So. I began this story a long time ago. My writing has changed dramatically since then and I have so many WIPs that I'm way more interested in that this story is never going to be finished. Still, I thought I would post what was written, since it has been collecting dust on my drive for a few years. There is a second part that I will post in a few. (Those italics are Damien Rice lyrics, btw). I had an absolutely crazy term, but I have a few weeks break and hope to get some of my creative writing into some kind of working order in between the ten million other things competing for my attention.
But like a new disease, Lord, she's still too young to treat
This is wrong, he thinks, so wrong, and all the while he is smiling at this gorgeous little blond thing who is probably underage and certainly too young. They have only exchanged a few dozen words and he has already begun the motions of seducing the pretty American.
Buffy is her name. Buffy Summers. And she is a perky Californian who, he is almost positive, is a cheerleader, in that classic American way. She's probably got a high school sweetheart, a football player, and Liam Angelus Roarke wants nothing more than to find the boy who dared get near this girl and rip him into tiny shreds.
He's going insane.
The lithe little thing is here in his country with a few school friends, by whom Liam has judged her age to be around 17. They're renting a bungalow, supervised by an Englishman who was, in Liam's opinion, either very brave, or very stupid, to be in this country with these children.
Here in this part of Ireland, Liam feels at home. He loves Dublin, for the city's life and energy, but coming home to Galway is always a relief to him. It's a chance to relax, to be 'that Roarke brat' to the old goats whose gardens he used to pilfer as opposed to 'that Roarke bastard', one of the most aggressive and successful businessmen this side of the Atlantic.
The old manor house in Castlegar that he restored had been his haven, his escape. Now it feels something like a prison.
The American entourage who had taken the second nearest neighboring house were inescapable it seemed, in the small town. They were not all well-liked, from what he had heard, despite local friendliness, but most of the town agreed that the two young girls, the blonde and the redhead were decent folk and a general consensus had been reached that the boy with the blue hair was nice enough, if a bit strange and quiet. It wasn't that people here never encountered tourists, but this group wasn't passing through; they had taken their bungalow for months.
Nothing unusual, nothing strange
Close to nothing at all
The same old scenario, the same old rain
And there's no explosions here
It had been mid-June, and Liam had only been in town for a day when he had seen the blonde on the street. He'd been entranced. There was a singular gracefulness with which she moved that was unlike anything he had ever seen. He could see that her figure was dainty and perfect. And God, that hair…it was made to be wound through a man's fists as he clutched her closer, twirled and spun like liquid sunlight.
Immediately he had inquired about the new girl in the small and insular village only to be surprised by the news that a strange party of Americans had descended onto Castlegar for the summer. He still couldn't understand what possessed them to pick the place. Nor did he care as long as the blonde was still within 10 miles of him.
He spent the next week collecting information on the girl and her traveling companions, spurred on by the glimpse he'd gotten of her face, those Rossetti lips and eyes set in delicate features, the curve of her neck, the sound of her laugh. Exquisite.
Now he was meeting her face to face, exchanging words. She was a curious thing, this Buffy, beautiful, and yet apparently unaware. He was finding she was funny too, and that made his chest ache for some odd reason.
"And so Xander totally didn't realize that prawns are shrimp and Giles was feeling a little vindictive because Xander had spilled jell-o on one of the books he brought so he had Xan all convinced they were some strange foreign animal…" she was saying, smiling sunnily up at him.
He liked her height.
"Really?" he responded, amused. He dared to move a little closer to her. Those eyes….
She colored a little, eyes glancing away. He recognized the behavior. She was interested, even if it was only subconsciously or superficially.
"Giles once roped me into convincing Xan that the Brownings were siblings, you know, like the White Stripes sorta," she continued.
"I really don't," he told her, "since I don't know who the White Stripes are, but I get the drift."
Liam decided then and there that he was going to marry this girl. She was a funny, beautiful goddess who liked the poets Browning. She was perfect.
"Oh," she said, coloring. Her eyes sparkled. Oh yes, she was interested in him.
"So if ye don't mind me askin' love, what's a group like yours doing in a town like this? I only come back for the memories, not for the eh, excitement in a town like this," he asked her, laying on a brogue a little thicker than the more moderated accent he used in the boardroom. It was one of the things he had discovered during his time abroad; American girls loved an accent. At this point it was a reflex whenever he encountered a pretty one.
Buffy, it turned out, had a pretty frown.
"It was kind of weird," she told him, "And kind of a long story, but me and Willow and Xander and Oz and Cordeila, that's Xander's girlfriend, we had a friend who died recently, and wanted to get away for the summer, and we didn't want to be anywhere that could in any way remind us of Kendra, and-"
Here she broke off, and her eyes filled with tears, much to Liam's dismay.
"Jesus, I'm so sorry," he told Buffy, a heartfelt apology. She graced him with a watery smile.
Really fucking smooth Liam, he thought.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm kind of…" And she punctuated her statement with an airy hand gesture.
Buffy glanced up the street as Liam took advantage of her distraction to drink her in greedily.
"Kendra was half-Irish, half-Jamaican. So she wanted to come here but never got the chance. That's why we wanted it," she told him, looking resolutely over his shoulder. He attempted to trap her with his gaze but it was too late, and she was escaping, running off to meet a goofy looking dark haired boy. Since it was Oz who had the blue hair, Liam deduced this was Xander. A blandly attractive boy with a silly grin and a gawky manner, he put an arm around his friend in greeting.
