Chapter Three

REMINGTON'S POV

Kill me. Kill me now.

I had agreed to this because, no matter how many times I said I didn't want to be set up, my friends wouldn't believe me. Now I was spending my Tuesday evening being bored to death by a pretentious lawyer who worked in EU law. If he explained one more thing to me about Brexit, I would not be held responsible for what I would do.

My date was rabbiting on about something, but my mind kept wandering. Since the previous morning’s random chat, I had taken to reliving the conversation, sinking into the warm memory of being bathed in sunshine, those curved lips, and silky smooth hair.

Oh god, I needed to stop. That was never going to happen, not unless I fancied correcting people regularly with "No, he's not my son, he's my boyfriend."

Boyfriend indeed.

Then again, I didn't know how old Matthew was. Maybe he looked younger than his age? Wishful thinking seemed to be my new attempt to rationalize my daydreaming. Maybe he wasn't too young, and maybe it wouldn't be inappropriate to date him?

Maybe you should stop making excuses?

Yeah, maybe I should.

I looked up at my date who was still talking, mouth stuffed full of rib eye steak and little bits of it spattering the crisp white tablecloth. Good Lord, how do I end up in these situations? This guy was certainly not a boy. He was fifty -- if not more -- and his shirt collar was at least two sizes two small as attested by the bulge of fat that hung over the edge, giving him the appearance of a hippopotamus in a dress shirt. I smirked at the image and pursed my lips together, hoping he hadn't noticed.

Nope, no way. I can't do this. Time to ring the cavalry.

Under the table, I gently eased my phone from my pocket and pressed send on the text that I had already typed out in advance. It read "Save me," and I'd never meant it more than I did right now.

Seconds later, my phone started to ring.

"Sorry, I need to take this," I said as I feigned surprise.

"Already?" Sean said on the other end of the phone.

"What's happened? Are you okay?" This wasn't the first pretend conversation we'd had to pull off. But I knew Sean was going to give me a hard time over bailing out on another date.

"I'll tell you what's happened, Remington. You have no patience and you're too picky. What's wrong with this guy? Can you not even make it through the meal? I'm not going to keep calling and bailing you out of these dates. You are your own worst enemy." An exasperated sigh filtered down the line.

"No, it's no problem. I'll be right there," I said in the best worried tone I could muster.

"You're awful. Terrible, in fact."

"I'm on my way." I ended the call, almost certain I could hear Sean's eyes rolling at the other end of the phone. I turned to my date. "I'm going to have to leave. My friend needs me. It's a bit of an emergency."

Mr. Lawyer nodded but didn't look too disappointed. He was biting -- or to be precise, sucking -- on a piece of meat, and I almost gagged at the sight.

"I'll get the bill, but you stay and finish your food," I said, pulling on my jacket, and the guy grinned happily. Well, at least he was enjoying himself.

I was just happy to escape. No more blind dates.

* * *

"Come on, it couldn't have been that bad," Sean said as he handed me a mug of tea.

"It was. Trust me. He was more interested in the steak than he was in me. And we had zero chemistry. I'm done with dating." I stirred in a teaspoon of sugar and settled myself on a stool at Sean's kitchen island.

I'd driven back to Cloch Ban, about forty minutes outside Dublin, and drove straight to Sean's house. He had been a friend of mine as a kid, and he'd studied horticulture after school while I’d gone off to study art. He ran a farm, which he’d inherited from his parents. It was a large, sprawling estate and had the sort of charm that money couldn't buy. As teenagers, we'd rambled the fields and smoked stolen cigarettes behind the stone wall boundaries. That seemed like a million years ago. Now I was a widower, and he was a single father of a twenty-five year old.

Ugh. That was probably the same age as Matthew. What was I even doing still thinking about that man?

Sean came around the large island and sat next to me. "You never give these men a chance."

"That's entirely untrue. I just don't have time to waste on boring, soul-draining men. Honestly, I thought I'd fall asleep right there. He was just so dull. And the way he chewed his food..." I shivered as I remembered the slobbering saliva sound he had made all through dinner.

"Mmm." Sean took a slurp of his tea, and his eyes narrowed.

"Don't mmm me."

