Luck of the Irish (16 page)

Cian looked back once, catching the happy grins of the ladies behind the desk, and smiled back before turning and looking forward toward the rest of his life.
Epilogue
Two years later

Q
UINN
quietly let himself into the apartment and toed off his shoes. He set his messenger bag down carefully, flipped the lock on the door, and padded softly into the living room. As he suspected, his boyfriend was sound asleep on the couch. He had a habit of trying to stay up on Friday nights to wait for Quinn to get home from his monthly tutoring group.

Quinn had volunteered to teach reading and writing to adults with learning disabilities, and he found it very rewarding. It made Cian a little worried because the community center he taught the class at was in a dodgy part of town, but Quinn insisted he was fine.

He walked over to the couch and knelt beside it. He took the biology book Cian had fallen asleep studying and put it on the table before leaning and kissing him gently.

“Time for bed, sleeping beauty.”

 

Cian’s eyes fluttered open, and the sleepy smile Quinn earned made his breath catch in his throat. “Hey.”

 

Cian yawned and stretched. “Hey, darlin’. Glad you’re home.” When Cian was tired, his accent was more pronounced. Quinn heard it a lot these days. Quinn stood and extended his hand to help Cian up but found himself being pulled down on top of him. “No fair, baby, catching me off guard.” Cian just grinned and settled Quinn’s knees on either side of his thighs. “All’s fair in love, sweetheart. Besides, you like it here.”

 

Quinn leaned in to kiss him. “You’re right, I do.” He let himself settle on top of Cian, relaxing at the warmth seeping into him.

“Did Mrs. Dixon behave herself this time?” She was their seventy-five-yearold downstairs neighbor who had a bad habit of calling Cian to come down and fix something in her apartment and then trying to grab his ass.

“Yeah, love, she did. I don’t know what you said to her last time, but it worked.”

Quinn had made the trek downstairs the last time she called, the third such call in a week. He’d politely but firmly told her to keep her hands off his boyfriend’s ass or he’d have Harold the plumber come to do all her repairs. Harold was sixty, balding, and fifty pounds overweight. Mrs. Dixon agreed that eye candy she couldn’t touch was better than no eye candy at all, and had agreed to stick to ogling Cian instead of trying to grope him.

“You know, we’d both be more comfortable in our own bed.”
Cian grunted. “I don’t know, I’m pretty comfortable right here.”

“Come on, baby. You’re kept out of our bed enough as it is with studying, and soon your practicum will be starting.”

Cian had finished two years of the five he needed to get his degree, and he was tired a lot. He hated spending so much time away from Quinn, but there wasn’t much choice.

Quinn just kept reminding him it would all be worth it in the end. When Cian had to crawl into bed at 2:00 a.m. after studying half the night, Quinn would just curl into him and lay his head on Cian’s shoulder like he’d been waiting for him all along.

Things were going well, though. They had a full building of renters, all of them reliable and interesting, and it made their lives a whole lot easier.

Their first Christmas, they’d flown back to the States to spend the holiday with Quinn’s family. Cian had been overwhelmed with the love and affection they’d showered on him. His favorite part had been when the whole family had gathered around the tree to put their personal ornaments on it.

He’d stood back and watched until Quinn’s grandma, Anna, had beckoned him forward and passed him a little box. Nestled in the red satin lining was a small green shamrock with a picture of a horse on one side and a stethoscope on the other. With the others encouraging him, he’d proudly hung it on the tree along with Quinn’s miniature typewriter.

The next year, they’d stayed in Ireland to celebrate with Cian’s family, and they’d had a lovely surprise when Elizabeth had flown everyone from Rockingham to spend New Year’s Eve with them. It had been the best one Cian could ever remember.

Quinn had started his first novel, writing in bursts, manic when he was at it and mostly unconcerned when he wasn’t. He kept busy tutoring and helping their neighbors and spending any free time Cian had with him. It wasn’t a lot, but they made it be enough.

Quinn got up from the couch and then pulled Cian up as well. Taking the other man’s hand, he led the way toward their bedroom. “Time for bed, baby.”

Quinn had never expected to be so lucky when he came to Ireland the first time, but here he was, a little over two years later, with pretty much everything he’d ever hoped to have.

Maybe there was something to the whole luck of the Irish thing, after all.

 

About the Author

C
INDY
S
UTHERLAND
is a first-time author in her early forties who never thought that getting involved in a fandom would lead to being published. She is an avid reader who would take in anything she could get her hands on, having inherited a love of books from both her parents. She wrote in secret as a young adult, with only her family for an audience, and now is over the moon at the thought of sharing her love of writing with a few more people. Her favorite stress-busting activity besides writing is singing karaoke at her hometown bar, and she is passing on her love of reading to her daughter. Cindy thanks God every day for an errant YouTube recommendation that led to her having the best group of friends she's ever had in her life, and she is looking forward to seeing where the rest of this journey will take her. And, hopefully, more stories to tell.

You can e-mail Cindy at [email protected].
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