One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

24

“Are we just going to walk all night? Is that what’s happening now?”

Declan ignores me, texting someone as we wait for the lights to change. We’ve been walking around Midtown for the last fifteen minutes and he still hasn’t told me where we’re going. Are we there yet? I want to say, like an annoying kid in the back seat. He’s fed me at least, a greasy cheeseburger from the first place we saw that I wolfed down without a second thought.

A giggle nearby catches my attention and I look over to see two young women ogling Declan a few steps away. One of them whispers something to the other, their eyes bright with alcohol. It doesn’t take much to understand why he’s attracted their attention. I take in the fancy suit, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his jacket strewn over his arm. He’s still holding my heels, the black straps dangling from his fingers.

He looks insanely hot.

“What?” he asks, noticing my attention.

He puts his phone away and I slip my hand into his, feeling smug. I feel even smugger when his fingers clasp automatically around mine. As if holding my hand is a perfectly natural thing.

“You’ve got admirers,” I say, flicking my eyes to the girls, who are now staring openly.

He glances over, confused, before he sees them. “Ladies,” he says with a grin and they burst out laughing.

He shakes his head as the light goes green and we walk across the street. He doesn’t let go of me as he leads me to a luxury hotel on the other side.

“I’m not getting a hotel room with you.”

He smirks as he brings me past the grand entrance to a smaller basement door further up. Outside, a couple of waiters are finishing their cigarettes, toeing the butts into the ground.

Declan leads me down the steps, following at their heels. My good mood falters.

“Are we sneaking in?”

“Just keep walking,” he says, hand on the small of my back as he pushes me through the door. We enter a significantly less fancy staff corridor filled with discarded service carts and empty fruit and vegetable crates.

Someone’s waiting for us inside, a sharply dressed barman who jumps up when he sees us.

“Shit man.” He laughs. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Language,” Declan cautions. “There are ladies present.”

“Sorry. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…” He struggles to come up with a word. “Clean.”

I’m not quick enough to hide my laugh. It comes out like a snort.

“Freddy used to work for me,” Declan says by way of explanation. “Back when Uncle Harry owned O’Shea’s.”

“Back when you were on garbage duty,” Freddy adds. “Which I guess you’re not on now.” He glances at me. “You marry rich?”

“What makes you think I didn’t earn my fortune myself?”

“Because I know Harry gave you the keys to the bar,” he says. “And I know there’s no money there.”

“You miss us, Freddy, admit it.”

“Don’t even try and get me back,” Freddy warns. “You can’t afford me. I earn a month’s rent some nights from the tips at this place. Speaking of,” he adds. “What’s so urgent? I’ve got socialites I need to flirt with.”

“I’ll give you ten bucks if you can get us onto the roof.”

“Fifty.”

“Twenty.”

“Deal.”

“What?” I say as Declan takes out his wallet. “No.”

“You don’t want to see the view?”

“I’ve got a roof garden in my apartment building.”

“Wow,” Declan says. “What’s that? Like a whole five floors?” He passes a crumpled bill to Freddy, who pockets it without a word and takes off down the corridor.

“Humor me,” Declan says at the look on my face. “I come from the land of small buildings and flat, boggy lands. We don’t even have mountains. They’re more like ambitious hills.”

“I’d do as he says,” Freddy calls, pressing the button for a service elevator. “He’s very insistent when he’s in this mood.”

“And what mood is that?” Declan asks as we step inside.

Freddy only smiles.

We travel up to the top floor, where Freddy keys in a code on a weathered-looking keypad and suddenly we’re back outside in the open air.

The roof isn’t entirely unused. Random chairs are scattered around along with small crates for tables. Someone’s roped unlit fairy lights around the various vents and added a few plant pots, trying to make it look nice.

“Enjoy the view,” Freddy says, already losing interest in us. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Does the door lock?” I call in a sudden panic as he disappears behind it.

Declan grabs the handle and opens it easily before letting it fall shut again. “Happy?”

“You paid twenty bucks for this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So we can talk in private,” he says innocently.