He laughed and slid a plate across the counter loaded with buns. "Got these earlier in McDowell’s bakery; they're mostly butter and sugar, all the good stuff. Let's pretend neither of us needs to mind our arteries."

The local bakery was one of the things I'd become a little too fond of, finding myself stopping by anytime I was back home. But now wasn't the time to be worrying about my sugar consumption.

"I don't know what you're going to do if nobody is good enough for you, Remington. You're making things harder than they should be."

"It's not about them being good enough. It's about not wanting to lose my mind with boredom. I'm nearly fifty. I'm not settling down with the wrong person just for the sake of it. I want to find someone that fits with my life. That fits with me.” I had no intention of finding anyone if I was being honest, but the thought of settling for someone that wasn't right for me was too much. I'd been alone for long enough to know that I'd be alright. I didn't need anyone, even if it would be nice.

"Well then, you're going to have to make some compromises, and I don't think you want to do that." Sean stared at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my usual excuse. I admit I always had one. He knew me well enough to know what was really going on -- that I was avoiding settling down with anyone because none of them would be Geoffrey.

The feel of Sean's hand on my shoulder made me sigh. I was tired of feeling so empty all the time.

"Remington, I think we both know you're comparing everyone to Geoffrey. The moment he died, you immortalized him. But it's been eight years, and it's time to move on. You deserve to be happy."

"Maybe you're right," I said, knowing that of course he was. For a fleeting moment, my mind reluctantly went back to that time, where darkness and pain resided.

Geoffrey had been the only person I had ever loved. He was a wonderful soul, kind, funny, and handsome. We had spent the most glorious five years together. He was my forever person. Only fate had something else in store and forever wasn't it.

I would never forget that winter morning when Geoffrey was hoping to find out why he was so out of breath, struggling to even climb stairs. Neither of us had expected to hear the word cancer. But the real nightmare unfolded after further tests brought the worst possible news with the use of the word terminal. That word had thundered into the room and killed our future together. I felt the pain simmer up even now, eight years later, having never left me. It never would.

"Maybe you don't know what you want," Sean said, his voice low, most likely guessing what thoughts were going through my head. "I care about you enough to call you out on this, Remington. You are preventing yourself from moving on. When is the last time you even met someone that peaked your interest? And I don't just mean physically. I'm talking about that spark, you know, where you just want to find out everything about a person. That chemistry that sets all your nerves alight and suddenly life feels like an adventure."

The heat rose in my neck and flashed up until it had painted my cheeks pink, threatening to give away things that I didn't want to share. I took a large gulp of my tea, avoiding Sean's eyes at all costs.

"I'm sorry if I'm being too blunt. I don't mean to be hurtful, it’s just that I want you to be happy." His voice was gentle, and I knew he was worried about me. All of my friends were. My own brother was the worst of them, constantly checking in on me.

"No, it's not that. I'm not disagreeing with you. And I'm grateful to have a friend that calls me out on this. You're right."

"You can let yourself find someone that makes you light up, just like Geoffrey used to do. There's someone out there for you, you just need to find them. And then when you find them, find someone for me, will you?"

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. "You could have any man you want, Sean. You don't want anyone either."

"That's not true. Nobody wants to date a farmer with a crumbling house and a head full of grey hair."

"See, that's your problem, Sean. You don't know how to sell yourself right. It should be: agricultural entrepreneur with stately manor and salt and pepper mane."

I had to grab the edge of the island as Sean nearly toppled off his stool in a fit of laughter.

"Christ, you could sell anything. I'll remember to call you when I'm updating the Manor's website. More tea?" He walked across the smooth flagstones to the red range cooker, the old-style kettle bubbling away on the stove.

Fuck it. Maybe I should just tell him. Why not?

"I might have met someone recently that made that magic feeling thing you were talking about. It was so odd. Absolutely absurd. And yet, perfectly wonderful.”

Sean swung around and studied my face, his mouth curving in amusement. "Oh. My. God. You have met someone. Spill the details. Now."

"Yesterday, at a coffee shop--"

"Yesterday?" he interrupted and then waved for me to continue. "Sorry, go on."

"Yesterday, I stopped for a coffee, and this man sat next to me and we chatted. It was the most random thing to happen, but there was something there that I can't quite put my finger on. We talked about stuff, personal stuff, and it just felt sort of, I don't know, deep? Like we had a connection. And he's an artist. A good one. I gave him my card because maybe I could help him or something. But that was it really."

