sounding normal again. Once Libby complied, he shut off the pub’s lights. She followed him up the steps, feeling utterly content and wondering if she may have just found her platonic soul mate in a dingy pub on a tiny island all the way on the opposite side of the globe.
An hour later they were lounging in the flat’s living room on opposite ends of the Nolans’ battered, comfortable couch.
“This popcorn is all burned,” Libby said, passing the bowl back to Colin.
“No, it’s not. Some of it isn’t even popped.” His eyes didn’t leave the action on the TV.
Libby didn’t hear Reece’s approach and was startled to look up and find him standing at the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest. He had on track pants and a Newcastle beer shirt, feet bare. His eyes were trained on the screen at the movie playing. Colin waved him a distracted hello that was cut short as his attention was sucked back into the brilliantly choreographed fight scene. Libby scooted over and patted the cushion she’d vacated. Reece didn’t look at her but he took a seat.
Libby appraised her situation and smirked—it was an enviable sandwich for a single woman to find herself in.
An ad came on and Reece broke his silence. “This was, what? 1976?” He took the popcorn bowl Libby offered and picked through the dregs.
“’78,” Colin corrected.
“Beautiful. Beer me, Col.”
Colin rose and looked to Libby. “Anything?”
“More popcorn?”
“Consider it done.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
Libby turned to Reece. “Thanks for the couch. I know it’s against your will,” she added, a touch snide.
“Don’t fuck with my brother.” Reece’s unexpected reply was cold and loaded and quiet. He was scary-serious and Libby felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Don’t fuck with his head, even. And definitely do not fuck with my mum.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Good.” This conversation was over.
In the kitchen, the microwave began to whir, followed by the sound of the fridge door closing. Colin came through, handed Reece a can of beer and sat down with a tumbler of water, oblivious to the room’s atmospheric change.
“I bloody love Drunken Master ,” he murmured as the movie recommenced.
“I bloody love Linda Lin,” Reece added, watching the screen, casual again. “She can beat the shit out of me any day.”
“She must be like seventy now,” Libby said, struck by an irrational twinge of jealousy. Now there was an emotion she wasn’t used to. It felt ugly, like a wad of acid burning a pit in her stomach.
“The restaurant brawl’s coming up.” Reece’s relaxed posture suggested all that needed to be said earlier had been, and Libby released the breath she’d been holding.
The smell of popcorn—then burning popcorn—wafted in, followed by a tardy ding .
Chapter Four
Libby woke the next morning to a large, warm hand jostling her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find Colin staring down at her, brushing his teeth with his other hand. He raised the fingers around the brush in greeting.
Libby propped herself up on one arm and yawned. “Morning.”
The sky beyond the windows was dark and gloomy. Though the wind seemed to have died down, the storm was still raging.
Colin wandered toward the bathroom and called back in a gargly voice, “Coffee in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Libby shuffled in her pajama pants and undershirt to the next room and found a mug. She peeked inside the fridge and was impressed by its tidiness, given that it was the territory of two bachelors.
Colin passed by on the way to his room, and Libby was suddenly glad she’d slept with her bra on.
“Bath’s free. Help yourself to whatever.”
“Thanks.”
“We don’t have any decent soap or conditioner. Hope that’s all right.”
“Do I look like I use it anyhow?” Libby’s hair was its own beast. It got marinated in so much salt from the ocean she’d long ago given
An hour later they were lounging in the flat’s living room on opposite ends of the Nolans’ battered, comfortable couch.
“This popcorn is all burned,” Libby said, passing the bowl back to Colin.
“No, it’s not. Some of it isn’t even popped.” His eyes didn’t leave the action on the TV.
Libby didn’t hear Reece’s approach and was startled to look up and find him standing at the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest. He had on track pants and a Newcastle beer shirt, feet bare. His eyes were trained on the screen at the movie playing. Colin waved him a distracted hello that was cut short as his attention was sucked back into the brilliantly choreographed fight scene. Libby scooted over and patted the cushion she’d vacated. Reece didn’t look at her but he took a seat.
Libby appraised her situation and smirked—it was an enviable sandwich for a single woman to find herself in.
An ad came on and Reece broke his silence. “This was, what? 1976?” He took the popcorn bowl Libby offered and picked through the dregs.
“’78,” Colin corrected.
“Beautiful. Beer me, Col.”
Colin rose and looked to Libby. “Anything?”
“More popcorn?”
“Consider it done.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
Libby turned to Reece. “Thanks for the couch. I know it’s against your will,” she added, a touch snide.
“Don’t fuck with my brother.” Reece’s unexpected reply was cold and loaded and quiet. He was scary-serious and Libby felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Don’t fuck with his head, even. And definitely do not fuck with my mum.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Good.” This conversation was over.
In the kitchen, the microwave began to whir, followed by the sound of the fridge door closing. Colin came through, handed Reece a can of beer and sat down with a tumbler of water, oblivious to the room’s atmospheric change.
“I bloody love Drunken Master ,” he murmured as the movie recommenced.
“I bloody love Linda Lin,” Reece added, watching the screen, casual again. “She can beat the shit out of me any day.”
“She must be like seventy now,” Libby said, struck by an irrational twinge of jealousy. Now there was an emotion she wasn’t used to. It felt ugly, like a wad of acid burning a pit in her stomach.
“The restaurant brawl’s coming up.” Reece’s relaxed posture suggested all that needed to be said earlier had been, and Libby released the breath she’d been holding.
The smell of popcorn—then burning popcorn—wafted in, followed by a tardy ding .
Chapter Four
Libby woke the next morning to a large, warm hand jostling her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find Colin staring down at her, brushing his teeth with his other hand. He raised the fingers around the brush in greeting.
Libby propped herself up on one arm and yawned. “Morning.”
The sky beyond the windows was dark and gloomy. Though the wind seemed to have died down, the storm was still raging.
Colin wandered toward the bathroom and called back in a gargly voice, “Coffee in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Libby shuffled in her pajama pants and undershirt to the next room and found a mug. She peeked inside the fridge and was impressed by its tidiness, given that it was the territory of two bachelors.
Colin passed by on the way to his room, and Libby was suddenly glad she’d slept with her bra on.
“Bath’s free. Help yourself to whatever.”
“Thanks.”
“We don’t have any decent soap or conditioner. Hope that’s all right.”
“Do I look like I use it anyhow?” Libby’s hair was its own beast. It got marinated in so much salt from the ocean she’d long ago given
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