one. But my
favorite is The Secret
Garden .”
I laughed. “Really?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I love it, and
true love lasts a lifetime.” She lifted her mug from the table and
took a sip. Her eyes widened, and she flashed a delighted smile.
“This is really amazing.”
“I told you.” I took a sip of my own tea. The
sweet tang of citrus and mild spiciness warmed my throat. It made
me miss home. “Any pets?”
“No, although I always wanted a dog. My dad
said it was too much hassle since we moved so much.”
“I love my dogs.”
“What kind?”
“Irish Wolfhounds,” I said. “Yeats and
Beckett.”
She smiled. “Figures.”
“I know. I’m such a stereotype.”
“So, we’ve established that you love your
dogs and your mother’s tea. Oh, and you’re obnoxiously proud of
your Irish heritage. How many girls have you been in love
with?”
“None,” I answered right away.
“Is that ‘none’ as in, you’ve never really
been in love, or ‘none’ as in you’ve never even felt like you were
in love.”
“I’ve liked plenty of girls, but I’ve never
been in love. Jimmy likes to joke that my dogs are the only living
things I’ll ever say the word to. It’s a bit of an exaggeration,
but not too far off, I guess. What about you?”
“Pass,” Spencer said with a shake of her
head.
“No way. I told you about my deep and
enduring love for the wolfhounds.”
“Right, and I told you about
my love affair with The Secret
Garden , so we’re even.”
“For now,” I said.
“Moving on then. Beatles or Stones?”
“Van Morrison,” I said as if it was the most
obvious answer in the world.
“What? That wasn’t even a choice.”
“It should’ve been
considering that Astral Weeks is the greatest album of all time.”
“That’s high praise for an album I’ve never
even heard of.”
“Agh.” I grimaced. “You’re killing me. You
know who Van Morrison is, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “‘Brown-Eyed Girl.’
It’s cute if you like that sort of thing.”
The dishes rattled as my head thunked against
the tabletop. “Why is that the only song anyone knows? Are you
seriously telling me you haven’t heard ‘Domino’? ‘Into the Mystic’?
‘Sweet Thing’?”
“I may have,” she said, lifting one
shoulder.
I gave her a mock-stern look.
“To be honest, they don’t sound all that
familiar.”
“All right,” I said, getting to my feet. I
pulled her along with me. “We’re fixing this.”
She laughed, letting me drag
her into the living room. “You can play them, but you’re not going
to change my mind about the Stones. Exile
on Main Street is clearly the best album
ever.”
“Just wait,” I said. I flipped the cover of
my laptop open and pushed some keys to wake it up. My music library
was already open on the screen. I tapped the trackpad, and Van
immediately started strumming the opening chords of “Sweet
Thing.”
“It’s nice,” Spencer said, but I held up a
finger to stop her.
“Shhh.” I sat on the sofa and pulled her down
onto the cushion next to me. “Just close your eyes and listen.”
Spencer gave me a dubious look but leaned
back into the sofa and closed her eyes. Van continued to play, and
chirping flutes joined in as he sang about a girl so sweet she made
him feel like he’d never grow old. I watched a smile spread across
Spencer’s face, hesitant at first, and then full of the same
contented delight I always felt when I heard the song.
When he sang the last lyric, Spencer turned
hers to me. “Okay, I admit that’s pretty damn good.”
“Right?”
“Right.”
“Although, now I have to admit,” I said,
brushing my fingers against her cheek. “I’m starting to see the
appeal of a song about falling in love with a brown-eyed girl.”
Spencer dropped her eyes, and the shy smile I
was starting to grow fond of made a brief appearance. My hand still
on her cheek, I leaned forward and kissed her. My skin jumped
favorite is The Secret
Garden .”
I laughed. “Really?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I love it, and
true love lasts a lifetime.” She lifted her mug from the table and
took a sip. Her eyes widened, and she flashed a delighted smile.
“This is really amazing.”
“I told you.” I took a sip of my own tea. The
sweet tang of citrus and mild spiciness warmed my throat. It made
me miss home. “Any pets?”
“No, although I always wanted a dog. My dad
said it was too much hassle since we moved so much.”
“I love my dogs.”
“What kind?”
“Irish Wolfhounds,” I said. “Yeats and
Beckett.”
She smiled. “Figures.”
“I know. I’m such a stereotype.”
“So, we’ve established that you love your
dogs and your mother’s tea. Oh, and you’re obnoxiously proud of
your Irish heritage. How many girls have you been in love
with?”
“None,” I answered right away.
“Is that ‘none’ as in, you’ve never really
been in love, or ‘none’ as in you’ve never even felt like you were
in love.”
“I’ve liked plenty of girls, but I’ve never
been in love. Jimmy likes to joke that my dogs are the only living
things I’ll ever say the word to. It’s a bit of an exaggeration,
but not too far off, I guess. What about you?”
“Pass,” Spencer said with a shake of her
head.
“No way. I told you about my deep and
enduring love for the wolfhounds.”
“Right, and I told you about
my love affair with The Secret
Garden , so we’re even.”
“For now,” I said.
“Moving on then. Beatles or Stones?”
“Van Morrison,” I said as if it was the most
obvious answer in the world.
“What? That wasn’t even a choice.”
“It should’ve been
considering that Astral Weeks is the greatest album of all time.”
“That’s high praise for an album I’ve never
even heard of.”
“Agh.” I grimaced. “You’re killing me. You
know who Van Morrison is, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “‘Brown-Eyed Girl.’
It’s cute if you like that sort of thing.”
The dishes rattled as my head thunked against
the tabletop. “Why is that the only song anyone knows? Are you
seriously telling me you haven’t heard ‘Domino’? ‘Into the Mystic’?
‘Sweet Thing’?”
“I may have,” she said, lifting one
shoulder.
I gave her a mock-stern look.
“To be honest, they don’t sound all that
familiar.”
“All right,” I said, getting to my feet. I
pulled her along with me. “We’re fixing this.”
She laughed, letting me drag
her into the living room. “You can play them, but you’re not going
to change my mind about the Stones. Exile
on Main Street is clearly the best album
ever.”
“Just wait,” I said. I flipped the cover of
my laptop open and pushed some keys to wake it up. My music library
was already open on the screen. I tapped the trackpad, and Van
immediately started strumming the opening chords of “Sweet
Thing.”
“It’s nice,” Spencer said, but I held up a
finger to stop her.
“Shhh.” I sat on the sofa and pulled her down
onto the cushion next to me. “Just close your eyes and listen.”
Spencer gave me a dubious look but leaned
back into the sofa and closed her eyes. Van continued to play, and
chirping flutes joined in as he sang about a girl so sweet she made
him feel like he’d never grow old. I watched a smile spread across
Spencer’s face, hesitant at first, and then full of the same
contented delight I always felt when I heard the song.
When he sang the last lyric, Spencer turned
hers to me. “Okay, I admit that’s pretty damn good.”
“Right?”
“Right.”
“Although, now I have to admit,” I said,
brushing my fingers against her cheek. “I’m starting to see the
appeal of a song about falling in love with a brown-eyed girl.”
Spencer dropped her eyes, and the shy smile I
was starting to grow fond of made a brief appearance. My hand still
on her cheek, I leaned forward and kissed her. My skin jumped
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