I thought back to that coffee shop and the ease that was between us. Familiar. Yes, that was what it was.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. He sat at your table?"

"No, at the next one. But he struck up a conversation straight away. And he was... I don't know. I think he was flirting."

"This is unbelievable. Go on."

"I can't. There's nothing more to tell. We just chatted, and then I had to leave for a client meeting."

"That’s it? And you didn't get a number?"

"No, as I said, I gave him my card in case he needed a contact. And I asked him the name of his friend's gallery, because I thought I might drop by early today. But I didn't get a chance. Anyway, there was no point. We're entirely not suited. It wouldn't work. It was just all very... familiar.

"Familiar?"

"Yes, like I knew him or something. I can't explain it. I just found him so easy to chat to. It took me by surprise, to be honest. There was this sense of lightness that emanated from him. It made me feel... strange. Happy? No, that sounds ridiculous. Let's stop talking about this."

Sean stared, open-mouthed, for a second. "Oh, hell. You met your soulmate, and you walked away."

"Don't be so ridiculous," I said, rolling my eyes at such an absurd suggestion.

"It's not ridiculous. Did you even hear yourself? You have to go see him. Where is this gallery?"

I felt a lump in my throat, and my lip twitched the way it always did when I was nervous. "I shouldn't have even mentioned him. How's work? Did you think any more about the yurts?"

"Stop right there. We are not changing the subject. You need to go find him."

"No, I don't want to see him again." I sounded like I meant it, but my body trembled a little, as though the lie was unnerving me.

"Remington." Sean's voice was stern, and he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently in mock frustration.

I laughed at his exasperated expression. "It wouldn't work anyway. We're not suited. I know that already."

"How do you know that? Why not?"

"Because he's far too young and far too good-looking."

Sean's eyebrows rose so high I feared they might migrate onto his scalp. A grin spread across his mouth, and he tilted his head, judging me with all his might. "Too young and too good-looking? How awful for you. He sounds positively dreadful."

I shook my head in disapproval. "Stop mocking me."

"I will not."

"You're a terrible friend."

"I'm a wonderful friend, and you're a fool of a man."

"What?"

Sean stared hard at me. "You heard me. Who in their right mind would discount a potential soulmate on the grounds that they are too young and too good-looking? How young is he?"

"Mid-twenties, I’d guess," I muttered, before adding, "About the same age as your son."

Sean leaned forward and placed his arms flat on the marble island, laying his head between, clearly exasperated by me.

"Good, you've given up," I teased.

"No. Never. I will not give up. He's not too young. So now, onto his looks. What exactly is too good-looking, Remington?"

"You know, he's too noticeable. He would draw attention. He looks like he stepped out of one of the old Italian paintings I sell, one of a Greek or Roman god. He has that chiseled appearance and aquiline nose. And then his hair... it's curly, a bit messy, and dark. Oh, and his eyes, they're green and deep but sort of piercing. And his lips are far too feminine. They look soft and plump. It's rather ridiculous how attractive he is." I paused and looked at Sean who had sat upright and was staring at me, open-mouthed and glassy-eyed.

"Sean, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Having inappropriate thoughts. Don't mind me."

"What is wrong with you!" I shouted incredulously, and then we both started laughing.

"Well, you just described the sexiest fucking man ever. Don't blame me. But I have figured out why it wouldn't work between you two. Want me to tell you?" He grabbed another biscuit and took a bite.

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"You're afraid, Remington. That's it. Nothing else but fear."

I wanted to reply, defend, argue, but my words had evaporated and only the sound of my heart hammering in my chest made any sense at all.

"He sounds exactly like the type of guy you need. A younger, fun, hot man to remind you that you're not dead yet. You're going to do what I tell you. What time is it?"

We both turned to stare up at the old kitchen clock on the far wall.

"Right. Grab your coat. I'll drive," Sean announced. He was already up and heading for the door, grabbing his keys.

"Where are we going?" Why I bothered asking was beyond me. I knew where we were going, but the nerves had scrambled my thoughts.

"We're going to the gallery to get you your man."