|
Post by Ghost on Dec 13, 2009 15:04:45 GMT -5
Mindy, this one's for you. A WINTER'S TALE
It was snowing again. A layer of white already dusted the ground and coated the houses and cars. Snow fell from the dark, clouded sky in huge flakes. It glistened on the bare branches of trees and swirled about in the air. The night was clear—clear and cold.
Most of the houses were shut, lights on, doors and windows closed and covered. But one house still had its door open. Light pooled from inside and spilled onto the front porch, illuminating the solitary figure who stood on the steps.
His brown hair was spattered with snowflakes, but he was oblivious to the cold. He was inadequately dressed, wearing no coat—only jeans and a pullover sweater. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he gazed through the flurrying weather at the street in front of his house.
Her car was gone, and the falling snow was quickly covering the tracks from the tires.
He drew in a deep breath, letting the frigid air bite into his lungs. He should probably shut the door, but he didn't move.
Even her footsteps were disappearing beneath the white blanket. Once they were gone, he knew that he wouldn't be able to follow her anymore. But that didn't mean that he wasn't going to wait until her footprints were completely gone before he moved.
Paul closed his eyes, and the scene flashed before his eyes, as clear in memory as it had been in reality an hour ago. Kathleen had stood just inside the door, not even bothering to sit or take off her coat. Not even waiting until he had hugged her a hello.
"This isn't going to work out between us," she said.
He had known, coming back from the US fall tour, that something was wrong. And from the tone in her voice when she insisted she see him as soon as he returned, from the look on her face when she walked inside, he should have expected it. But he hadn't realized that she would break things off the day he saw her again.
She did not wait for him to respond. "It was too much to bear, not having you around for so long. And the thought of all those crazy fans throwing themselves at you, and that dancer woman kissing you onstage…"
Zara? Kathleen was accusing him of cheating on her with Zara? Couldn't she tell how much he cared about her? That his relationship with Zara was purely professional?
"While you were gone, there were tempt—the fact is, Paul, I don't think I can handle a relationship with someone who is always on tour. I know you'll understand… Won't you?"
He was too shocked to speak. His mouth formed words, but no sound followed. He wasn't even sure what he was trying to say.
Kathleen stared at him, waiting for an answer.
He somehow managed to find the words to say, "I—I understand."
An awkward silence arose between them.
"So I guess this is goodbye," Kathleen finally said in a low voice.
She was handling this remarkably well.
"Goodbye, Paul," she muttered.
He forced himself to nod, give her a halfhearted hug, and watch her walk away—all without showing any emotion at all. He had walked out onto the porch after she got into her car, and watched her disappear down the road.
How could Kathleen have done this to him so coldly? And why now, of all times? She had just ripped the bottom out from under his world, and hadn't given him a second thought.
Paul opened his eyes, and found that the footprints and tire tracks were invisible now. He turned to go back inside, determined to put Kathleen out of his mind, out of his heart, and out of his life.
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on Dec 22, 2009 12:16:24 GMT -5
And yet, as determined as he was, Paul was unable to shake Kathleen's memory; everything in his house reminded him of her. The flames that burned in the living room's fireplace were as red as Kathleen's hair. The wine glasses in the dining room were as clear and sparkling as dozens of their after-dinner conversations. The leftovers in the kitchen were nowhere near as good as the delicious meals they'd had in numerous restaurants. The television in the game room was a constant reminder of all the movies they'd watched together.
Paul trudged up the stairs into the master bedroom, avoiding the open pieces of luggage strewn all over the floor. Shoving all his clothes and fan-bought gifts from the US tour off of his bed, he stretched out on the covers.
It would be hours before he finally fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
The next days passed in a lonely, reminiscence-ridden blur. Paul sulked around his house, trying to banish the remnants of Kathleen's memory. But the shadows of their past—almost a year together—lurked in the corners of his mind no matter how hard he tried to be rid of them.
He ignored his phone the few times it rang. He refused to unpack his bags from Celtic Thunder's fall tour. Although Christmas was alarmingly close, he did not think about gifts to give—he did not even venture into the basement, where he had stored boxes of decorations for the house. His laundry piled up and his food ran low.
A week after Kathleen broke up with him, a scruffy-chinned Paul sat at his kitchen table, still in his pajamas although it was past noon. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink. The box of Lucky Charms that he had just finished sat dejectedly in front of him.
Wait. Why did a cardboard box of cereal look dejected?
Paul slammed his fist on the table. This was ridiculous! That woman had dumped him with no warning, during the holiday season, directly after he returned from abroad. Clearly, she had not cared for him throughout their relationship as he had cared for her.
He had to stop dwelling on this. He needed to move on. Christmas was less than two weeks away, for heaven's sake, and he wasn't anywhere near being prepared! Paul stood up, tossed the empty cereal box into the trash, and went upstairs to dress.
Half an hour later, a refreshed, clean-shaven Paul Byrom headed out of his house to go Christmas shopping for his niece and nephew. There was a toy store in downtown Dublin that he had loved as a kid, and he knew that he could find the perfect gifts for his sister's children there.
The snow that had fallen last week, while it had not melted, had not been enough to leave any lasting effect. Consequently, the short drive to the toy store went by surprisingly fast; Paul had little time to sink back into his somber mood.
A festive atmosphere filled the air as Paul parked his car and walked toward the toy store. Leftover snow still the dusted the sidewalks, and everyone that Paul passed seemed hopeful and happy.
Paul opened the door to O'Connell's Toy Shop and ducked inside. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting.
Now, what to get? He strolled through the aisles. Since he thought that it would be more difficult to shop for a girl, he decided to begin with a gift for his niece.
He stopped in the girls' toy aisle, overwhelmed by the amount of pink that surrounded him. It all looked as though it had been imported from the United States. That would please his niece, for sure. But why hadn't he thought of this while he was on tour? Then he could have brought back genuinely American gifts for his sister's children.
Paul shrugged to himself, and set about choosing a present. There were about a million different kinds of dolls, from Barbie to baby dolls. There was something called Polly Pocket, which had so many tiny pieces that it made him wonder how a child could be expected not to lose the entire set. There were ponies and girly American board games. How in heaven's name was Paul going to choose one of these?
