divorcing, and they didn’t give us any warning. Not even a hint,” she’d said at last, her harsh voice startling a mallard that took flight, squawking.
“I’m sorry, Kay. That really sucks.” Niall had unclenched her hands and held one in his own. Despite her anguish, she’d felt a shimmer of pleasure at his touch.
“I hate them.” She’d chucked one of the rocks she’d scooped up on her run to the navy water, glad at the loud splash it’d made. “They only care about themselves. Not me and Chris. Mom’s moving us upstate tomorrow, and I don’t even get to say goodbye to my friends.” She looked into his large brown eyes. “Except you.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.
Kayleigh chucked another rock, farther than the last. “We don’t have a choice, because my parents made it for us. According to them—” she’d made air quotes “—they ‘know best’ and need to separate because they don’t get along.”
He’d used the bottom of his shirt to wipe away the angry tears flowing down her face, his touch gentle, his soulful eyes full of concern.
“You said they didn’t spend a lot of time together.”
She’d swallowed hard, recalling that her mother had often disappeared into her studio behind their brownstone. “If they didn’t want to be together, then they shouldn’t have gotten married. I’m never going to be like them. Never getting divorced.”
He’d pulled her head to his shoulder and rested his cheek atop it. “Lots of people do.”
“Not me.” Determination had gripped her. “And I know how to make sure of it. Can I borrow your notepad and pen?”
Niall had reached into his shirt pocket and pulled them out. No matter how much he was teased, he’d always carried them around to jot down ideas.
“Are you writing them a letter?” he’d asked. The bright afternoon sun brought out the lighter brown strands in his dark hair and a fleck of gold in his eyes. Funny that she’d never noticed it before. A fluttery feeling took her by surprise. This was Niall, she’d reminded herself. A good friend. Practically a brother. Nothing more. Yet suddenly it’d been hard to look him in the eye.
She’d pulled the pen from between her teeth. “I’m making a list for myself. Traits for the perfect man. That way, if I follow the list, I’ll marry someone I’m compatible with. Guaranteed happiness. No surprises. You should make one, too.”
Niall’s eyes widened. “No. It’s not necessary. I—”
Her hand had fallen on his tensing biceps. “Please, Niall. I need to get my mind off my parents. Plus, you should find the right person someday, too. We can share our lists after, okay?”
Yet somehow they’d only gotten around to hearing her list—all fifty traits and her rationale for each. They’d talked until curfew, not wanting to waste a minute before her mother and brother, who’d been away at football camp, arrived the next day and separated them. It hadn’t been until he’d stood beside her car, her bags in the trunk, that a thought had struck her.
“You never shared what was on your list.” Her flip-flops had traced a figure eight in the sandy soil. For some reason, she’d felt self-conscious. When she’d peered up at him, his eyes had slid from hers.
“There wasn’t much to read.” He’d rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight from one foot to another.
“I’m going to miss you,” she’d blurted, then dropped her eyes when his startled gaze had met hers.
“Me, too. But we’ll call and see each other when you visit your dad in Brooklyn. I—” But whatever he’d been about to say had been lost when her mother had laid on the horn and Chris had given them a wolf whistle out the window, making her blush. They were just friends, yet somehow it’d felt as if they’d outgrown that term the night before, sitting by the lake.
“I’d better go. Goodbye.” Too embarrassed to hug him in front of her family, she’d simply waved and dashed to the car. As they’d backed out of the drive, she’d noticed Niall swiping his eye, as though he’d gotten something in it.
It was one of her most vivid memories, along with holding his hand during his father’s funeral the following year. They’d gone through so much together. Maybe now, at last, they’d talk about what’d happened in the war and comfort each other.
And that’d happen in minutes. Her nerves jittered. Would he be the way she remembered or different, the distant loner MaryAnne had described? It was hard to imagine.
She peered down the row of bagel shops, pizzerias and hair salons. Beyond them, she spotted Five Leaves’s glass-and-dark-wood exterior and blew out a nervous breath as she quickened her pace.
The old-fashioned gilt letters Oyster Bar caught the noonday sun, gleaming above Five Leaves’s oversize door. She stepped inside the air-conditioned space, the briny scent of seafood transporting her to Coney Island, where she and Niall had gone on so many adventures as kids. In a moment she’d see Niall again, and the thought made her shiver in nervous anticipation.
“May I help you?” A young woman wearing all black, her hair in a slick ponytail, stepped from behind a small podium.
Kayleigh’s eyes followed the hostess’s down to the run in her nylon, and she tucked one leg behind the other. “I’m here to meet a man.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and her nose piercing twitched. “Anyone in particular? There are quite a few at the bar.”
Kayleigh felt her forehead bead and started again. “His name’s Niall Walsh. He’s got dark hair...” Her voice trailed off. Did he look the same after his time in the army? She imagined his tall, wiry form and boyish handsomeness.
“She’s with me,” a husky voice interrupted her. She whirled, shocked into silence at the powerfully built man looming beside her. He’d definitely filled out from his military days. Her eyes flicked to his left leg, but not so fast that he didn’t catch her glance, his lips firming in a straight line. Warmth crept into her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to make him feel self-conscious, but she’d gone and done it anyway. Not the best start to their reunion.
“It’s good to see you, Niall.” She searched his eyes, a jolt of familiarity zipping through her veins. The deep brown depths held the gold flecks she could count by heart, his lashes so thick they’d look girlish if not for his angular, masculine features. He’d always had high cheekbones, but now there was sharpness in his face, as if someone had chiseled out his firm, square jaw and the prominent brow that gave proportion to his strong nose and full lips.
His chestnut-colored hair was no longer clipped short, but layered lightly across his forehead and ears. He’d transformed from the young, earnest man she’d known to a handsome stranger. She flushed despite the steady stream of cool air blowing from an overhead vent. MaryAnne should have warned her about this change. It was doing something funny to her stomach.
“Shall we?” He held out his arm, and she took it, feeling awkward. Once she would have flown into his arms, and he would have swung her, laughing. But those days seemed distant, out of reach. Hopefully, they’d loosen up over lunch. She’d lost so much since she’d last seen Niall—Chris, her job, Brett. She wondered about