I shoot him a disbelieving look and turn back to the view. It’s not exactly the picture-perfect skyline we left back at the party but with the panoramic views I can see both the Chrysler and the Empire State buildings floating among the towering office blocks and luxury apartments. A warm breeze ruffles my hair as I stare at them and I hug my arms to my body, taking it all in.

There’s a shuffling noise behind me and I turn to see Declan kneeling by some sockets in the wall. A moment later half the fairy lights flicker to life. The other half stay dark. One multicolored strand struggles bravely for a few seconds before giving up.

“Feels super safe,” I say sarcastically.

“Stop ruining the moment.”

“Is that what we’re having?” I watch as he straightens, dusting off his hands. “You’re going to get electrocuted.”

He ignores me and starts rearranging the remaining working lights around a couple of chairs. I leave him to it and drift toward the edge of the roof, not near enough to touch but enough to put some distance between us. Way up here we’re insulated from the noise of the traffic and the streets below. I hear only the faint roar of it, the muted shouts and car horns.

When he’s finished with his little art project, he saunters over to join me, arms resting on the ledge as he looks down at the world below.

“You’re not going to spit, are you?”

“Not unless you dare me to.” He leans his full weight against the wall, swinging back and forth unconsciously on the balls of his feet. I flinch as the upper half of his torso practically leans over the side.

Declan notices it immediately, disappointment flooding his face. “You don’t like heights.”

“I’m fine with heights,” I say from where I stand two steps behind him. “I don’t like falling.”

“You’re not going to fall.”

“Not safe over here I won’t.”

“We can go back down.”

“No,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly judging by the sudden flare of his eyes. “You need to get your money’s worth,” I add lightly.

He watches me for a moment before holding out his hand. I have a sudden vision of him lifting me to sit on the wall, of kissing me in what might be a very romantic scenario if it wasn’t for the sheer death drop behind us.

Declan frowns when I just stare at him. “What?”

“You’ll—”

“No,” he interrupts guessing my thoughts. “I won’t. You don’t like heights.” He flexes his fingers in the air between us. “Trust me.”

I grudgingly put my hand in his.

“Hey!” I snap as he pulls me so fast I almost slam into him. But he’s ready for it, his body a solid block against mine, all muscle and strength and him. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re not one of those people who’s always in the gym, are you?” I ask suspiciously.

“No, this is all natural. I work very long hours on my father’s farm.”

“Never mind.”

“I spend every summer tossing hay bales all sweaty and tired.”

“I know your dad runs a post office.”

“Of course I go to the gym.”

“I go to Claire’s gym,” I say, my eyes on the skin of his throat visible above his collar. “Her trainer says if I keep up the good work, I’ll no longer be dead by forty-seven.”

“Sounds like you’re making great progress.”

I shrug, still not meeting his eyes. The way he’s holding me, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other still clutching my hand, it’s like he’s about to spin me around a dance floor. But there’s no music other than the traffic below. And no movement other than Declan’s thumb gently brushing my fingers.

“How are the shoes?” he asks after a moment.

“They’re okay.”

“You want to sit down?”

I nod jerkily and when I break away, he doesn’t try to stop me.

We settle on weathered sun loungers and the imagery is not lost on me. We’re sitting exactly as we were in that hotel in Ireland. But in very different circumstances.

For one, I don’t have to worry about a crying Annie upstairs.

And for two… there’s no more pretending he’s just a one—or two—night stand.

Declan tosses his jacket over the back of his chair and rolls up his sleeves.

Those damn buttons.

I imagine ripping the rest of them off as I climb on top of him.

He glances over as if hearing my thoughts and I make myself meet his gaze.

“Freddy always posts pictures of himself up here,” he says when I do. “I always wanted to see it for myself.”

“It’s really cool.”

“Romantic, some might say.”

“Some might.”

“Come on,” he says laughing. “Give me some points for trying at least.”

I want to give him a lot more than that.

“You should open a bar up here,” I say to distract myself. “You’d make a fortune.”

“Yeah, that’s what this city needs. Another rooftop bar.”

