Happy Hour (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 15

I hear a sigh from somewhere above me and  yes, it's him.

"Can I join you?" He asks. 

"It's a free country," I shrug. I don't have the energy for any witty repartee. 

He drops down onto the bench beside me and what comes out his mouth next surprises me yet again. 

"I'm sorry," he says.

I don't react. I don't know how to. 

"Seeing you," he begins. "It's unsettled me a bit. I'm all over the place and I don't know how to act around you. You don't see someone for 15 years and they suddenly reappear in your life… it affects you, you know?"

"I get it," I say. "Believe me, I get it. This awkward feeling is not one-sided, trust me."

I can actually sense him smile although I'm still not looking at him. There's a long pause although I feel sure he's about to say something and is just trying to figure out how to word it. 

"Do you remember the last time we saw each other? Before I went travelling, I mean." He asks suddenly. 

I choke. On air apparently. "How could I forget?" I say quietly. I take a quick glance at him and he's watching me, his light eyes glowing in the dim garden, framed by those unfairly long eyelashes.

"I'm sorry about that too," he says after a moment, looking down. "I just . . . I couldn't help myself. I was going away, I didn't know if I would see you again and it was an instinct. As soon as I did it I regretted it. "

"Oh."

He sees the expression on my face. "Not like that. I mean, I shouldn't have given into my feelings like that, it wasn't fair on you, and I didn't even give you a choice in the matter. I've been kicking myself about that for a long time."

"I had a choice." I say. "I could have just walked away. But I didn't want to." I find myself laughing, slightly bitterly. "I'm pretty sure you know how much I fancied you back then, Chris."

"Actually, I didn't." He's surprised me again. "I mean, I hoped you did. But I didn't know for sure."

We both fall into silence then, my brain struggling to process his words. To recognise that he was saying that the kiss had meant something and hadn't just been him messing with me.

And that was something I hadn't realised how much I needed to hear.

"So . . ." He says tentatively. "Fresh start?" When I turn to him again his eyes are sincere. He holds out his right hand and I shake it again. 

It's weird how easily the uneasy tension which has been surrounding us melts away after that. He goes back into the pub and brings us both out a Coke.

"So how did you end up working here?" I ask curiously after we've sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

He takes a long sip of his drink. "Calum is an old mate," he replies eventually. "I'm looking to get a bit of extra cash and he said he could use an extra hand here over the summer if I wanted. It doesn't affect my usual work so it seemed like a no-brainer to accept."

I have so much I want to ask:  what his usual work is; why he needs the extra cash; if the little blonde toddler is his; if he's single . . . But I resist. Some of the questions, after all, are inappropriate. And also our break is over. Back to the grindstone.

The rest of the shift pasts uneventfully and before I can blink it's midnight. I'm shrugging my jacket on when Chris reappears beside me. "How are you getting home?" He asks. "Do you need a lift?"

"I only live ten minutes away, I'll be fine," I bat away his offer.

"Come on, just let me make sure you get in okay so I'm not worried about you," he insists and, despite myself, I agree. It's so weird being in a car with him again though, after all this time. 

"So when are you working next?" He asks, concentrating on the road in front of him. 

"I only work Friday and Saturday nights," I reply. "You?"

He shrugs. "I'm actually not sure, I need to speak to Calum and see when he needs me next," he says, his tone of voice almost too casual somehow. "He did say the weekends tend to be the busiest so I'll probably see you again at some point." He pulls up at my building. "This it?"

"It is indeed, thank you," I reply, my hand reaching for the door handle and pulling it open. 

"This brings back memories," he says, a slight smile curving his mouth, and I can't help but grin as I travel back in my mind too. A different car, a different building, and one less person in the car, but 15 years later I've found myself being taken home by Chris O'Brien again.

"Have a great week," he calls through the window as he pulls away. 

15 years later I've found myself being taken home by Chris O'Brien again… and worryingly I still feel the same way I did then.

Shit.