Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(25)
Understanding flickers in his eyes. “Never been better.” Downing the rest of his coffee, River wanders over to a nearby trash can to stuff the cup in. “I need to run now.”
Already? He obviously made a special trip this way and he’s been here all of five minutes, if that. I struggle to keep the disappointment from my face. Why not just let me come to the bar and pick my wallet up, then? Unless . . . maybe he didn’t want me lingering there after all. I clear my throat to ensure my voice is light as I tease, “I thought you were here to teach me about Irish history?”
A playful smirk curls his lips. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to see my parents today, before work. But we have fantastic museums, with tours for your kind.”
Is this really it, then? Are we saying goodbye already? I open my mouth to thank him yet again, but falter, not sure that the simple words are enough anymore. Not for me, anyway. Taking a deep breath, I close the small gap between us and reach out, wrapping my arms around River’s neck, coffee cup and all. Just tight enough to feel his chest against mine. His body stiffens under my touch for just a moment, and then his arms rope around my waist, squeezing me into a tight embrace, until I can feel his heartbeat and I’m resting my head against his shoulder like we’ve known each other for years. The lightest caress of his breath against my neck sends shivers through my body.
He holds me like this for five wonderful seconds and then his body goes lax, and he pulls away. With a deep exhale, he turns and begins walking away slowly, his feet dragging. Not uttering a single word.
“The famine was caused by a potato blight!” I blurt out after him. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. I’m ready to say anything to make him stop.
And it works.
He turns and I flash him my smug smile. This American girl didn’t come to Ireland completely unprepared.
“That’s a good start, but there’s much more to that story, Miss Amber Mae Welles,” he smirks, emphasizing Welles, a well-known British surname. “You should check out the Collins Barracks Museum.” He pauses, hesitating. “And stay out of any more trouble.”
“But then you wouldn’t be able to come and save me.” Superman.
His head falls back with a burst of laughter that makes me both happy and sad. “You need saving, do you?”
I don’t know what I need, but the way he just held me gave me a taste of what I definitely want. I hold up my wallet. “I could have just stopped by your bar to get it.”
“You could have.” He hesitates. “But then I might have missed seeing you again.”
My heart flutters with excitement. So he did want to see me again, too.
“See ya, Amber.” He winks. “Don’t do anything . . . torrid.”
Oh my God. He definitely read the list. I stare after him, red-faced, as he crosses the street and disappears from my sight.
See ya? He does realize that he actually won’t, doesn’t he? We live thousands of miles apart. It’s virtually impossible that we’ll ever cross paths in this life again. Unless . . .
I go to that pub again.
I thumb my wallet between my fingers, appreciating that it was just sitting in his back pocket not long ago. It was also in the trash can, but I’m not going to focus on that. Leafing through the little compartments, I find my license and bank card just as they were. And all of my money, down to the last euro. The few receipts that I remember stuffing in there.
No travel bucket list.
The giddy smile that River put on my face slips off as I search through everything again. And frown. It’s not there. How could it not be there? Torrid isn’t a word most people use in their everyday vocabulary, which means River definitely saw it. So that means . . . he kept it? Why would he . . .
To give me an excuse to come to the bar, looking for it.
I feel the grin stretch across my face.
But showing up at that dingy bar again tonight, on a Saturday night, alone, so I can sit on the stool and watch him serve drinks and possibly be ignored . . . Ugh. I’ll look desperate. Embarrassingly desperate. Budding stalker status, maybe.
So what, I hear Alex say in my head.
So what if I show up at that bar again and he knows I’m interested in him. And his brother knows I’m interested. And everyone in there knows. I’m a tourist. I can do whatever I want here and leave it all behind when I get on that plane. I am a tadpole in an ocean.
Plus, he took my damn list. As silly as the thing is, it’s become somewhat of a guide for me.
I wander over to the rail and gaze out on the stretch of water that cuts through the heart of Dublin, watching the tiny ripples dance along the surface, and consider my next move. This is, after all, part of why I took this trip in the first place. To experience life while I’m young and unattached. To make memories that will last me a lifetime. To find out if the Amber I’ve known all these years—with an overprotective sheriff father and a practical surgeon mother looking over my shoulder—would make the same choices as the one who is free of scrutiny. Do I abide by the black-and-white limits I’ve set for myself because that’s who I truly am or because that’s who I am while being judged? And how far into that gray area might I venture before I go running back to my familiar boundaries?
Aaron was inside my familiar boundaries and look how that turned out. All of my previous boyfriends have been. If I want to test myself, River’s definitely the one to do that with.