Chapter Fourteen

Norah

It's not so bright, but definitely early when my alarm goes off, as is typical for costume weekends. Stretching my arms over my head, I smile thinking back on last night. It took me longer to fall asleep last night due to my mind racing with thoughts of Eamon. He told me to have pleasant dreams, and once I finally did fall asleep—after practicing several breathing exercises—my dreams were indeed pleasant.

My phone starts buzzing incessantly, which effectively keeps me from slipping back into those dreams. Rolling over, I grab the device and scowl at the screen. There are eighteen text messages. Apparently, when my friends didn't get a response in the group chat, they each sent individual messages asking the same questions, as if a private conversation would get them answers quicker. I roll my eyes at their antics. They're relentless. To my surprise, there's even a message from Myra, but I'm not in the mood to even touch that situation yet.

Opening the group message, I skim through them as they become more and more obtrusive. I should probably be annoyed at their lack of respect for my boundaries, but find myself chuckling. I don't respond to any of them. They can wait a bit. But I do finally open the message from Myra.

Myra: Norie, I'm so sorry about last night. I was drunk and stupid, and that's no excuse. Please forgive me!!! I love you!!!!

Shocked that she's actually apologizing, I text her back.

Norah: I love you too, but we will need to hash this out. I'm sorry for my words as well.

Then, I cave and respond to the group text.

Norah: Calm your tits, ladies. All is well. Eamon walked me home and dropped me off at my door. Nothing exciting to report. We're getting to know each other.

With that, I get out of bed and head for the shower. Normally, on sewing weekends, I stick to sweats and my hair in a topknot. It's just me, sequestered in my sewing room all day, so there's no one to impress. Today is different. I'm still comfortable in black yoga pants and a light blue tank top, but I put some mousse in my hair to control the frizz and take the time to put on a touch of makeup.

Padding into the kitchen in bare feet, I head for the coffee pot before making breakfast. I turn on the TV just for background noise, and the meteorologist is saying that today will be cooler than yesterday with the possibility of a thunderstorm in the afternoon. It's currently in the sixties, so I open all of the windows. I love listening to the breeze outside and feeling it cascade throughout the house; it's so peaceful. Satisfied with the weather report, I switch from the TV to Spotify, opening up a recent playlist I put together of European men crooning love songs at me.

With a coffee mug in hand, I walk out to my sunroom. The morning sun is filtering through the windows, casting shadows on the floor and warming the tiles under my feet. Gathering my sketches I begin to map out the layers of Belle's gown. Soon, I'm surrounded by yellow fabric. I've been working diligently and just finished the lining, petticoat, and base layer of the skirt when my body tells me that it's time to stretch. My back is aching from sitting in the same hunched-over position for so long. Once I've worked out all of the kinks, I trek into the kitchen for a glass of water. As I sit the glass down, there's a knock on my door. I glance over at the microwave clock to see that it's already a few minutes past noon. The morning passed by in an absolute blur. I run my fingers through my hair then straighten my shirt as I walk to the door.

With butterflies in my stomach, I open it. And my mouth runs dry. Eamon is standing there in a white t-shirt and faded jeans, his dark hair mussed in the sexiest of ways, and the stubble along his jaw beginning to look thicker than normal.

"Hello, Norah," he drawls, gifting me with that crooked smile.

"Hi there," I say, breathlessly. "Would you like to come in?"

"Please. Unless you'd rather eat on your porch," he teases me.

Shaking my head with a smile, I step back to welcome him inside. I can't believe I'm willingly letting a man into my home. And not just any man, but Eamon Kennedy. I don't think I'll ever be able to wrap my mind around this.

Eamon

Stepping into Norah's small but cozy house, I take in the living room that's painted a warm beige color, and the large window on the same wall as the front door. The navy blue couch is deep set with plush white and yellow throw pillows scattered over it. It's the kind of couch meant for sprawling out and watching TV or reading a book. Or curling up with a significant other. The rectangular coffee table sits on a patterned rug and has a stack of books in the middle of it. To my left is the kitchen, and like the rest of the house, it's small but welcoming. The narrow island separating the kitchen from the living room has three wooden bar stools sitting neatly against it. Directly between the two rooms is a small hallway that leads to what I'm assuming are bedrooms and a bathroom. The house suits her perfectly.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Norah asks, interrupting my observations.

"That'd be grand, thanks," I reply, suddenly feeling nervous for reasons I don't quite understand.