He couldn't remember which, if any, of these toys his niece already had. She had probably acquired more since the last time he had seen her, anyway.
The situation was hopeless. So Paul waited until the aisle was empty. Then he walked up and down the aisle, picking an armload of pink, girly, bedazzled toys. He intended then to choose one of them at random, and that would be the gift he gave to his niece.
It was not the most brilliant of plans, but Paul had no idea what else to do.
At that moment, when his arms were full of the most girlish toys he could find, a young woman turned into the aisle and abruptly stopped. She looked very surprised to see him there—Paul assumed it was because of the amount of toys he carried.
The woman was very pretty; Paul saw that immediately. She was slightly taller than the average woman. Her wavy, light brown hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a set of headphones that snaked back into the pocket of her jacket. Two pale brown, widened eyes stared at him. She could not have been older than mid-twenties.
Paul somehow managed to form a lopsided grin at the woman.
"That's a lot of pink," she said.
Having just been in the United States for almost three months, Paul immediately recognized her accent as that of an American. Probably from the east coast, too.
Still grinning, he replied, "Oh yes. It's my favorite color."
The young woman pulled the headphones out of her ears and took an iPod Touch out of her pocket to turn it off. Paul got a glance of the screen before it blacked out, and he noticed the unmistakable cover of one of the Celtic Thunder CD's.
So she was a fan. But she didn't recognize him? Paul wasn't sure whether to be relieved or hurt.
"Um. Are you really buying all those toys for yourself?"
He shook his head. "Actually, no. I can't decide which to get my niece for Christmas."
"So you're just going to get all of those? I hope she doesn't have any siblings," the young woman added with a laugh.
"She has one brother. I guess I'll have to buy him this many gifts, too."
The young woman laughed again. "Here. I'll help you decide. Does she like dolls or board games better?"
"Dolls, I think," Paul said as his helper took the first toy off the pile.
"Why not give her a Barbie? Almost every little girl loves Barbies."
They both put all the toys back and wound up standing in front of the Barbie section of the aisle. Paul was overwhelmed; why were there so many different kinds of Barbies? It was all the same girl, for heaven's sake.
"I don't know if she already has these Barbie dolls," he said.
"Do you think she would be upset if you give her a doll she already has?"
Paul shrugged. "I think she would love anything I give her, no matter what it is," he muttered, mostly to himself.
The young woman who was a Celtic Thunder fan caught what he said, and smiled. "Favorite uncle?"
Paul shrugged again. "I think my nephew and niece are incapable of hatred."
Then she started to laugh. In response to Paul's inquisitive eyebrow, she merely pointed to one of the Barbie dolls. Limited Edition American Barbie, complete with an American flag and a cowgirl outfit.
The young woman picked up the box in her slender hands and looked it over. "Oh my gosh, she's not just American, she's from Texas."
"I think this is it," Paul said as he laughed with his companion.
And then an idea dawned on him. He still wanted to know if the woman recognized him from the group and was just pretending not to, or if she truly didn't realize he was the swanky tenor.
"I'm Paul, by the way," he introduced himself.
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on Jan 6, 2010 16:58:49 GMT -5
"Um…I know," the young woman replied as she shook his hand. "I mean, I'm a fan of yours…of Celtic Thunder's. I'm Jessica. Kayne."
Paul smiled, but did not say that he had seen that she was listening to them on her iPod.
"And I'll be honest," she continued. "You guys are pretty amazing. But you never struck me as the type to buy so many girly presents for yourself. I mean, maybe one or two for kicks, but not that many. So the fact that you're shopping for your relatives makes a lot of sense."
"I don't think I would've been able to pick this gift without your help," he answered with a smile.
Jessica smiled shyly as a blush began to form on her cheeks. "Well…You're welcome."
She nervously checked her watch, and immediately her eyes widened. "Is that what time it is? Crap! I'm going to be late. It was nice to meet you!"
And with that, she dashed out of the toy aisle and vanished from O'Connell's, leaving Paul in a confused daze behind her. He left the pink aisle and made his way to the boys' section of the toy store, for what would be an easier search for his nephew's gift.
What was that young woman's name? Jessica something. Kayne, that was it! Jessica Kayne. A small voice in the back of Paul's head hoped that he would run into her again.
But for now, he chided himself, he needed to focus on buying these gifts and getting back to his house. There was a pile of laundry to be done, luggage to unpack and put away, and dishes to clean—and a house to decorate for Christmas.
The next two days were a struggle. Paul got his home in order fairly quickly, but the togetherness of the holiday season only seemed to intensify his feelings of loneliness. Furthermore, being alone in his house reminded Paul constantly of Kathleen.
He realized that. What he needed to do was keep himself from thinking about her at all. He needed to get out of his house, and stay away from it as long as possible—at least until he could be at home without sinking into near depression.
It may be cold outside, and the sky may be threatening with snow again, but Paul didn't care. Throwing on his coat, he headed out into the cold winter air to go for a stroll around his neighborhood. A walk would be the perfect solution to solve his problem, at least for now.
It was midday, and the streets in the neighborhood were generally quiet. Paul meandered from street to street, paying no attention to where he was going or how much time was passing. He thought about how far he had come in the past year, with or without Kathleen.
He was part of the phenomenally popular Celtic Thunder. Women all over the United States and Canada hung on his every word, fantasized about meeting him, screamed his name when he was onstage. His fellow vocalists were like his brothers, and he couldn't ask for better camaraderie than what he had with George, Ryan, Keith, and Damian. He never would've imagined that his career would look like this before he turned thirty.
But he had to admit that he had once hoped that he would have a serious girlfriend by now. At one time, he had thought that Kathleen…
No. He would not think about her. Their breakup was not the immense, earth-shattering event he was projecting onto it. It was nothing unusual; couples broke up all the time. A voice in the back of his head asked how many women dumped their boyfriends right before Christmas.
Paul shook his head to clear it. Off in the distance, a church bell began to ring. It was five o'clock, and the sky was rapidly darkening. He should probably head home.
