Page 63 of Tangled Control
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The conversation with Leo plays on repeat in my head as I drive up the M50 after another suffocating Sunday lunch with my parents. The only highlight was the surprise on Dad’s face when I told him about my meeting with HR to discuss international work exchange programmes for staff.
But that moment didn’t ease the knot in my stomach that grows tighter the closer I get to Dublin and the meetup with Alexandra and our friends. My vintage Jaguar XJS with its custom-made engine is a flying machine, but today, I hate how fast it is. Acid burns in my throat when I stop at a red light.
“Fuck,” I mutter and send a quick message before the light turns green.
Survived the dreaded Sunday lunch, but just barely. How are you at resurrecting the half dead?
Catriona responds five minutes later.If you’re in the area, we can see what I can do.
The tires sequel as I do a very illegal turn.
I’ll be there in 10. Get your lipstick on and prepare to kiss me back to life.
I try to quiet the voice in my head saying I’ve just stood up Alexandra to be with Catriona, yet again.
Thirty Seven
Catriona
“I’ll treat you to the best-kept secret delicacy in town.”
Rian tips his Ray-Ban sunglasses - that I doubt are the fake kind - down and glances at me from over the frame. “I’ve already been there, tasted that, and can sign the t-shirt…”
“Rian!” I can’t help but laugh despite my burning cheeks. “This place has the best cinnamon scone you’ll ever taste!”
It’s been hard, the last days, keeping up the act in the office, pretending Rian and I are nothing more than we have ever been. But somehow, it’s also exhilarating, finding new ways to sneak hot looks or passionate kisses without anyone noticing. Such as Rian conveniently finding a reason for Mona to skip the meeting on the north side of town, close to my favourite bakery.
Leaving Rian and me on our own.
I half expected Rian to have a hotel room booked for us for a quickie. And I wouldn’t have minded at all…
“And how come you know about this best-kept secret?” With his jacket slung over his shoulder, I can only barely keep my attention on the road in front of me instead of roaming over thatsnug white shirt. I know exactly what’s hiding underneath. I’ve counted each defined muscle, licked every groove between them.
“My uncle dated a girl who worked there, and she later became my aunt. So, my whole family became, and still are, regulars. Back in the day, we all used to meet here on Saturday mornings for a cinnamon scone and a brew. Some of my best childhood memories are from this shop.”
“You don’t do it anymore?”
“No—hey!”
Rian’s husky chuckle is a warm caress as I try to stop him from undoing my hair.
“That’s better,” he says as my hair flows down my shoulders. He tugs on a strand and his burning gaze drifts to my lips. “You were saying?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t go there anymore?”
“Oh, yes. I mean, no.” I lick my lips and mentally slap myself back to focus. “At some point, it stopped. I guess life got in the way? Once we became teenagers, Eric had hurling games on Saturdays. Daniel had different support groups on the weekends. My grandfather passed away. I had schoolwork and weekend work.” I pause for a second, lost in my memories. “So, yeah, we don’t meet up on Saturdays anymore, but we all use the bakery when in the area. It’s the one luxury I allow myself.”
“One luxury? How much does one of these cinnamon scones cost?”
“You’re not supposed to ask the price of a gift,” I scold, embarrassed to admit that wasting a few euro is considered a luxury for me. “This is my treat, so accept it and keep your gob shut.”
He holds his hands up defensively. “I won’t say another word!”
As we enter the bakery, it suddenly dawns on me that it may be a mistake bringing Rian here. I quickly scan the row of tables and my shoulders sag in relief that none of my family members are here.
