Page 5 of At First Smile

“I was born in Toronto, but my mam is from Dublin. She came to Canada for university and met my dad. They had a bit of a whirlwind?—”

“Courtship,” she interjects, with a cheeky grin.

“Yes.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “My brother Gillian was born ten months after they met.”

“That is a whirlwind.”

“A year later, Finn came along and then me the following year.”

Pen motions to me. “There are two more of you? Are they as big as you? Your poor mother’s vagina.”

I grimace. “Please don’t mention my mam’s bits.”

“Ladies don’t have bits,” she scoffs. “You gentlemen have that market cornered.”

“Noted.”

“So, the Irish-ish accent is just something that rubbed off from your mam?” The tiny dimples punctuating her smile pop with the word “mam.”

“A bit, but we moved back to Dublin when I was nine and lived there until I was sixteen when mam went back to university in Canada to finish her degree.” I hold my breath knowing what the next question will be and deciding if I’ll answer.

It’s not something I talk about with anyone.

Even with Finn and Gillian. Outside of Wes, my unwanted and persistent friend, I’ve barely spoken about it outside the cliff notes version.

“Why’d you move to Ireland?”

Peering into her coaxing eyes, I have no choice. It just comes out. “My dad died, so we moved in with my grandparents.”

My eyes close for a moment, drifting back to that flight.

Eleven-year-old Gillian sitting beside me, nudging my ribs and hissing, “Shut up.” Ten-year-old Finn, the spitting image of our mother with golden hair and blue eyes, presses tight to her side cooing, “It’s okay mam.

” Her tear-logged stare fixes forward while saying, “Rowan, I’m sorry. ”

“I get it,” Pen’s delicate fingers thread with mine, pulling my attention to her. A thoughtful expression etched in her lovely features. “We moved in with my Aunt Bea when I was three after my dad died.”

I squeeze her hand, allowing the action to bind me to her in this shared understanding of each other’s grief. In not just losing someone we loved far too soon – too soon to even really know them beyond the flicker of memories and stories from others – but in the loss of our entire world.

“What’s your favorite memory of him?” she asks, her thumb dancing along mine. Each caress is reminiscent of kisses across my skin.

“We had a pond behind our house where we’d swim in the summer and, in the winter when it iced over, we skated. My brothers didn’t like skating. Finn preferred being in the house with mam and Gillian…found me annoying.” I grin, knowing his feelings hadn’t changed over the years.

Though, Gillian wouldn’t use the word annoying. He has far more colorful words to describe me now.

“Dad and I would skate for hours. He’d been a hockey player at university until he hurt his knee.

He never stopped loving the game. My brothers watched with him but didn’t share the same passion as he and I did.

On our pond’s ice, it was our time just me and him. I wasn’t one of his boys but his son.”

“Are you still into hockey?”

My gaze meets hers. “I am.”

“Good.” Her smile drips with acceptance.

The open admiration in her eyes unspools the tangled emotions in my chest. That sense of being alone – being unseen – dissolves in the way she looks at me.

Like somehow, she sees me. The real me. The lonely boy forced to say goodbye to the father he loved and the life he knew.

The guarded man that bought his childhood home to sit beside that pond in hopes to hear the whispered voice of the past.

“Just checking in to see if you need anything. Perhaps, a drink? I know you declined during our first pass,” The flight attendant asks, pulling my stare away from Pen.

“Ah.” I blink, not realizing there was an entire flight outside of the little bubble that Pen and I had fallen into. The rest of the world was drowned out by this woman. I’d not noticed anything. Not the safety announcements. Not the takeoff. Nothing.

Pen’s almost conspiratorial glance telegraphs that she’d been very much in that bubble with me.

“Tea, please. English Breakfast if you have it.”

The flight attendant nods. “And your wife? What would she like?” He tips his head to Pen.

My wife? The attraction between us is palpable, but we’ve just met. Even if the initial thought I had when first meeting her was mine, mine, mine – as if I’m a fucking caveman – she’s not mine.

Though, I don’t like the way the flight attendant is looking at her, nor the dismissive way he referred to Pen.

Mine or not, I’d expect him – or anyone – to address her directly.

To meet her gaze. No. Fuck that. He should bow to this goddess beside me because God knows that’s all I want to do is prostrate myself at her feet.

I open my mouth….

But Pen steals my words. “His wife”—she clears her throat— “can answer her own questions and would also like an English Breakfast tea.” Somehow, she’s both sweet and fierce in the polite request, making me want her even more.

