Sea Glass: Marie and Lauryn

Chapter 41

The fresh Galway morning greeted Marie eased the door of the hotel shut behind her. Lauryn was still asleep upstairs, curled small and warm beneath the covers, her breathing deep and even. Her sleep seemed more settled, somehow. She hadn't woken during the night with a nightmare, rather, she slept heavily and still. Marie had checked her twice before leaving, making sure she was settled.

The air outside was crisp, salty with the nearby sea and wet from the night's rain. After stretching, Marie set off at an easy pace, her trainers striking the pavement rhythmically as she headed toward the River Corrib. She ran along the it, the water moving fast and sure beside her, and let her thoughts come as they would. Kilkenny lingered heavily in her chest, the rooms and memories Lauryn had fought her way through, the way she had gone so very small and quiet afterward. Marie felt the familiar ache of protectiveness sharpen into something fierce, something proud. Lauryn had gone back, she had survived it again.

Marie lengthened her stride, breath steady, grateful for the simple, familiar burn of exertion. Running had always been where she sorted herself out, where worry could be shaped into something cleaner. She thought of Lauryn asking, so quietly, if she could stay small that evening after the visit. Of the way she had melted the moment Marie said yes. Of how careful they still had to be in the world, even now.

By the time Marie turned back toward the hotel, the sky was brighter, streaked with soft grey and blue. Her muscles ached pleasantly, her mind clearer. She slowed to a jog, then a walk, letting the calm settle.

Marie ducked into the little bakery just off the square, the bell over the door chiming softly as she stepped inside. The place smelled like fresh bread, sugar, and strong coffee, warm, comforting, impossibly inviting after her run. She pushed her hair back from her face, the end of her braid damp against her shoulder, and glanced at the case while she waited her turn.

As she looked, she realized the man behind her was looking at her, perhaps a little too closely. She could feel his eyes lingering, tracking the length of her long legs in her running tights, the line of muscle there earned through years of discipline. When she turned slightly, she caught him openly staring at her chest, his mouth half-curved into something that thought it was charming. 

"Mornin'," he said, stepping a little closer than necessary, "Ye run through the Claddagh? I thought I recognized ye."

Marie gave him a polite, distant smile. The non-committal, safe kind she used in boardrooms and airports. The man seemed harmless, but she didn't want to encourage him.

"Just a short run," she replied, already turning her attention back to the counter.

He didn't take the hint.

"Ye know," he continued, emboldened, "I was thinking, maybe I could take ye out sometime. Maybe dinner? Show ye the real Galway."

Her phone chose that exact moment to buzz in her hand. It was just a text from Theo, but she took the moment to convey a message. 

"Sorry, my girlfriend's calling, if you could excuse me," she said to the man.

His mouth dropped open and he looked immediately embarrassed. 

She pretended to swipe the screen before lifting it to her ear. 

"Darling," she said warmly, her voice softening in a way it only ever did for one person, "I was just picking up breakfast for us. Yes, coffee too. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She paused, listening to nothing at all, her expression affectionate, intimate, unmistakable.

"I love you," she added, quietly but clearly.