Could Kathleen hear that bell, wherever she was? Did she care?
He mentally slapped himself. There he went again, thinking about that woman!
"Kathleen," Paul said to air, "I wish you well, but you really need to stop following me around. I'm trying to move on, here."
His words hung in the stillness. There was no one to respond.
Paul sighed, feeling as though he would finally be able to let go, and turned to find his way back home.
He had walked maybe two steps when the door to a parked car a short distance in front of him opened and a familiar, feminine figure stepped out.
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on Mar 11, 2010 12:43:39 GMT -5
She turned back to the car, her wavy brown ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she bent inside to reach for something. Jessica Kayne. The young woman from the toy store.
Paul took a step forward, mind racing with what he could say to her on their second meeting. But as he did, another figure—a man probably around Keith's age—stepped out of the driver's side.
Paul froze as the man shut his door and said with a laugh, "I don't understand Americans. You could've bought everything back in the States."
Jessica came back out of the car, smiling and carrying several large boxes in her arms. "Yeah, but there's something about buying authentic Irish gifts. If I bought it back home, it would be like any other present I've ever given."
Paul felt strangely disappointed to see his American fan on such good terms with another Irishman. And, he noted with some disdain, the man hadn't offered to carry her boxes for her. Were all the Irish turning into Americans, casting out the ability to be a gentleman in favor of selfishness?
The young woman shut the door with her foot, and then she and her companion headed up the path toward one of the houses.
Paul started to walk again, determined to remain unnoticed. He was nearly past the house when the other two noticed him; the young woman stopped talking midsentence.
"Paul?"
He paused and then turned around. The American woman grinned over the packages in her arms.
"Hello," Paul said with what he hoped was a disarming smile.
"Do you live around here?" Did she seem excited at the idea?
"I went for a walk and got myself quite turned around, actually. Lost track of the time…"
Jessica was still smiling and nodding, but her expression changed slightly at his words. "Oh, okay. Oh! Paul, this is my friend Kevin Finnegan. Kevin, this is Paul Byrom…from Celtic Thunder."
Paul extended his hand and the other Irishman shook it, saying, "Our family never heard of Celtic Thunder until Jessica came. But I think we're all happy to have been informed. You lads are all quite talented."
"Thank you," Paul replied. He shot Jessica a questioning look. What did all of that mean?
The other Irishman turned to Jessica and said, "Here, let me take those inside so you two can talk in peace."
They shifted the stack of boxes, and the young Irishman proceeded to bear them into the house without a backward glance.
"I'm sorry that I bolted out on you like that in the toy store the other day," she said.
"What? Oh, that's not a problem." He had completely forgotten her hasty exit.
"No," she insisted with a shake of her that caused her ponytail to dance, "I mean it. I wasn't trying to run away from you or anything. I actually did have to go."
Paul honestly didn't care that she had left so quickly, but the trickster side of him began to show itself. He quirked an eyebrow and said, "Oh, really? You mean my singing didn't scare you off?"
"What? Of course not! Your voice is amazing. It's like…like…silk, or satin. Or something."
He could barely hold back a laugh now. "Like nights in white satin?"
"No, not really. Anyway I was running late for work at Parliament, and—" That was when she realized the joke. She cut herself off with a laugh. "Oh wow. That was stupid. Well done, Mr. Byrom."
"Don't call me that; it makes me feel old. Paul is fine."
She nodded and smiled.
"You work for Parliament?"
Jessica shrugged. "Sort of. I'm doing a study abroad program through my college in the U.S., and part of it is an internship with the Irish Parliament. In addition to classes, of course."
"How long are you here?"
"Well…I'm supposed to only be here for a semester. But I think I've got it worked out so that I can stay longer. My bosses like me, and the family is open to having me next semester," she added with a gesture at the house behind her. "So I think I can stay abroad my entire junior year."
Junior year of an American university. That made her…twenty-one? Twenty-two? Somewhere around there.
"And how does that work?"
Paul realized how curious he was beginning to sound. But he couldn't help it; he found himself fascinated not only by the idea of this "study abroad and work for a foreign government" thing, but also by the woman who stood in front of him.
"What? Oh, the homestay. Basically, I live with an Irish family while I study and work here, in order to absorb the Irish culture more easily."
"And do you like it?"
Jessica grinned. "Like it? It's the most amazing experience I've ever had! Besides the Celtic Thunder concerts I've been to, of course."
"Well." Paul didn't know how to respond to her American enthusiasm. "I hope that Ireland and her culture have lived up to your expectations."
"Oh, it's surpassed them, definitely."
Paul smiled broadly at her. "Good."
They fell into an awkward silence, sneaking glances at each other but neither gazing fully at the other.
"So um, I should probably go inside before they all start to wonder where I went." Paul nodded. "I hope that you enjoy the rest of your time in Ireland as much as you have so far."
She smiled shyly at him. "I will. See ya! Maybe I'll run into you again sometime." As she walked into the house, Paul could not help but think that she really did want that to happen.
When he finally found his way back to his home, Paul was far more confused than when he had left. Yes, he no longer felt oppressed by the memory of his old girlfriend. But her memory was still there. And then there was something about that American girl, Jessica Kayne.
Wait. Was there something about her? What was it?
Paul had absolutely no idea what was going on with him. He needed to make a phone call.
"Hey Ryan, it's Paul," he said as soon as his friend answered the phone.
"Paul! What's been going on with you since the end of the tour? Is everything okay?"
"It's…complicated."
"Complicated," Ryan repeated. "How complicated?"
"Complicated enough that I would rather talk to you in person," Paul said flatly.
"Can it wait until after Christmas?"
Paul sighed. "I've survived this long. A few more days won't kill me."
"Paul," Ryan's voice came quietly through the receiver, "whatever is going on with you, you're going to get through it. And you'll be better for it, as well."
Paul nodded, and then remembered that he was on the phone. "Right."
"I'll come down a few days after Christmas. All right?"
"Fine," Paul said.
"Okay. I'll see you then. And Paul?"
"Yes?"
