At the end of Brendan's driveway, Assumpta, who was driving, handed Peter the ring pouch. "I can't take that."
"What?" He started to panic.
"Just kidding." She smiled. "It's beautiful."
"Does it fit?" He pretended the joke hadn't bothered him.
"I didn't try it on." She looked over at him, now wanting to reassure him, "Didn't want Brendan for a witness. Not yet anyway."
The pub wasn't overly busy on their return but Niamh had to go home and get the dinner on. She'd invited Mark as well as Peter for the meal. Assumpta kept the bar service by herself for the evening but of course hoped it was Peter arriving ten minutes before closing for a night cap. It was Mark, well fed, wined and ready for bed.
She hoped it might be Peter first thing the next morning too, but it was Niamh. Which of course meant Peter was busy with the baby.
"Thank God for Peter Clifford." Niamh grinned. "Though I won't stay all day. He says he's fine but he looks knackered, and Kiaran can be a handful."
Mark had come down in time to hear the last of that. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Everyone, it seemed, would get to spend some of the day with Peter, except Assumpta. She hated being like this, wanting so much of him, but it was something of an understatement to say her defences were down.
Peter did come in for a drink in the evening, Mark in tow, and he even snuck out to the kitchen, but they could hardly relax then and there, even if the bar wasn't over-busy.
"How's your day been?" Assumpta busied herself for fear of giving away just how much she wanted him.
"Fine. Yours?"
"Long." She wasn't going to sugar-coat it but he didn't need the details.
"Busy?"
"I wish."
"I suppose Brian's place opening up this week doesn't help matters."
She acknowledged the truth of that with a glance. She wasn't up to Peter's unfailing positivity just now so she daren't complain for fear of setting him off. "Kiaran behaved himself?"
Peter shrugged. "I thought you might want this." He held out the little grey drawstring pouch."
She brightened and stepped over to him, playing at reluctance. "Oh, okay." She saw the serious look on his face just in time. "Would you like to do the honours?" She squeezed his hand the released her grip but still offered her hand.
"You're sure?"
"Of course." She realised the strength of his doubt. "Are you serious?"
"Sometimes it's hard to be sure."
"Hard for me or hard for you?"
"Both, probably."
"I'm not changing my mind, Peter." She kissed him for good measure, meaning to pull away again, but he kept hold of her hand and his other arm went around her waist, though he still held the jewellery bag in it. He'd never kissed her like that before, damn-near possessively. She wanted to prove he didn't need to fight for her, that the battle was already won, that she was his for the keeping. She forgot the pub, lost herself in the contours of his back beneath her hands, the feel of his chest pressed to her own, his hair between her fingers and his mouth – oh. She stumbled back two steps and he was about to release her then, but she had a point to make, claiming his mouth again, her hands holding his face in something a lot like worship.
"Assumpta! Customers!" God knows who said it but they said it three times before she let Peter go and headed for the door.
He pulled her back, his hands awfully low on her hips. She wondered if he realised what he was doing to her. Then he slipped his hand into her pocket.
She moaned aloud, turned back, ready to kiss him again.
He smiled, holding her at a distance. "Keep it safe."
He'd put the ring in her pocket, she realised with a laugh. She took a deep breath, which didn't do nearly enough to restore her equilibrium. Peter thumbed her lip and showed her a smudge of lipstick. "All safe." He nudged her toward the bar. "I'll head off." He nodded to the back door then wiped his swollen lips with his wrist.
"Night." She tore her eyes away and headed through to her blasted customers.
He showed up the next afternoon for a late sandwich and hung about till everyone else had returned to work.
"How are you feet?" Assumpta asked, noticing they were finally alone. "Up to a walk?"
"Sure, aren't I walking on a cloud?"
She laughed at him. "I'll get fionn. You lock up the front." She handed him the keys.
They were nearly out of sight when he took her hand. She immediately slipped free and darted around the other side – wrong hand.
"Still sore then?" He watched her.
"Oh, you know."
He nodded. "This is the one I need." He held up her left hand. "Do you have it?"
