that evening. There were
several things. First, he texted her. Plain language confirmed that
he was coming over at half seven. She had complained. His texts
were impossible to read. He'd finally gotten the message. The text
came in plenty of time. Instead of his usual call or message that
he was on his way.
Another: he was well-dressed. He smelled of
the aftershave she'd picked out for him on their trip to Berlin.
And - he brought flowers. A small but tastefully selected bunch.
Modest. Suitable for their budget. He was on time of course.
Darragh was always on time. No matter about his five-o-clock
shadow. No matter if he didn't have time to put on a jacket or
change into the trousers without the ketchup stain. He loved those
trousers. No, being on time was Darragh's way of being
dependable.
Of course he was the one. Fairy tale ending.
Perfect and she loved every detail about it. That didn't mean that
sometimes in her mind he was better dressed and smelled of nice
aftershave. Or maybe in her thoughts he sometimes brought her
flowers. Maybe he had finally learnt how to tie his tie
straight.
The Darragh that came through the door and
kissed her, maybe there was one thing, one tiny detail different
than her mind's picture. But you know what? It's cute how his knot
is always crooked. She wouldn't even try to straighten it. Her man
was so sweet.
"Well, hello there, handsome man of mine,"
she said between kisses.
"Hello yourself, gorgeous," Darragh said, in
those same pauses.
There was even a fifth surprise. When he
opened his beer and sat down on the sofa, he held the cap in his
hand for a few moments. Looking for somewhere to put it. Instead of
flinging it onto her glass table he stuck it in his pocket. Fallon
wondered why she'd bought such an expensive table. She was
terrified of scratching it. After months she'd found
semi-transparent straw mats they could set their drinks and snacks
on.
Reliable Darragh. Before they were a couple
he hadn't been. Very precise. Careful about certain aspects of his
life. Like taking care of what he ate and his body. Work. But it
had taken him a while to realise that Fallon was as important as
those things. And he had moved her from wherever he had her
compartmentalised. Into the important drawer, where things were
serious. Better cared for.
Drawbacks? Hardly. He always followed
through. For good or bad. Berlin had been great. They had been to
the zoos and the museums and the bridges and the buildings. Taken
the photos that go with them. Laughing. Smiling. Hugging a
policeman and getting licked in the face by a giraffe. Spent a day
in their hotel room and made love. Walked along the Spree eating
Berliners. Looked into each other's eyes over candlelit tables with
red wine fuelling the love in their bellies. All according to
Darragh's schedule. Every destination on the hour. Every lazy
loving day in his planner or in his mind.
That's why his sixth surprise was so
welcome. With all her Irish hospitality she welcomed it.
In a word: impulsiveness. But that won't do.
We'll need more! Here:
He took her hand as she was about to head
back into the kitchen. Manoeuvred her easily into his lap.
"And where are you going?" he asked. Kissed
her.
"Oh!" Fallon said. Or laughed. There was
something about the kiss. And those that followed. Passion. Warmth.
Like he was exploring her anew. Both gentle and with passion. Hard
and restrained. It turned her on.
His arm around her waist. His lips soft,
moistened by touching hers. Kissing her neck, her shoulders,
without breaking contact with the skin. Pushed her sweater down her
shoulder to move further. To find more skin to touch. Light then
passionate. Greed then tenderness. His hand on her hip. Moving with
that same gentleness. Then grabbing handfuls of her thigh.
Releasing it slowly. Let it slide out of his hand. Every movement
one of desire. No. Of lust.
And her skin underneath her jeans, her bared
shoulders, longed for that touch. In between the buttons
several things. First, he texted her. Plain language confirmed that
he was coming over at half seven. She had complained. His texts
were impossible to read. He'd finally gotten the message. The text
came in plenty of time. Instead of his usual call or message that
he was on his way.
Another: he was well-dressed. He smelled of
the aftershave she'd picked out for him on their trip to Berlin.
And - he brought flowers. A small but tastefully selected bunch.
Modest. Suitable for their budget. He was on time of course.
Darragh was always on time. No matter about his five-o-clock
shadow. No matter if he didn't have time to put on a jacket or
change into the trousers without the ketchup stain. He loved those
trousers. No, being on time was Darragh's way of being
dependable.
Of course he was the one. Fairy tale ending.
Perfect and she loved every detail about it. That didn't mean that
sometimes in her mind he was better dressed and smelled of nice
aftershave. Or maybe in her thoughts he sometimes brought her
flowers. Maybe he had finally learnt how to tie his tie
straight.
The Darragh that came through the door and
kissed her, maybe there was one thing, one tiny detail different
than her mind's picture. But you know what? It's cute how his knot
is always crooked. She wouldn't even try to straighten it. Her man
was so sweet.
"Well, hello there, handsome man of mine,"
she said between kisses.
"Hello yourself, gorgeous," Darragh said, in
those same pauses.
There was even a fifth surprise. When he
opened his beer and sat down on the sofa, he held the cap in his
hand for a few moments. Looking for somewhere to put it. Instead of
flinging it onto her glass table he stuck it in his pocket. Fallon
wondered why she'd bought such an expensive table. She was
terrified of scratching it. After months she'd found
semi-transparent straw mats they could set their drinks and snacks
on.
Reliable Darragh. Before they were a couple
he hadn't been. Very precise. Careful about certain aspects of his
life. Like taking care of what he ate and his body. Work. But it
had taken him a while to realise that Fallon was as important as
those things. And he had moved her from wherever he had her
compartmentalised. Into the important drawer, where things were
serious. Better cared for.
Drawbacks? Hardly. He always followed
through. For good or bad. Berlin had been great. They had been to
the zoos and the museums and the bridges and the buildings. Taken
the photos that go with them. Laughing. Smiling. Hugging a
policeman and getting licked in the face by a giraffe. Spent a day
in their hotel room and made love. Walked along the Spree eating
Berliners. Looked into each other's eyes over candlelit tables with
red wine fuelling the love in their bellies. All according to
Darragh's schedule. Every destination on the hour. Every lazy
loving day in his planner or in his mind.
That's why his sixth surprise was so
welcome. With all her Irish hospitality she welcomed it.
In a word: impulsiveness. But that won't do.
We'll need more! Here:
He took her hand as she was about to head
back into the kitchen. Manoeuvred her easily into his lap.
"And where are you going?" he asked. Kissed
her.
"Oh!" Fallon said. Or laughed. There was
something about the kiss. And those that followed. Passion. Warmth.
Like he was exploring her anew. Both gentle and with passion. Hard
and restrained. It turned her on.
His arm around her waist. His lips soft,
moistened by touching hers. Kissing her neck, her shoulders,
without breaking contact with the skin. Pushed her sweater down her
shoulder to move further. To find more skin to touch. Light then
passionate. Greed then tenderness. His hand on her hip. Moving with
that same gentleness. Then grabbing handfuls of her thigh.
Releasing it slowly. Let it slide out of his hand. Every movement
one of desire. No. Of lust.
And her skin underneath her jeans, her bared
shoulders, longed for that touch. In between the buttons
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