachel means well. This I know. So I oblige her, answering her questions while attempting to behave politely. I’m prattling on about our luck finding a stream in the cave when I feel something behind me.
Then his hand is on my shoulder. I know it’s him without turning my head. I know because the blood drains from my cheeks and my poor heart throbs sickly.
I turn to him slowly, aware that Rachel’s eyes are on us both.
Oh, but he’s a sight up close; he looks so clean and strong and handsome. I tell myself I’ve got to behave casually, and so of course my eyes well. I stare at the stubble on his jaw before I feel mellowed enough to meet his gaze. So blue. In the dark, I couldn’t tell how blue his eyes are.
His mouth twitches. “Finley.”
I feel like I’m in a film as I say, “Hi there.” I shift my gaze to Rachel. “Have you met Declan?”
She beams, buoyant as a schoolgirl. She holds her hand out. “Not exactly.” Declan takes it, and I can see he’s not sure what to do with it. He gives it a slight shake before Rachel tucks her arms around herself.
“We’re all so elated that you made it back safely! How are you feeling?” she asks.
He looks tired about the eyes, but he says, “Good.” His voice is low and warm. It sounds sincere.
Rachel smiles, glad as you please. “I’m delighted to hear it. Now that you’re above ground
, nothing but the very best. Would you like tea or coffee? Finley, you as well. What can I get the two of you?” Her cheeks blush, much as mine do.
“I’m satisfied as I am. Thank you.”
“I’m good too. Just had some cinnamon…” He frowns, as if he’s forgotten the name.
“Milk toast.” Rachel laughs. “I can’t believe they served him milk toast.” She makes a face at me. Behind her hand, she tells him, “We’ve much better.”
He smiles. “It was just fine.”
“You’re unfailingly polite.”
“Nah. Just hard-up for anything that’s not an Atkins bar.”
I watch as Rachel’s face transforms in understanding. “That’s what you had in your pack?” she asks me. “Those horrid bars for Mr. McGillin?” She laughs, looking beautiful as her lips curve. Youthful and unencumbered…
I watch Declan’s eyes. That’s how I find they’re not on her.
“Get yourself some French toast,” she’s telling Declan. “Or Miss Alice’s berry muffins. They’re the absolute best.” She waves as she turns to go.
I feel as if I’m caught inside a dream as she walks off and I look up at Declan. At least his gaze still feels familiar even as the rest of him looks like a polished stranger.
“You look…clean,” I manage.
His eyes search my face. When he fails to find whatever he’s seeking, his dark brows notch. “Let’s step outside.”
Even his soft voice sends sunlight rolling through me. It’s soft and husky, and it’s Declan. Odd and disorienting what a premium my poor heart seems to place on that alone: his mere Declanness. The blood in my veins glows as I follow him toward the door, barely aware of the room swirling around us.
Outside, we move past a group of school-aged kids kicking a bean sack on the porch. They whistle and clap as if we’re celebrities—well, as if we both are. I can feel their eyes on my back as I follow Declan through a patch of grass into the muddy lane. He leads me around about the side of the café, away from eager eyes.
When we’re there, his keen gaze sweeps me. I fixate on his lips, and then a bruise along his cheekbone.
“Are you okay?” He’s frowning.
“Of course.”
“Are you, though?”