"You will get through this. I know you will," Ryan said, and hung up before Paul could reply.
Paul survived Christmas remarkably well. He spent the day with his mother and his sister's family. He ate and drank freely, not worrying about the hours that would be spent in the gym working it all off. He caught up with the lives of his relatives. He played with his nephew and niece, watching as they opened their presents and then allowing himself to be tackled by their enthusiasm.
Being around his family kept the pain of loneliness away. For perhaps the first time since their breakup, he had not thought of Kathleen for almost an entire day. I should do that more often, he thought to himself as he headed back home the day after Christmas. Not that I have really have a choice in how often the thought of her comes up…
But he was making progress. And he wasn't about to let gloomy thoughts of Kathleen back into his mind just because Christmas Day had passed. No. There were twelve days of Christmas, and each one of them ought to be spent in celebration.
Or at least, not in the depths of despair.
The days before Ryan came went by quickly and without much pain. After the hectic days with his relatives, the solitude in his home that had once drained him was now a source of relief and relaxation.
It took two days for Paul to realize that neither he nor Ryan had specified which day and what time Ryan would be making his visit. That was stupid—and just like the two of them, to decide on something and then forget to plan it all the way through.
He was standing in the kitchen, phone in hand, when a knock came on the door. He sighed, put the phone back in its cradle, and went to open the door.
"Ryan," Paul said in surprise.
"And company." Ryan turned to the driveway and waved.
At his gesture, a blonde young man climbed out of Ryan's car and made his way over.
"You brought Keith?"
The tall surfer replied, "Who were you expecting? The Rockettes? Let us in, mate."
Paul stepped aside to allow his friends to come inside. Shutting the door behind them, he followed them into the living room.
Keith plunked himself on the couch in front of the fireplace. Ryan remained standing.
"So, Paul," Keith said. "What's the craic?"
"It's about Kathleen."
"Your girlfriend?" Ryan asked.
"She's not my girlfriend anymore."
Keith bolted into an upright position. "What?"
Ryan sank into the newly vacated space beside him. "When…?"
"The day I got home from the tour."
"But…but you love her!" Keith spluttered.
"She knew that," Paul answered. "She still didn't care."
Ryan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So this is why you didn't answer my calls."
Paul sat in the nearest chair and laid his head in his hands. "I never thought a breakup would be so hard."
The corner of Ryan's mouth quirked upward. "It's like Damian sings. Breaking up is hard to do."
"That doesn't make it any less painful."
"I know."
They fell into silence for a few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts.
"This is why I don't want a girlfriend," Keith finally said. "Women are great, but they bring more problems with them than they could ever be worth."
Ryan smacked Keith on the back of his head.
"What was that for?"
"Stop talking! One day, you are going to meet an amazing woman, and you won't mind how much trouble she is. She'll be worth every ounce of trouble."
"I thought Kathleen was worth it," Paul said quietly. "But I guess I was wrong."
That sobered both Keith and Ryan, and the three companions fell into silence again.
Ryan broke it by saying, "Okay. This is enough doom and gloom for the holiday season. We need to get Paul's mind off of Kathleen. Let's go into the city and do something fun."
Keith's face lit up.
"That does not involve Guinness," Ryan added.
Keith's face fell.
"At least wait until nighttime! We don't need Paul to drown his sorrows in alcohol. That is not the point of this."
Keith sighed, and then said, "Fine. I think I have an idea of something to do—that doesn't involve Guinness."
"What is it?"
The younger man smiled mischievously. "Let me drive, and you'll find out."
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on Apr 9, 2010 21:05:52 GMT -5
"Ice skating?" Paul and Ryan said in unison.
Keith had driven the three of them safely into Dublin and left the car outside a Dublin park. After practically dragging the other two through the park, he stopped directly in front of a large water fountain that had been temporarily converted into an ice rink.
"Is this a wind-up?" Paul asked.
Keith laughed. "The opportunity to see you fall flat on your face at the same time as I'm looking for attractive women? That sounds more like a dream than a wind-up to me."
Ryan and Paul reluctantly followed their companion toward the rink.
After an endless time spent trying on ice skates until they fit properly and tying the laces until they were tight enough, the three men ventured onto the ice.
"We look ridiculous," Ryan said when he skidded into the side railing for the fifth time. He had yet to make it once completely around the rink.
"Exactly," Keith answered. He had somehow managed not only to stay on his feet, but also to skate backwards. Slowly, but still facing the wrong direction.
"I don't understand how you can be skating backwards already. This is nothing like surfing."
"He's just better at it than we are, Ryan," Paul interjected. He lay on the ice near Ryan's feet, flat on his back and staring at the sky above him.
Kathleen had never liked ice-skating, and so Paul had never taken her. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had stepped onto an ice rink. Not that mattered now; he'd lost any dignity he had the second he put his blade on the smooth surface beneath him.
Other people whizzed and skated by them, some staring but most just ignoring the three men who had apparently come to crash a perfectly fine activity with their hooliganism.
"Are you planning on getting up?" Keith asked him.
"No. I can't fall on my face from this position."
"That's because you already fell on your back," Ryan said as he inched his way past them. Keith leaned forward and stretched out a hand to help Paul to his feet. Paul sat up, took his hand, and then yanked. Keith came crashing down next to him, his feet flying out from under him and clipping Ryan's skates just enough to knock him off balance. Ryan slid forward, but he managed to hold onto the railing tight enough to keep his backside from hitting the ice.
After a few minutes of stomping and struggling, Ryan regained his balance and stood up straight. Keith and Paul, overcome with laughter at Ryan's predicament, only laughed harder at the sight of his reddened cheeks.
Paul planted himself on one knee as Keith easily got back onto his skates.
"Enough," Ryan said. "I intend to make it around this rink at least once before we leave. If that's even a possibility with you two around."
Paul laughed as he wobbled back to his feet. "Okay. There we go. Let's try this again…"
"Hey," Keith said in a low voice, skating quickly up to Paul.
Surprised by the sudden motion, Paul completely lost his balance and end up on flat on the ice again. He sat up and dug the back edges of his blades into the ice, resting his arms on his bent knees. "What do you want now?"