My gaze flicks from Pen to the flight attendant, flashing him a stern glare. A snarl building in my throat.

“Apologies.” He shifts foot-to-foot, the muscles of his throat working.

Her features are soft. “It’s totally fine. My hubby gives off major alpha vibes, so I get it. Don’t let the growly face fool you…” Raising her hands, she pinches my cheeks and coos, “He’s a total softy.”

I scowl, fighting the grin that curls my lips. Everything about this woman makes me smile. But the scowl is also for her, at the idea that this is not the first time she’s dealt with someone not speaking directly to her. That someone only saw her cane, not her.

“He is commanding.” The flight attendant blushes. “I’ll bring you both some warm chocolate chip cookies with your tea.” With a placating expression, he moves to the next row.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

She taps my cheek. “Easy, hubby, or I’ll make you give me your cookie.”

Fuck, she can have everything if she keeps looking at me that way.

“I guess he’s one of those assholes your Aunt Bea talks about.”

Wistfulness swims in her expression at the mention of her aunt. “Perhaps. Or he’s just a little misguided.”

“You have so much grace. I was about to tell him to fuck off.”

Shaking her head, she laughs. “I know you were. The anger radiated off you. If I told everyone who got it wrong to fuck off, I’d be all out of fucks to give. Gotta save those fucks for when I truly need them.”

I huff an incredulous laugh. “I seem to have an ample supply.”

“Perhaps we should get you some herbal tea, then.” She pats my knuckles.

Without thinking, I envelop her hand in mine. Her touch is the only calming elixir I need or want.

“You said you’re still into hockey…do you still play to stay close to your dad?”

I shift in my seat. “Yes.”

“I’m glad.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “It’s important to hold on to the things that keep us close to the people we love.”

I clear my throat. “Do you have something like that with your dad?”

“I was so young when he died. He’s just a picture in a frame to me.” The corners of her mouth tick down into a small frown.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I never missed him. At least not the way I think you’re supposed to. It may be because of my Aunt Bea. She was my dad’s twin sister. My grandmother always said they were two peas in a pod, so in a way I had a piece of him through her.” Sadness shimmers in her stare.

My thumb strokes along her smooth skin, wanting to ask what darkened her brightness. A wave of selfishness washes through me when I look at Pen. I want to coax free every secret, sad memory, happy thought, and all that lives within her.

“We’re like the most depressing seatmates.” She chuckles, her face crinkled with what looks like self-reproach. “Maybe we should nix the tea and get mimosas. We need to liven this place up.” Her lips pucker, seeming to consider something. “Truth or dare?”

“What?”

She pokes me with her free hand. “You heard me, hubby. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” I grin.

“Tell me a secret.” Her forehead wrinkles. “A fun one. I think we’ve done enough emotional vomiting this morning.”

One secret raises its hand, wanting to be told.

My eyes fall to her mouth, watching the flash of white teeth bite into that plump lower lip.

I want to lean across the armrest and sink into her lips.

Make her whimper with a nipping kiss, coaxing her to open for me.

To slide my tongue against hers, drinking up what I know – without having ever tasted – would be the most decadent thing I’ve ever consumed.

“A secret,” I murmur, raising my free hand to her face, cradling her cheek.

Brushing the rough pads of my fingers against her silken skin, her eyes close like a kitten reveling in the soft strokes of loving hands.

On the ice, I play with no regard for anything but what I want.

And what I want right now is to claim her pretty mouth for mine.

“Rowan,” she says, a tiny hitch in her breath.

“Pen,” I whisper, leaning in…

A sudden jerk yanks us apart. My back crashing into the seat.

“Turbulence?” Pen’s hand clutches mine.

This feels like more than the standard bumps of air travel. Jolts rattle the cabin, causing passengers to shift violently in their seats. Gasps and screams fill the plane. My arms wrap around Pen, holding her close with the increasingly rough turbulence.

“Folks, this is your captain.” The pilot’s steady voice crackles over the intercom. “Please ensure you’re seated with your belt buckled. Flight attendants, take your seats.”

Two flight attendants grip the seats, trying to make their way down the aisle. A sudden violent shift flings one forward, the other grabs her arm to steady her but misses.

“Please ensure your belts are secure. Put up tray tables.” The male flight attendant who took our drink order commands, helping the other one off the ground. Both amble toward their seats.

“What’s happening?” Pen’s eyes widen, her body burrowing deep into my side.

“I don’t know, but I’ve got you.” I run my fingers into her hair, massaging soothing circles on her scalp and praying this isn’t the end.

I’d just found her, after all.