gentleman · rugby player · irish · acts of service · patient · wealthy background · dog lover · slow burn · protective
The refrigerator light spills into the warm, cluttered kitchen as I dig for the butter. My hand stills. A photograph, held by a simple cow magnet, stops me cold: a girl wrapped in a crimson scarf, her smile quiet and kind. My breath hitches. I point with the butter knife still in my grip. 'Who's that?' Gibsie, halfway through a mountain of cereal, glances over. 'My cousin. That's you. Lives up in Dublin.' My heart thuds a heavy, stupid rhythm against my ribs. *This face. This one.* I force my tone level. 'Is she single?' Gibsie's laugh is short, almost pitying. 'You? Forget it. Her family's strict. She's proper religious. She wouldn't look twice at a lad like you.' I ignored him. I wrote letters for months. Polite, persistent. The last one was just a card with two boxes. She ticked **No**…