She pulled her hand free to get the ring bag from her pocket.
"Come, sit." He moved over to some larger stones by the bank and she followed, struggling with her bandaged hand and the drawstring. "Let me." He held out his hand.
She gave it to him and he opened it easily, tipping the ring out into his palm. She watched him, a bit jealous. He'd been walking slowly but he seemed back to normal, pretty much, minus the collar and the pretences She didn't feel like normal. She felt like she was at the brink, close to the edge, too much of the time. Her feet hurt, her hand seemed to get in the way of everything, she was always tired.
He slipped the ring on her finger then looked into her eyes, smiling his big goofy grin. She put her hand to his cheek, leaned in and kissed him. "I love you."
He leaned in again, one kiss not being quite enough, then put his arms around her, breaking the kiss to pull her closer. "I love you. Are you alright?"
"Just tired." She sat back on her rock and looked at him. "You seem better."
"I'm getting there. I'm sleeping more than I was, which helps. Does it fit?"
She looked down at the ring on her hand, a single diamond, probably less than half a carat, set in a simple gold band. It was perfect. She nodded and took his hand.
"I was wondering." He said, looking out at the river.
"Yeah?"
"I know it's not likely, given – well, everything – but did you look into an annulment?"
If she had considered it she'd dismissed the possibility immediately. "I don't think it's possible."
He nodded.
"You want to marry in the church." she wasn't posing a question but he nodded. She floundered for an explanation. "I didn't, I mean I hadn't thought of it seriously. I don't know all the rules, but I'm pretty sure we wouldn't qualify."
"Oh." He clearly didn't want the details and she had no great desire to discuss the dirty details of her relationship with Leo, or even think about them for that matter.
"I'll look it up." She said, by way of compromise. She felt awful. It was impossible, she was almost certain.
"It's fine. I mean, it doesn't make any difference in the end." He shrugged.
"Isn't that exactly when it makes a difference – in the end?"
"I meant-"
"I know what you meant."
"I'm not angry at you."
"Really? I am – angry at me, I mean. And a little bit at you, but mostly at me."
After a silence Peter spoke. "Does Leo know?"
She shook her head. "But I need to call him. It'd be better if he heard it from me – give him someone to yell at."
"I'd hazard a guess he might have something to say to me as well."
"Well he'll just have to pass on a message. You're not fighting Leo."
"What, you think I'd be the worse off?"
"Do they do boxing at seminary?"
"Not officially. But you know how fond I am of everything that fits under the category 'unofficial'."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"It's hardly news."
"Perhaps not, but I'm glad to hear it anyway. I miss you over at Niamh's. I never had you, but I miss you."
"I know what you mean. It was a lot easier to keep my distance before. Don't get me wrong, it was hell. But it was easier."
"Ah, well as long as you're as miserable as I am."
He cupped her cheek in his hand. "You told me just three days ago that you weren't miserable."
"Oh, and that you remember." He was close and words were getting them nowhere, so she kissed him, breathing him in, prompting his mouth open against hers.
He lay back on the damp bank and she went willingly with him, the length of her body fitting snug against his side. He rolled to face her, his knee resting between hers, his mouth seeking hers again.
She tugged him closer and if he resisted full contact he didn't manage it for long. He had one hand in her hair, ensuring he could continue to kiss her thoroughly, and the other worked a firm stroke up and down her back as if kneading them slowly but surely together. She felt him harden against her stomach, suddenly all the more aware of her own blissful, welling tension.
They could hardly do this here, not quite in plain sight but far from private.
They couldn't do this if he might regret it.
She stilled, not pushing him away, but stopping. She pressed her face into his shoulder. "I don't want you to regret this." She spoke when he too had stopped moving.
After a silence he thanked her.
They walked back hand in hand. Peter went to pull his hand free as they got close to town but she held it tight. If he hadn't smiled at that she'd have probably given it up before passing Hendley's, but he virtually shone and Assumpta thrilled to see it. The cat was out of the bag, no point pretending otherwise.