"Do either of you know that girl?" He gestured across the rink.
"No," Ryan said flatly, and went back to pushing himself slowly across the ice. "Why?"
"She's been watching us since we got here."
Paul looked where Keith had indicated. There looked to be a group of five siblings all skating together, with confidence, toward the center of the rink. "Which girl?"
"The one with the ponytail."
Paul looked among the group for a girl with a ponytail…
Jessica Kayne was skating on the other side of the ice rink, presumably with the family she currently lived with. Laughing at, and skating circles around, that Kevin Finnegan character as they moved across the ice. Skating straight toward where Paul sat complacently on the ice, with two other members of Celtic Thunder.
Keith saw Paul's reaction. "She's beautiful, mate. Why didn't you tell us you knew her?"
"Because," he replied as he grabbed the railing and pulled himself back onto his skates, "I didn't know that she was here. And I only met her a few days ago."
"She's coming over here," Ryan said, flipping around to face his companions.
Paul wasn't sure whether to be glad or distressed at that. "No more knocking me over, Keith. And she's a fan, so be careful what you say to her."
"Do you like her?" Keith prodded. "I bet you do. Otherwise you wouldn't care about falling flat on your face in front of her."
"I do not like her!"
Jessica and her friends were getting closer.
"Paul," Ryan interjected. "Are you interested in that girl?"
"I don't know!" Paul hissed. The American and her group of friends were dangerously close now.
"He is!" Keith snickered. "You are, Paul! Admit it!"
"Stop acting like a twelve-year-old girl, will you?" Paul snapped.
Jessica saw them. She was skating, laughing at something one of the others said to her, when she glanced forward and saw Paul and his two companions.
Her eyes widened. She slowed down, almost stopping, and the rest of her group moved past her. She hesitated. Then she continued toward the three Irishmen, eyes averted but a small smile on her face.
Paul thought that would happen; she would try to give the lads their space. But Paul didn't want space. Not right now, at any rate. But he wasn't sure what he should do to make that clear to her.
So he grinned widely and said, "Jessica! What a surprise to see you here."
The American girl made shocked eye contact with him, and turned to skate completely up to them. Paul smiled more broadly as she drew within several strides.
"Hi," she said. "Never thought I'd run into Paul Byrom at a skating rink."
"Small world, huh?" he answered.
Paul noticed that her smile lit up her whole face when it reached her eyes.
Ryan took this convenient opportunity to cough.
"Oh," Paul laughed as he remembered the other two lads. "Keith and Ryan are here, too."
Jessica giggled, her brown ponytail bouncing behind her head. "I know."
"Right. Lads, this is Jessica Kayne. She's an American fan of ours."
She shook both their hands, saying something about how big a fan she was and how honored she was to meet them, or something along those lines. Actually Paul didn't really care what she was saying. He just wanted to hear her keep talking, see that bright smile on her face, watch her eyes twinkle with laughter every time he cracked a joke.
After a while, Jessica excused herself to rejoin the siblings of the family she lived with, with whom she had come to the ice rink.
"Well," Ryan said as the three lads started their slow progress once again. "You certainly know how to rebound, Paul."
"She is not a rebound," Paul retorted. "She is just a very sweet young woman who also happens to be a fan of ours."
"Whom you keep bumping into, apparently," Ryan commented.
"Yes."
Keith added, "Who is a little young for you. Did she say she was still at university?"
"Yes. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to focus on not falling on my arse."
The other two men reluctantly agreed to stop, with Keith getting the final comment that there were clearly some sparks between Paul and the American girl.
Paul laughed it off, pretending not to care. But for the rest of their time at the rink, he could not keep his eyes from straying toward Jessica. And he caught her glancing at him more than once from across the ice. She even grew so bold as to give him a shove and a flirtatious wink as she whizzed by him, shortly before Paul and his companions left the rink.
"Did you see that?" Keith asked as the three lads returned their skates and headed back to the car. "I could almost see the sparks flying over the ice with my own eyes."
"Shut up," Paul commanded. "I am not about to get involved with another woman."
Ryan replied, "It seems as though Kathleen is pretty far from your thoughts."
"Can we drop the subject of Jessica Kayne? We were supposed to be getting my mind off women, remember?"
Keith sighed. "What is life without women?"
"For you? Beer and guitars," Ryan said flatly as they reached the car. "Not to mention surfing."
The blonde young man laughed and turned to Paul. "But don't—Is there something sticking out of your arse pocket?"
"What?" Paul twisted around in an attempt to see what Keith was staring at.
Sure enough, a piece of folded paper poked out quite visibly from the back pocket of his jeans. How in the world it had stayed there, half-hanging in the open air, was beyond Paul.
He pulled the paper out and unfolded it. Scribbled in pen across the exact center of the slip were the words "Jessica Kayne", and beneath them a legible phone number. A legible, most likely American, cell phone number.
Paul's jaw must have dropped, because Keith said, "What is it?"
Ryan stuck his head out of the car. "What is going on? Why does Paul look stunned?"
Keith craned his neck to look at the paper in Paul's hands. "Looks like lover boy just landed the American girl's phone number."
"How did she manage that?"
Paul thought to himself that Jessica must have slipped it into his pocket when she gave him that hearty shove just before he left the skating rink. That move was…bold. Uncharacteristic of what he knew about her. And yet it did not diminish her image. He probably would have asked for her number eventually; she had merely sped up the entire process by giving him permission before he asked.
"Are you going to call her?" Keith asked.
Paul hesitated.
"You really like her! He really likes her!"
"Shut up!" Paul said. "Stop acting like we're still in grammar school."
The blonde surfer grinned.
Ryan rolled his eyes and sat back in the car. "Will you two grow up?"
Paul crumpled the paper in his hand and crammed it into his pocket. "I'm driving," was all that he said.
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on May 19, 2010 15:24:41 GMT -5
That night, Paul stood in his kitchen, phone in one hand and Jessica's number in the other. Keith had advised him to call her immediately; Ryan had advised him to wait at least a week. It had taken him only a few hours to make his decision.