I smirk, trying to get more comfortable. “Annie really is moving to Ireland, you know. Not just an idea anymore. An official plan. They’re going to try and start a family. With a house and a garden and a dog and everything.”

“Are you jealous?”

I pause, thrown by the question. Jealous? I hadn’t considered jealousy before. “No,” I say slowly, trying to find the right words for what I do feel. “Sad, I think. It doesn’t feel time yet. Maybe for her, but not for me. It feels like she’s cutting it all short. Like we had so much more to do.”

But there’s something else as well. Something I’d never really had before. An increasing longing for what they have. What I thought I had with Josh.

“You ever think you’ll leave?” Declan asks.

“New York?” I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it. But probably. It’s what most people do, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t mean you have to.”

“I know,” I say. “But priorities change. Mine could too.” I pause, looking up at the night sky tinted with the lights from below. I’d loved it when I first came here. Working what I thought would be my dream job in my dream city. I took full advantage of New York’s energy when I first came here, I threw myself into it, feeling like I sometimes survived purely on its adrenaline. I liked the anonymity of it. I liked how easy it was not to have to think about the day before, the night before, how I could just wake up and move on because that’s what people did here. It always felt to me like there was no time to stop and dig deeper, no time to do so much as scratch the surface of another person. And that suited me just fine.

Until recently.

“The truth is I have no idea what I want,” I say quietly. “Not really. Nor do I have the first inkling of where to start figuring it out. I’m hoping one day the answer will just fall into my lap.”

Neither of us says anything for a few minutes, the silence bordering on comfortable, if only I wasn’t so aware of him and, by extension, myself. I’m suddenly desperate to know how he sees me. If I look stupid in my dress and Claire’s shoes. If my makeup has smudged or if there’s fast-food grease on my chin. I reach back to adjust my hair and knock a string of lights off in the process.

As they clatter to the ground, I risk a glance at Declan to find him staring at the sky. “Smooth.”

“Oh, whatever,” I snap.

“It’s okay to be nervous. Second dates make me nervous too.”

“This is not a second date.”

“How would you know? When’s the last time you even had one?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, sounding smug.

I don’t say anything, tugging the lights back up. All I can suddenly think about are the words he spoke to me back in O’Shea’s. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d stopped his promises then. I had to. He didn’t realize what they meant.

But that’s not his fault.

“Josh Lawson.”

“What?”

“The last time I had a second date,” I say, sitting back against the chair. “Josh Lawson. And it was a lot more than two dates. We were together for over a year.”

Declan’s quiet, his brow furrowed, and I know this is not where he expected this conversation to go.

“What happened?” he asks eventually, less curious and more… resigned.

What happened.

I can picture the scene like he’s sitting right in front of me. We’d been together for fifteen months and four days (I’d counted) and were sitting on the floor of his apartment, eating pasta and watching old movies and I thought that I had never felt so at home with another person. By that stage we’d stopped going out as much, trading bars and clubs for lazy nights in. I took it as a good sign. A “we don’t need to impress each other anymore” sign. A “we are fine just being together” sign. Being who we were.

I swallow. “I told him I loved him and he… he broke up with me.”

“Christ,” Declan mutters.

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

“Yeah.”

I hadn’t been nervous at all. I hadn’t even planned it. It had just occurred to me sitting there that night that we’d never said it to each other. At least not out loud. I thought he told me he loved me in other ways. In how he played with my hair while we watched TV, in how he smiled at me when I walked into the room, in the silences that had grown so comfortable between us.

And that night sitting there, halfway through my bowl of fettucine I told him how I felt.

I can still remember the look on his face. The tender pity. The gentle letdown that somehow made it so much worse. Worse that he cared. But just didn’t care enough.

I blink away the stinging in my eyes, the embarrassment almost cruel in how it still makes me feel ill after all this time.

“It just…” Declan trails off, exhaling loudly. “Explains so much.”

“Shut up.” I laugh, hiccupping slightly.

