One Autumn Night

Chapter Sixteen

Sleep eluded her. She was dead tired and couldn't wind down enough to fall into any sort of solid sleep, so she tossed, turned, watched the remnants of rain that clung to her windows in glassy streaks.

Bored, anxious, and feeling the somber weight of humility press heavily on her chest, Abigail shoved off the comforter and roamed down to her pub, the steady footsteps creaking across the century-old damaged wood floor.

Using the bright red lever on the coffee maker to pour a mug of hot water with one hand, she selected mint tea with the other—multitasking out of habit—and tossed in the bag to brew.

The rain had paused, only that fine spray remaining, but the air was tined with a frosty chill, leaving icy dots on each windowpane like Mother Nature's fingerprints left behind.

Sitting in the dark, empty pub with only the lights of town shining through, wearing her nightly uniform of a lone T-shirt—this time reading "Keep Calm And Go To The Plumber's Pub," a personal favorite, one of her regulars had made for her—she took her tea and tucked cozily into the chair nearest the window.

Thoughts of Declan plagued her attempted comfort—what he'd done for her, what he'd said to her. The roar of his mother and the unexpected news from his father gnawed at her as well.

The full day had scorched her, leaving marks that went well beyond a night of sleepless slumber. Humbled, confused, angry—it had all the scrapes and scratches of a day she wasn't soon to forget.

And love... Love, she could admit in the quiet cool, was what kept her going. She loved Declan with every piece of her heart, every tattered piece of it that was worn thin by the evening's events, by the years of using every scrap of her soul to keep her and her brother's heads above water.

Her heart would be whole again after some time. She would heal just as she had before. But the thought of Declan leaving, going back to the life she knew nothing about, swept loneliness through her.

She didn't want to need anything to feel whole, didn't want to feel broken just because someone or something wasn't there.

Money and family could make a mess of things, sure, but heartache was a different kind of mayhem, she decided as she sipped tea to soothe. It stung in wake and in sleep, and caused sudden pangs to wrench at unpredictable times.

It was okay to know she loved a man who had once loved her back. It was a sad thought maybe, but to her it was a happy one that consoled better than a cup of tea. Somehow it made it easier that he'd be gone before the hurt could cut too deeply.

Settling a bit, she breathed out, wishing for the weather to turn and snow to fall. Winter, the start of it anyway, provided a layer of comfort. She liked the routine of it—shoveling the sidewalk in front of the pub, keeping patrons warm with Irish coffee and hot, hearty food. She wondered, briefly, indulgently, what it was like in Manhattan when it snowed. Or rather, what it was like for Declan in Manhattan when it snowed.

She was wading through wistful little daydreams when she startled, registering a knocking sound that stomped through her quiet.

Moving toward the quick raps, her pulse pounded with the idea that it could be Declan. Then, ordering herself to be logical, she decided that it was probably just Beckett after a night with whatever girl from the party.

She strolled through the kitchen then pushed open the back door to the pub and caught sight of Declan braced to knock again on her personal door, the undone ends of his bow-tie hanging flat around his collar, the crisp white of his shirt unbuttoned at the top.