Maybe it’s my thoughts of him. The way the memory of his voice and his eyes make my insides strain in a way that distracts my body and mind from the monotony that has come to live in them.
This stranger has overruled my senses with his stare and barely-there touch. His voice has muted every other sound I have ever heard and twisted them so that I am constantly trying to find some sort of similarity between them.
Still searching every statue and pillar, my eyes flit over to where the priest, is making his way out of one of the intricate wooden doors to the side of the altar. He’s a tall man, and ever since I was a child, I’ve found him intimidating, with his dark eyes and cool demeanour.
Studying me for a moment his eyes narrow before he abruptly turns back to the doors he just came out of and just as I’m about to look away I catch the smallest glimpse of the last person I expected to see today.
My heart rampages wildly in my chest pounding all the air from my lungs. I don’t think he sees me at first because whatever he and Father Byrne are discussing seems pressing. Their lips are moving in hushed haste as their heads shake, their hands gesture and as his messily coiffed hair falls in front of his eyes, I brush my forehead as though I’m pushing the hair from his eyes.
I can’t see their colour, but they look wild and wide in their deep-set furrow. When they meet mine a momentary, fleeting scowl passes his face. But then his eyes lift with his brow as a closed lip smirk lightens his arresting features.
“Were you praying for him or something?”
My laugh dries in my throat, my chest aching like a fire is lit inside it and my belly flips and turns like gravity has ceased to exist. I’m bobbing along in the thick air.
Fleur looks between us, the movement of her head blurring my peripheral vision.
“Why the hell is he everywhere?” she hisses so quietly that her lips barely move.
My first instinct is to get up and go to him, but I can’t get my body to operate properly. I’m too caught up in trying to get the dark green of his eyes right in my mind and the depth of his voice. My head is a jumble of thoughts that make it impossible for me to think of anything rational.
When his eyes flit between me and the priest, I know I should look away, but I just can’t. It’s something that’s equally as infuriating as it is intriguing.
As the church doors creak open behind us and the distant sound of footsteps become louder, getting closer, my mystery guy and the priest start to move towards us.
“Oh great, what’s he doing?” Fleur moans as she pokes my thigh with her sharp, pointy nail and before I can stop myself, I’m getting up from my seat while I watch them both approach us with wary glances.
“We should go,” I tell her as unease wrings my insides.
“What? Are you for real?” Fleur grits as her loose sketches fall from the pad on her lap.
“Something doesn’t feel right.” Falling to my knees, I help her pick them up and the entire time I’m scrambling my heart is in overdrive. My chest is so congested—with this sense of dread and all the freaking butterflies that refuse to settle—that it hurts. It burns all the way down to the pit of my stomach like heartburn.
I collect the scattered papers quickly and messily before I hand them to Fleur who is shoving her things into her handbag. “Have you lost your flipping mind?”
“Maybe.” I’m so desperately lost in my task that it takes me a while to register the scuffed and worn black boots at the edge of my vision.
They look used and abused, but they have a clean shine and softness to them. The leather is too smooth all round for the scuffs to be from wear.
When I look up my tongue lies heavy in my mouth, glued behind my straight teeth. Blinking once. Twice, and one more time just to make sure that he really is standing right here, in front of me, I take a deep breath.
Maybe you have lost your mind. I think to myself, trying to sort through all the things going on inside and outside of me.
Unlike in all my thoughts of him, his face twists into a scowl and his jaw clenches like he’s angry. I can’t think of a reason for him to be mad with me, but that doesn’t stop me from analysing the nostril flaring look he’s giving me as I remain plastered to the floor on my knees, looking up at him.
I can barely catch my breath and I have no idea if it’s because of him or this knot in my gut.
Jesus! Chills course through me even as every inch of my skin feels seared by his gaze.
“Get up,” gritting gruffly, he grasps the tops of my arms and hoists me to my feet.
“Oi!” Fleur jumps from her seat, trying to get between us.
“What are you doing here?” Shaking me a little with every word he ignores her.
I swear there’s a hint of annoyance and antipathy in his deep voice. My breath catches in my throat with the momentum of his action. It jolts me into lucidity.
“Let go.” Yanking myself from his grip, I stumble back a few steps. The way he’s touching me and the way his words are biting and scornful have my insides shaking and vibrating with indignation.