“I mean between that and your parents—”

“Ugh.” I press the heel of my hands under my eyes and take a deep breath. I can feel him watching me. “I think I was just… convenient for him. Like he had to be with someone so why not me.” I sniff. “But I was never his long-term plan. And as soon as I told him he was mine he told me the truth. I suppose it’s better that he did it then rather than later when we were…” What? Living together? Married? Our lives entangled to the point of no return so that a healthy break was impossible? There was nothing healthy about Josh Lawson breaking up with me. Nothing healthy about getting your heart broken. I shut down completely after it. Swore off relationships and never looked back. “Do you want to know the worst part?”

“That wasn’t the worst part?”

“I’m pretty sure he was cheating on me. Or thinking about it or planning it or…” I trail off with a sigh.

“How do you know?”

“He got married last year,” I say. “At least according to his Facebook, which Annie still has access to. His wife… She moved into the apartment next to him a few weeks before we broke up. We actually had dinner with her once. Can you believe that?” I want to groan just thinking about it. What an idiot I’d been. How trusting, how… naïve. “They weren’t even together for as long as we were when he proposed. And now they’re married. Just like that.” I knock my head back against the seat, wishing I had a drink. “Do you ever think about things like that? How you’re just some blip in someone’s life?”

Declan scowls. “You’re not a blip.”

“I’m an ex-girlfriend. I was like his practice wife.”

“That’s insane. If you’re a blip than he’s a blip.”

“Maybe.” But he doesn’t feel like a blip. He still feels like everything some days. He still hurts.

“Is that why no second dates? Scared you’ll meet another Josh?”

Or that I won’t recognize him if I do. It was the same with my mom. It’s the people who you least expect who can hurt you the most.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right person,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“So you are a romantic.”

“I’m a realist.”

“A Pisces,” Declan says, snapping his fingers. “I knew it.”

“I’m a Scorpio.”

“Pisces is the only one I know.”

I ignore him, but I’m relieved he’s not delving any deeper into one of the worst moments of my life. Like he knows I want to move on.

“So,” he says as I wrap the strands over the back of the chair. “Only child. Divorced parents. Love of your life broke up with you the moment you revealed your true feelings. What else you got?”

“We’re playing this game again?”

“It’s my favorite one.”

“Well, I think it’s your turn,” I say. “Did you always want to move to New York?”

He shakes his head. “I never thought about it. I was living in Dublin, working at a restaurant group when Harry rang and offered me the chance to come over here. I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to say no.”

“You didn’t have anyone back home?” It’s a personal question, a probing question and I regret it as soon as I ask, especially as Declan goes quiet. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “It was just me at the time.”

“And do you think you’ll move back to Ireland?”

“I have no idea.”

I bristle slightly at the non-answer. If he doesn’t want to get into it, I won’t make him. But I’m doing more than my share of soul spilling here and despite all I’ve learned about him, I’m constantly reminded that there’s so much I don’t know. I realize now how little time I’ve actually spent with him. I only met him two months ago. Though back at his office he implied…

“What?” Declan asks. “You’ve got a look on your face I don’t like.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I was thinking how the first time I saw you was that night at O’Shea’s. But that according to you, it’s not the first time you saw me.”

He hesitates, looking sheepish for the first time. “Okay,” he sighs. “This is going to sound a little creepy, but I want you to know that it’s not.”

“Reassuring, thanks.”

“In my defense, I’m very good with faces and in my line of work you get to know the regulars, even just to glance at. And I got to know your face because I may or may not have had a crush on you. Again, in a non-creepy way.”

“So you just what? Stared at me from afar?”

“You never gave me a chance to do anything more,” he says. “You were always with someone. Your friends or a date. You have a type, you know that?”

“Which is what?” I ask. “Devastatingly handsome?”

“They make you laugh.”

I tense as he looks at me.

“One night, the night, I decided to take my shot. I finished up and went over to talk to you, old-school style. And thankfully, from my research and my watching—”

“Your stalking.”

“—I knew just what to do.”

Make me laugh. And he did. I remember now. How he teased me. How he told me stories.