Paul did not really understand what was happening. He had just been torn apart from a relationship that had, he thought, defined him. He didn't think he had fully healed yet. He wasn't sure that he was ready to enter into a new relationship, or even to pursue someone else at all.
And yet he had not been able to throw away the slip of paper with Jessica's number on it. Oh, he had tried—more than once. But he simply could not go through with it.
Why? Why did he find this American so intriguing? She was nearly ten years his junior—okay, closer to eight. Were Keith and Ryan right in joking about his ability to rebound? Was he interested in Jessica only because he wanted to rebound from Kathleen?
But Jessica was nothing like Kathleen. She was an American, for one thing. And she was taller, with brown hair instead of red. And her eyes sparkled in a way that Kathleen's never had. And Jessica was ten times—no, twenty times—sweeter than Kathleen had ever been. Jessica just seemed so happy to be alive, to be in Ireland, to meet any member of Celtic Thunder.
Paul shook his head to clear it. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number written on the piece of paper in his hand.
A few nights later, they went for a long walk through the chilly neighborhood, talking about anything and everything. It lasted much longer than either of them had intended, and the evening flew by.
When they realized the lateness of the hour, Paul and Jessica returned to his house to warm up with hot chocolate. They fell into a conversation about Celtic Thunder—the first real conversation they'd had about the group since they had first met—and talk soon wound its way to Paul's duet with Ryan in the original show.
"I think that was the first song I saw you perform on PBS," Jessica said as she sipped from her mug.
They sat in front of the fireplace; the American had curled up on the couch for warmth. Paul sat across from her in one of the overstuffed chairs. She had let her hair down tonight, and the way it fell around her shoulders in soft waves fascinated him.
He laughed. "It's a lot of fun to perform—even though I don't get the girl."
"Oh, I'm sure you don't have a problem with that in real life," Jessica muttered, and promptly blushed as she heard the words she had just spoken.
She untucked her legs from underneath her, and said with a laugh, "You know, I always wanted to learn Zara's dance. She made it look so cool to be up there and have two guys fight over you."
That gave the Irishman an idea. "I can teach you, if you want."
Jessica's face lit up. "Really? The whole thing?"
Paul laughed. "Well, I can teach you the part where I dance with Zara. But that bit where she dazzles Ryan on the dance floor? I'll probably fall flat on my face trying to figure it out."
She smiled and nodded. "I'd love to learn anything at all."
He stood up, and taking both their mugs, placed them on the coffee table. Turning back to Jessica, he said, "Now. Take my hand like this."
She tentatively reached out to him, and he firmly grabbed her soft, warm hand. He refused to admit to himself that he felt a rush just brushing her skin.
"Now what?"
"Now—well, you don't know all the steps…"
Her eyes widened. "You mean there's a whole set of steps? It always seemed as though Zara just followed your lead."
Paul laughed again. "Actually, I was following her lead, most of the time. But I think we can manage without her," he added with a wink.
He began to lead Jessica in the dance sequence from "That's A Woman". But he soon forgot that he wasn't dancing with Zara, who knew the steps backwards, forwards, and upside down. He was dancing with Jessica, a beautiful young American girl with no idea what she was doing.
She stumbled as he pulled her back toward him, careening right into his chest. He caught her without thinking, circling his arms around her, and time froze.
They stood there for a few moments, Jessica pressed up against Paul with her face resting on his shoulder, Paul holding Jessica in his arms. His heart thundered inside his chest, and he wondered if she could feel it through his shirt. All was quiet, except for the crackling from the burning fire.
Finally, Jessica lifted her head from Paul's shoulder and whispered, "What now?"
He gazed at her face and found himself looking at her lips, so close—so breathlessly close—to his own. Without a word, he took her chin in one of his hands and kissed her.
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on May 27, 2010 19:51:29 GMT -5
Paul didn't see her eyes widen in surprise. Nor did he see them sparkle as she closed them. He did feel her smile beneath his kiss, and it thrilled him to his very core.It was unlike anything he had experienced before—not even with Kathleen, the woman he had at one time intended to marry. It was soft and sweet, and Paul didn't want it ever to end.
Jessica didn't seem to want to end it either, but end it she did. She pulled away from him after a few long, breathless moments. Her cheeks had flushed bright pink.
Paul let got of her as she took a step backward. That was too fast, you idiot!
The American girl bit her lip. Not a wise decision: Paul found it adorable, and had to force himself not to take her in his arms and kiss her again.
"Sorry," Jessica mumbled.
Paul frowned. "What are you apologizing for?"
"I didn't—you were just—I mean…"
Paul quirked an eyebrow. A corner of his mind wondered vaguely what kind of an effect the swanky eyebrows would have on her.
"Never mind."
She looked quite uncomfortable, standing there biting her lip and laying one hand on the opposite arm.
"Jessica, if anyone should be apologizing here, it’s me."
She gave a tiny shrug and stared resolutely at the floor between them.
How had things managed to get this awkward so fast? Not two minutes ago, they were sharing a very enjoyable kiss. And now they could barely form coherent sentences to each other. Which, Paul supposed, was a natural reaction after the sweetness of a kiss like that—but only to an extent. And why were they apologizing? What they had done wasn't wrong. Was it?
"I'll take you home now, if you would like," Paul heard himself saying.
It was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
Jessica’s eyes briefly met his before sliding back to the floor. She nodded and whispered assent.
A stiff few minutes followed. Jessica retrieved her outerwear. Although she lived in the neighborhood, Paul insisted that he drive her back. She didn’t argue.
He walked her all the way to her door. They both stopped outside it, neither one quite able to look the other in the eye.
"Goodnight, Jessica," Paul said in a low voice.
She nodded, and briefly looked up at him. Their eyes locked.
"Paul, will you promise me something?"
"Anything," he answered without thinking.
"I like you so much," she whispered. "But I just…"
She trailed off and made no attempt to finish.
Paul smiled softly. "Don't worry about it, Jessica. It won't happen again."
