‘Do you think she’s okay?’ April asked. She turned to look at Cillian, but he was already looking at her. He flicked his eyes to Martha’s place as though he had never glanced her way.
‘I’m not sure, but this place is not the same without her here, so I hope it gets sorted.’
‘I do too. It was strange without her today. Even with her sharp tongue.’
Cillian chuckled softly. ‘Ah, she’s not so bad once you get to know her. When Charlie, her husband, was here, she was a bit happier maybe.’ His eyebrows pulled together, a faint hint of realisation crossing his features. ‘To be honest though, even then she had an edge to her. Let me know if I can help tomorrow, okay?’
He headed to his front door and turned as he reached for the doorknob.
‘Come on, you’ll catch your death out here.’
She looked at her chalet, and back at Cillian. He gave her a little smile, showing off the dimples in his cheeks, and she found her feet moving towards him. She went along too, ignoring all the tiny little niggling voices in her head that told her that this was a bad idea. It was one night. She could get through one awkward night. Back during her marriage, she’d had plenty of practice.
Cillian reached for her arm, gently pulling her into the chalet and locking the door behind them. He put the keys on a little hook she hadn’t seen before, holding a picture of Cillian and Orla beaming into the camera as they sat on the sand. Cillian was holding his daughter so protectively it made her think of how he had reached for her when she fell. How his arms had felt around her. She pushed the thought away before her red cheeks gave her away. She didn’t have a poker face, and she could feel the heat shivering up her neck. It was her hormones, she mused. Nothing a little oil of evening primrose and a cold shower or three wouldn’t fix. She was still looking at the picture when he walked back towards her, pulling Orla’s door closed behind him.
‘She’s fast asleep. Her nightlight’s on,’ he said, the relief at being back in the chalet with her palpable. April swallowed down a bunch of questions she wanted to ask, and smiled back.
‘She’s adorable,’ she said truthfully, pointing to the key frame. His face lit up, and April marvelled at how just thinking about one person could literally change a person’s whole demeanour. She didn’t have anyone like that now. Her mum always looked at her that way, so maybe that was enough. Maybe the ‘one love’ thing wasn’t all romance, or wasn’t for everyone. Maybe it was just love for another person who smiled at the mere thought of the other. ‘Does she like it here, so far?’
‘She’s doing better at nursery, and being here seems to be helping too. It’s early days, but I’m thankful to you.’
She pushed out a soft laugh.
‘Oh no, thank you. Judging by my DIY skills, I would have probably lit myself on fire or worse if you weren’t here to pick me up.’ Eeep, awkward wording. ‘Not that you are picking me up, of course. I mean, I’m your boss and …’ She was full-on babbling now, something about employer rules and other incoherent bumbling. He saved her, thankfully. Yet again. This is becoming a habit, April. Stop it.
‘I knew what you meant. Have you eaten?’
He led her through by the arm to the sitting room, his hand half in hers. If she just stretched out her fingers, just a little, she could interlock them with his. She felt them tingle with missed opportunity when he showed her to the sofa and pulled a takeaway menu from a drawer in the side table.
The sitting room was lamp-lit, the TV off in the corner. A paperback lay over the arm of the armchair. April went over and picked it up, glancing at the open pages.
‘Good book?’ she asked. It was the same book she had been reading. When she’d finished, she’d decided to put it into a basket in the reception. She’d marked it ‘take one leave one’ and popped it in there.
‘Not bad.’ He shrugged. It was a love story, not one that she would think Cillian would be into reading. She was happy to be proved wrong this time. ‘I put one in the basket, see what you think.’ He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with dressings, cotton wool pads, and a bowl of warm water. She sat still as he got to work, his face paling with concern when she winced a time or two.
‘Ah, the blood made it look a lot worse than it is,’ he said, gently washing and drying the cut. ‘It’s not deep.’ He took his time, his little pink tongue peeking out at one point when he was concentrating. It was adorable, and April had to tense her whole face to stop herself from touching him. ‘All done,’ he said softly. He stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. ‘No scars on this face.’
‘Thanks. How bad does it look?’
Cillian stood with the bowl in his hand and looked straight down into her eyes.
‘You look good.’ His eyes widened. ‘Bit bruised like.’ He cleared his throat loudly, passing her his mobile phone from his pocket.
April prayed to God she didn’t erupt like a tomato. You look good.
‘It doesn’t have a lock on it. I wanted Orla to be able to use it if she needed it. Will you order, while I go make the bed up?’
She took the menus, scanning through the appetising dishes listed till her stomach grumbled.
‘What do you fancy?’
He shrugged again, his manner relaxed now, open even. It was nice to see, and she found herself sinking further back into the sofa, her muscles slowly unclenching as time went on and the