“So, you can see after weeks of waiting for my chance with you, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when you kicked me out of your bed the next morning.” There’s a joking edge to his tone, but I feel deadly serious. “After all that planning.” He tsks.

“You should have told me.”

“I wanted to appear cool and detached.”

But he never appeared that way. Infuriating maybe, though even when he annoyed me I found myself drawn to him. And now the more time I spend with him, the more I see him. His warmth for his friends, his passion for his business… his interest in me. He’d been clear about that from the start, even when I pushed him away.

Trust me.

I want to. God, I really want to.

I shift in the chair, looking at him again. I can’t stop looking at him. Every time I force myself to glance away it’s like zing straight back. Like he’s tugging a string connected right to my brain. And other parts of me.

One thing is clear, whatever he planned to happen tonight, he’s taking his sweet time with it.

“Do you have any tattoos?” he asks before laughing again as I glare at him. “What?”

“You know I don’t. You’ve seen me naked.”

“It was dark,” he says innocently.

“You enjoy this, don’t you? Bugging the hell out of me.”

“We’re just talking.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk anymore.”

I rise from the chair, my intentions clear, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Sit down,” he says like I’m an errant child.

“Okay.” And I do just that. On him. Again. He laughs, holding me steady. “Sarah,” he warns but I shush him.

“I take it back,” he says as I lean over him. “Will’s not confusing. You are.”

“I won’t be anymore. I promise.”

He frowns up at me, tucking a loose bit of hair behind my ear. He doesn’t try to stop me as I lower my face to his. I place a hesitant kiss to his lips and then another and another until his mouth opens and he gently kisses me back.

It’s different to the hurried, eager ones we’ve shared before. It’s softer, sweeter even when he deepens it, his arm snaking around my waist as he pulls me into him until I can feel all of him. He makes a low noise when our bodies meet, a delicious sound that sends tingles through every inch of me, and in the back of my mind I wonder how much hotel rooms cost in a place like this anyway when all of a sudden, his grip on me loosens and he pushes me gently away.

“I’m not doing this again, Sarah,” he breathes.

“Doing what?” I mutter, confused. I shift on top of him and he grabs my wrists gently, pinning them to the armrests.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“Confident much?”

“It’s what will happen,” he says calmly. “And then you’ll get some crazy idea into your head.”

“No, I—”

“Yes,” he says. “You will. And we’ll go back to ignoring each other or to fighting or whatever it is you consider foreplay.”

“I won’t,” I say, going in for the kiss again.

“I’m going out of town for a few days.”

I straighten, looking down at him. “When?”

“Tomorrow. Or today, I guess. So, you see why I don’t want to be with you right now. I really don’t want to give you that much space so you can decide to start keeping things professional again.”

“I won’t,” I insist but even as I say the words, I realize I probably will. “You seriously don’t want to do anything?”

His laughs hoarsely. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says. “I think you know that. Pretty sure you can feel that too. But…”

“What?”

“I need you to go sit in your chair.”

“You’re kidding me.”

This time he’s the one who shifts, almost knocking me to the roof. “Go,” he says. “No means no. You’re the one who wanted to be professional.”

I mutter something incredibly unprofessional under my breath, returning to my seat. I make a show of arranging my skirt. “Where are you going? On this big trip you suddenly have?”

“Chicago.”

“When are you back?”

“A couple of days. Will you miss me?”

“Yes.”

His smile fades but I promised him after all. I’m going to be honest.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, a challenge in his voice. You say it first it seems to imply.

Now I’m the one to smile, lacing my fingers on my stomach. “So what do you want to do?” I ask. “If we’re going to stay professional tonight?”

“We’re going to watch the sun come up.”

“We’re… what?”

“We’re going to sit here,” he says. “And watch the sun come up.”

“The sun doesn’t rise for another five hours.”

“So take a nap.”

“What if I have to pee?”

“There’s toilets inside, Sarah. Stop ruining the moment.”

He’sthe one who ruined the moment. And he must realize it too because he turns to me, his brows raised. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he says, a wicked look stealing across his face. “Trust me.”

And this time I do.