Her smile widened, a silent thank you. Then she unlocked the door and slipped inside. It was not until he heard the bolt slide back into place that Paul turned to leave, and it was not until he turned to leave that he came to a sudden, startling, and yet perfectly natural realization.
He was falling in love with her.
But what had just happened?
As he began to drive back to his house, a voice in his head answered. You moved too quickly for the girl, that’s what. Idiot.
Jessica had been enjoying herself tonight—Paul saw that. And then he, like the idiot he was, had to go and kiss her without any warning. Had to go and get too excited about the lovely American Celtic Thunder fan who kept her head on straight when she was around him.
Paul pulled into his driveway and stopped the car. And just like that, it hit him. How easily he had forgotten that she was an American fan. Of Celtic Thunder. She had seen them on tour, hadn’t she? Sure, she had begun to see who he really was outside his persona on the CT stage. But if he were in her shoes… He wouldn’t know whether or not this was real.
He needed to clarify that with her. From their first run-in at the toy shop, to the kiss that had happened too soon, this was real. Very, very real.
Paul climbed out of his car, locked it, and walked back inside his house.
He couldn’t just go charging to her house to tell her that. She could feel smothered, or think he was just being nice, or a host of other things. No. He would give her space; give her time to figure things out without any pressure from him.
That had to be it. She had to feel pressured, smothered. Why else would she react like that to a simple kiss?
The last thing he wanted was for Jessica to think he was moving too quickly, was trying to get something out of her, was pushing her to a faster pace than she was comfortable with for one reason or another.
"Good plan," Paul said to the air. "Although I don't know how I'm going to survive the wait."
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on Jun 2, 2010 14:35:32 GMT -5
Three days went by, and Paul heard nothing from Jessica. He told himself that it wasn’t any reason to get upset; she just needed more time to think. And besides, he added to himself, he had to get on with life in between CT tours.
He could not go anywhere near the living room. Every time he did, he could smell Jessica’s perfume from that night, could see the shine of her hair as it fell about her shoulders… He could feel the soft brush of her lips against his.
He wanted to find her, take her in his arms, and convince her that he was completely genuine in his pursuit of her. He wanted her, nothing else. There was nothing for her to fear from him, and she needed to know that.
But this endless wait was going to drive him insane if he didn't do something. He could go on another walk—no, that was a bad idea. It was too early to go a pub, and that wouldn't be half as much fun without his mates. His mind would not focus on a book if he tried to read one. But what did it matter if he had any plan of action? Whatever he decided to do, he most certainly could not stay in this house.
So Paul went out. In his car, which still smelled faintly of Jessica—or was that just his imagination? Never mind. He would not think about that. He drove into the heart of Dublin, unsure exactly where he was headed or what he would do.
Pulling into the first open parking space that he saw, Paul breathed in deeply to focus. He looked out at the world around him. The streets were not as crowded as they could be. But then, the sky constantly threatened to unload its current store of snow and rain, and most people would be at work now anyway.
A familiar redhead came sauntering around the corner, purse slung over one jacket-covered shoulder as she jauntily strolled by and took in the others on the sidewalk. (Mostly men, a corner of Paul's mind noted.)
Kathleen.
Paul twisted in his seat and bent over, as though searching for something on the floor of his car. She was the last person he wanted to see. And, of course, the most obvious—ironic? poetically just?—person to find him when he sought solitude.
When enough time had passed that Paul was certain she was safely gone, he got out of the car and closed the door.
"Paul," Kathleen said. "Fancy meeting you here."
He nearly jumped out of his skin. His ex-girlfriend was on the other side of the car, standing on the sidewalk, wearing an eerily wide smile on her face.
"Hello, Kathleen. You're doing well, I hope?" Paul went around to Kathleen's side of the car. He crossed his arms, pretending to fend off the cold, fighting a strong urge to get back into his car and drive away.
"I've been doing well," she answered. "I've missed you, Paul."
Ah. The source of his twinge of fear.
"Did you, now?" Paul took a step backward, off the curb and into the side of his car, heart rate thundering in his ears. Well done, you idiot.
"Of course I did." Kathleen took a step closer.
Bad. Very bad. He had nowhere to go, and no one else seemed to notice the situation.
Kathleen dropped her voice to the smooth, seductive tone she had often used when she thought Paul would argue with her. "I don't know why I said those terrible things the last time I saw you."
"…When you broke up with me."
Her smile dimmed for a moment. "I never meant that, honey. I just needed time to think. And my boyf—my best friend needed me, and I was so confused…I didn't know what I was saying."
Honey? Where was she going with this? What was she trying to do, get back together?
"What?"
"The point is, Paul, that I never wanted to break up with you." She took another step closer, so that she was a few inches from him, closing off any escape that he might have planned.
"Really?" Paul gritted his teeth.
Kathleen was so close that he could smell her perfume. A perfume that had at one time intoxicated him.
"No, Paul. I love you."
He closed his eyes. How much those words had meant to him! Part of him longed to trust her, to believe her, to forgive her for all the pain she had caused him.
Her voice came near his ear, light as the barest whisper, "I love you. And I am willing to forgive you for trying to make me jealous with that dancer girl."
Paul's eyes snapped open as he jerked his head back, causing Kathleen to stumble a few steps away from him.
"Zara was only a friend, Kathleen. If you really loved me, you would have seen that."
"I—I—"
"Why are you trying to come back? Did your latest boyfriend dump you, and you thought you could just waltz on over and pick up poor, dejected me again?"
"Never! I—"
"We're finished, Kathleen. Over. I never want to fix things with you. They were broken to begin with, and I was just too blind to see it. Why did you dump me, really? Is it because I'll regularly tour the United States, and you can't follow me to keep an eye on me? Is that it?"
"Of course not! Paul, how could you say such things?!?"
He stormed around to the driver's side of his car, unlocked it and yanked open the door. "Good. Bye."
Sliding into his seat, Paul slammed the door shut, started the car, and sped away.
Kathleen stood in his rearview mirror, a black-clad, redheaded figure with a stunned expression on her face.
He hoped he would never see her again.