I watch her walk to the fridge, trying not to stare at her backside in those tight-fitting pants, and pull out a pitcher of lemonade. She sets it on the island before turning to a cabinet to pull out two glasses. She fills them carefully and slides one across the island to me.

"Thanks," I tell her, taking a drink. "Did you accomplish as much as you hoped to today?"

"I think so," she answers, taking a sip from her glass. "The base of Belle's dress is finished. I just need to finish the bodice and the petals of the skirt."

"Skirts have petals?" I wonder stupidly.

Norah laughs, and the sound reverberates through my body. She's beautiful, as always, but there's something softer about her today. My eyes travel over her red hair, just begging for my fingers to comb through the curls, and down to the blue tank top that makes her blue eyes shine and accentuates her curves.

"This one does!" she exclaims. "We decided to navigate away from the traditional ball gowns and ballroom scene and make it a garden party, with the dresses resembling flowers. Belle's will look like a yellow rose. Fitting, don't you think? Oh, wait. You don't even know what I'm talking about!"

I smile at her rambling, marveling at how she comes to life when she's passionate about something."No, I don't, but I'm sure I'll learn soon enough," I tell her. "Now, I'm starved. I brought Chinese. That alright with you?"

"Absolutely!" She grins.

We set into an easy rhythm, unloading the food and dividing it into bowls. I didn't think to ask what she liked, so I got a couple of different dishes. Norah seems pleased with both options and takes a little of each, so I do the same.

"Would you like to sit here, on the couch, or on the patio?" she asks hesitantly, seemingly unsure .

"It's a lovely day out, how about the patio?" I offer.

"Good call. It's just through there," she says, pointing to what appears to be a laundry nook off the kitchen.

Following her through a doorway next to a washer and dryer, I step into the room and have no idea what I'm looking at other than yellow fabric. Everywhere.

"Wow… How much fabric do you need to make one yellow rose dress?" I ask, bewildered.

Norah giggles at my stupidity. "A lot. Please don't judge the mess. When you're dealing with this much fabric, there's no containing it."

She leads the way through a storm door to a small patio with a wrought iron table and chairs just off of the sunroom. The yard is quaint with a small flower bed in one corner, and a couple of trees grow nearby, providing just enough shade to keep the grass from scorching in the summers.

"I really like your place, Norah," I tell her as we sit down. "It suits you."

"Thanks. I love it. It's small, but I don't need any more than this."

We eat in silence for a few minutes before Norah asks, "So. What did you do this morning?"

"Honestly? I slept," I confess. "Coach has been relentless at practice this week. I'm not sure how he expects us to play when we're bone-tired from running for three hours straight."

"That sounds horrible. How do you stand it?" She grimaces.

"I love the game. Coach really is a great guy, but he's been extra crotchety. I think he's trying to kill us."

"Well, I hope not," she cuts in. "Surely he can see the merits of keeping his team alive."

I shrug. "One would hope."

We sit quietly, looking into the yard at nothing in particular. The air is warm but not overbearing; a soft breeze makes it almost perfect. Clouds are rolling across the sky, occasionally covering up the sun for moments at a time. They're starting to turn gray, indicating the possibility of rain.

"Any word from your friend Myra?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"Ugh. Yes. She apologized, but we still need to talk about the whole situation. We were both out of line, but she really took it too far," Norah says, her brow furrowing.

"By bringing up the incident ?" I hedge. I wasn't kidding when I told her she doesn't have to tell me anything she doesn't want to, but I'd be lying if I said that the curiosity isn't driving me mad.

Norah sighs heavily. "Yeah. Her words weren't wrong; it just wasn't her place."

"I don't need to know, Norah," I tell her, lifting my hands in surrender.

"Unfortunately," she starts, glancing over at me, "you probably do. If we're going to be spending more time together, the incident will likely affect you too."

Immediately I'm filled with trepidation but determined to lend her whatever strength she needs.

"First," I say, "I'm honored that you want to share this with me, but please don't feel obligated. If you're not ready to talk about it, I respect that. There's no rush. For anything."

Norah looks at me with an unreadable expression before it shifts to absolute trust. "You don't know how much that means to me. Thank you," she says, "but I do want to tell you though. Which is surprising, since I usually avoid this subject at all costs."

I reach across the table and cautiously lace my fingers through hers. "Then, I'm all ears and no judgment."

She looks at our hands and takes a shuddering breath, while I brace myself for what she's about to share with me. I sense that whatever it is, she was traumatized by it.