As he drove out of the heart of Dublin, Paul's grip tightened on the wheel. Why had he never seen Kathleen for who she was? She was a grasping, controlling, manipulative woman who reeked of insincerity, who blamed others for her own insecurities.
Why had he wasted so much time on her?
Paul found himself speeding straight back into his neighborhood, but not toward his home. Toward the Finnegan residence.
|
|
|
Post by Ghost on Jun 7, 2010 19:15:40 GMT -5
He stopped the car in front of the house, wondering if anyone was home. His subconscious had directed him here. Or maybe it was something else.
Paul sighed, and got out of the car. He would knock once, and if no one answered, he would leave. Only he would have to know about his attempted visit to Jessica.
It only took one knock.
A ponytailed Jessica opened the door and smiled openly. "Hey! Have you been busy the past few days?"
Paul shook his head as he entered the house. "No, actually."
"Oh. I mean, I didn't hear from you at all, so I wondered…"
"Wondered what?"
She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. "Not important. What's up?"
Paul looked around as she shut the door behind him. "Are you alone?"
Jessica shook her head. The ponytail bounced, and Paul resisted the urge to play with the swinging waves.
"Kevin's working on something in the basement, and the rest of the family is out at work or school. You're lucky that I finished my classes early and didn't have to work at the Parliament today."
What?
Good lord, she was teasing him. She was…she was flirting with him.
"Jessica, I need to talk to you."
Concern immediately showed on her face. "About what? Is everything okay?"
This girl was so much kinder and more understanding that Kathleen would ever be. He could not help but take her hands in his.
"Jessica, I want to apologize."
She frowned slightly. "For what?"
"For—I pushed you too hard, I think. I didn't mean to kiss you the other night. It just...happened. And I swear that I won't ask you to go any further with this if you don't want to. We don't have to take things somewhere you don't want to go."
Her eyes betrayed even more confusion now.
What had he been saying? Oh yes. "I mean, you're a fan of Celtic Thunder."
"I'm a Thunderhead, thanks," she quietly interjected.
"Right. Anyways, I don't want you to think I'm just doing this for the heck of it, or because you already like the swanky tenor, or because you're the most amazing and beautiful young woman I have ever—"
Paul cut himself off. Where did that come from? And why wasn't he making any sense? Jessica didn't have a clue what he was trying to tell her; that was clear.
And she seemed embarrassed by his misguided compliment.
He found himself staring at the pink flush on her cheeks—caused by his thoughtless rambling—as she replied, "So... You think I reacted the way I did the other night because I felt overly pressured?"
Paul nodded. "Something along those lines, yes."
She shook her head. "That wasn't it. Not at all."
He felt one eyebrow automatically quirk, a silent question.
Jessica pulled away from him and continued, "Well, Um. This is going to be difficult to explain. I thought—at first—that you were just being nice to me because you knew I was a fan. A Thunderhead, whatever. But then...when I ran into you at the ice rink...I don't know. I started to like you more. More than just as a fan would, you know?"
Thank God for Keith Harkin and his insane ideas.
"And even when you asked me on that…walk…a few nights ago, I still thought it was a gesture of friendship."
And the kiss that had ended that evening?
"But then you kissed me." Was her blush deepening? "And I freaked out because I thought I had unintentionally made you do something you didn't want to do."
"Kiss you? Jessica, if I didn't want to kiss you, I wouldn't have."
Could her face possibly get any redder?
Jessica struggled to find the right words. "That's not really what I meant. I meant that...You don't want to get into a long-distance relationship, do you? I mean, I live an entire ocean away from Ireland."
She fell silent, waiting for him to answer. He was a verbose man. He always had something to say, no matter the situation. So why did words utterly fail him at this particular moment? Jessica had the same concerns that had ended his relationship with Kathleen, that was why. Was she going to break things off with him almost before they had started? For the same reason that Kathleen had?
That would hurt too much for words.
He tried to smile as he finally found something to say. "I don't see a problem with the distance, love."
Her eyes widened. Paul made a mental note to call her that more often.
"What is it, love?"
"Well, I mean—"
That was enough. Paul took a step forward, closing the gap between them, and took her by the shoulders.
"Jessica," he said. "I don't care about distances. Wait. I do care about distances. But I'm willing to make this work across them. I want to do this. We have so much technology at our disposal, too. And we would see each other; there are promo tours, and then the full-blown US and Canada tours every year..."
Where was he going with this? Quit babbling, man!
Paul took a breath and continued, "My point is: I don't care about the issues that would arise. We could work around them. I care about you, Jessica. I want to be with you."
He'd said too much again. Her face was turning pink again, her eyes full of surprise and something else. Her lips parted slightly, as though she was about to respond, but no sound came out. She blinked a few times, staring straight back into his blue eyes with her pale brown ones.
"Really?" she whispered. "You really like me that much?"
Paul grinned. "More than that. I'm falling in love with you."
Her eyes widened, but then she smiled and squeaked, "Really?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he moved his arms from her shoulders and wrapped them around her waist. Leaning forward, he closed the few inches between them and kissed her.
They broke away after a bit, but stayed in their embrace. Paul rested his cheek on Jessica's soft hair, glancing out the window. Flurries of snow whirled their way to the ground—the most beautiful part of winter.
There would be roadblocks with this relationship—the ocean that would separate them was only the beginning. And he would have to tell her about Kathleen, of course. But all that could wait. For now, there was only Jessica Kayne, an American girl who had saved this Irishman's broken heart.
THE END
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2010 20:02:20 GMT -5
WOo great ending love it Ghost Cant wait to read more stories by ya
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2010 22:15:27 GMT -5
*sniff* I love happy endings.
|
|
|
Post by laurenne on Jun 7, 2010 22:28:39 GMT -5
That was too cute.
|
|
|
Post by celticbear on Jul 26, 2010 19:12:24 GMT -5
Ghost! I love"A Winter's Tale" ever thought about writing a sequel to it? Because I would love to read more about Paul and Jessica!
|
|
|
Post by AmbeeBee on Dec 13, 2010 18:44:45 GMT -5
Oh my God, that was such a beautiful story! I absolutely loved it!
|
|