"When I was in high school," Norah begins, "I was out with a group of friends on a Friday night, and we were being stupid and reckless—as most seventeen-year-olds are. In my hometown, there's not a lot to do on a Friday night—other than get into trouble. As the night progressed, we ended up in an abandoned barn, drinking alcohol smuggled from our parents' liquor cabinets. I had been shamelessly flirting with this guy, Ashton, who was a couple of years older than me. He was known to be a nice guy, and everyone loved him. Super smart and charming. The fact that he even knew my name was flattering. We all started taking shots around midnight. I was young, but I knew better. My Mom had always impressed upon me the importance of not drinking underage and what could happen if I did. But I really thought this time was different. Slowly, couples began disappearing to other parts of the barn or into the field. Before I knew it, Ashton and I were outside, kissing up against the side of the barn. There was no one near us. Teenagers with raging hormones and alcohol…never a good combination. I didn't have any intention of doing anything further than that, but Ashton did. When he started trying to…" She pauses to chew on her lip for a second before continuing, "…unbutton my jeans, I knew it was time to stop."

My blood begins to boil as I see where her story is going and I have to take a calming breath as she continues. "So I pulled away and told him I wasn't ready for that. Thinking that he was a nice guy, I expected him to back off. I was wrong. He got so angry. He shoved me back against the barn and violently kissed me. I kept trying to push him away, but he was so much stronger than me, and when I tried to yell, he put his hand over my mouth and threw me to the ground. He…he raped me and left as soon as he was done." Pausing to swallow, she glances down at her lap before her gaze drifts back to our hands. "I stayed there curled up on the ground for hours after. I was too ashamed to go home."

I'm speechless, and my heart is absolutely shattered in my chest, yet somehow racing out of control. I'm practically shaking with rage and the desire to find the monster that took advantage of this amazing woman and tear him limb from limb with my bare hands. The hand not holding onto Norah's clenches in my lap, and I exhale the breath I've been holding. I squeeze her fingers gently and she glances up at me, having averted her eyes while reliving the hell she experienced.

"And now you know why I was so hesitant to accept a ride from you," she whispers. "And why I need to take things slow."

Inhaling another deep breath, I will myself to calm the fuck down so my anger doesn't scare her.

Leaning closer, I look directly into her eyes and say, "First, thank you for sharing that with me. I can't imagine how hard it was to relive that. Second, I'm going to need this bastard's information." I'm cradling her hand in both of mine now. "And third, we can take this as slow as you need and want to. I'm happy to just sit here with you and listen to you talk."

Norah blushes and places her other hand on top of mine, fingers trembling slightly. "Thank you," she says, "for all of this. I'm really happy to be here with you. I've avoided guys for so long that I'm actually shocked that any of this is even happening."

My heart stutters. I am humbled and honored to be the one she trusts enough to take this step with. That she finds me worthy of her time and attention is astounding. Being with Norah in any capacity, let alone dating her, is something to be treasured and something I don't take lightly.

"So what happened to that arsehole? Please tell me he went to jail," I demand.

"I wish. But no. I was so ashamed that I never told anyone. Not until years later. I realize now how stupid that was, but what can I do now? A whole lot of nothing," she answers with a shrug.

"You're joking?" I sputter in shock. "This needs to be reported. He can't get away with this."

Norah sighs. "I know. But won't it seem strange coming years later? I don't even know where he is now."

"That should be easy to figure out with today's technology. You can find anyone on the internet. I'll even do the work for you," I volunteer.

I'd love nothing more than to find this fucker and bring him to justice.

"I don't know, Eamon. I'll have to think about it," Norah says uncertainly, looking away.

"Hey," I say, squeezing her hand again until she looks at me. "I understand. I have no idea how difficult it would be for you, but he cannot get away with what he did to you. The States are seriously lacking when it comes to punishment for rapists. In Ireland, if convicted, a rapist will spend life in prison. It's the absolute least they deserve."

"Wow," she breathes, eyes wide. "It's good to hear there are places that actually do more than just slap the offender on the wrist and tell them to be good. Anyway, enough of that. Today is too beautiful to waste on sad stories."

I stand, pulling her up with me, and twine our fingers together on both hands. "Thank you for telling me, Norah. For trusting me with this. I'm honored. I meant what I said about not rushing anything. You're in control here."

Norah's eyes turn glassy and a tear slips through, trailing over her cheek.

"Ach, don't cry, love," I say, releasing one of her hands to wipe the tear away.

"I'm sorry," she sniffs. "I've spent so long avoiding guys and the first one I take a chance on is…" She huffs a little laugh then meets my eyes before saying, "You're one of the good ones Eamon Kennedy.