Liam had a strong urge to beat the youth into unconsciousness.
I finished it off with some French wine and cheese
That night Liam ate dinner with his elderly grandmother and her nurse, Mary, a matronly widow who was fluent in Irish. His grandmother refused to speak anything else.
"Liam," Maeve managed to croak imperiously, "I hear you have been talking to those Americans."
He raised an eyebrow at Mary. She looked back at him with guileless eyes. Sure, he thought cynically, you had nothing to do with this.
"I've run into them in passing," he replied smoothly.
Maeve sniffed.
Liam remained silent. After his parents had died he had been sent to live with his paternal grandmother. She has been stern and cold and as a young boy he had been angry and lost. But she raised him well and sent him to the best schools she could find and dealt with him when he got out of line. If his upbringing could have been a little more affectionate, it was no matter. He had been graced with the opportunity for success and had grabbed it. That he was able to was mostly due to Maeve's influence on him. He would not go out of his way to disrespect her.
"Well," she snapped. "Why are they here?"
"Someone died," he replied succinctly.
His grandmother glowered at him as he calmly took another bite of his dinner.
"The girl was a friend and the old man a mentor of sorts. They came here because she was half-Irish."
"Very strange though," Mary commented, her round face wrinkling up. He gave a nod.
"Find out more," his grandmother commanded.
For once, Liam didn't feel the reflexive irritation of a man who was unused to taking orders from anyone.
What makes her come and what makes her stay?
He followed her to the grocer's. She had a list and a pen and a furrow between her eyebrows as she attempted to navigate the unfamiliar shop. One of the village matrons smirked at her unkindly as she dropped her purse and things went rolling everywhere.
He shot the woman a look that could freeze fire and went to go help Buffy. He gathered up the paperback and lip gloss and handed them to her. She gave him a tremulous smile.
"It's nice to see you again," he said smoothly.
"Thanks," she replied, her voice earnest.
"Buffy, isn't it?" he inquired casually, his heart beating staccato in his chest. She'd never told him her name during their first conversation.
She looked surprised.
"Yeah," she said, "How did you know?"
He winked at her.
"It's unusual for us to get American visitors," he told her. "You lot stick out a bit."
"I'd noticed," she said dryly, and he grinned in response.
"You live here?" she asked him. Liam grimaced.
"Sometimes," he told her. "I work and live mostly in Dublin and London but travel a lot. Still, I try to get out here to see my grandmother when I can."
"That sounds nice," she said wistfully.
"What about you, Buffy," he asked her. "Where are you from?" It's always a good idea to know the hometown of the girl you're planning on marrying.
"My family lives in Sunnydale, California," she told him, her voice a little sad. "I go to a school in New York."
"It's a grand city," he said, offhand. She smiled a little.
"It can be fun."
"But you miss your family," he prompted. She shrugged, but didn't respond.
"What's your school like?" he asked, more out of desperation than anything.
"It's an arts school," she told him, a wistful note in her voice. "It's wonderful."
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I dance," she told him. "Contemporary and neoclassical ballet. I love it."
He nodded.
"It's a beautiful art form," he said gravely. She looked at him with interest.
"You know dance?" she asked, her voice eager.
"Only as one who enjoys the arts," he said with a rueful smile. "I've had a lot of wonderful opportunities to see the ballet in various cities on business trips."
Buffy smiled dreamily.
"That must be wonderful," she said.
"It is," he nodded, "But I do wish I were able to share it with people other than business associates. It takes a lot of the fun out of it," he told her conspiratorially.
"I can imagine," she said, her eyes distant. Then she shook her head and looked around, bemused.
"I come in to grab some groceries and I end up talking about dance," she observed drolly.
Liam grinned at her, gloriously happy.
"Well, I had a lovely time talking with you Buffy," he told her, letting his voice trail off. She took the bait and smiled up at him.
"I never asked you your name, did I?" she said apologetically.
"Liam Roarke," he said, with a casual smile. Inside he was doing a pathetic victory dance better left to professional athletes.
She gave him a shy smile. "Well, it's very nice to meet you," she said.
"The pleasure was mine," he replied. Did that sound pretentious? Apparently not because Buffy flashed him a dazzling smile and skipped off to grab rolls.
Liam was torn between guilt and ecstasy. God, but she was beautiful. And graceful, which made more sense knowing that she was a dancer. And now he had an excuse to talk with her. He looked around the grocery store feeling lost, and decided to pick up a carton of milk, so as not to look like a total fecking stalker.
As he checked out and walked back towards his highly conspicuous car, he spotted the housekeeper. She was coming to do her weekly shop. Her eyes landed upon him, with the fecking milk in his hand and looked confused for a moment. They didn't buy their milk at the store, but got it from one of the local farmers.
Liam swore. His grandmother was going to be hearing about this.
Some things in life may change
And some things
They stay the same
Liam glowered at his cell phone as if it had offered him a personal insult. Couldn't manage two weeks without him, could they? Idiots.
"Ehm," came the unusually timid voice of Mary.
"What?" he said, his voice admirably restrained.
"Mrs. Roarke wanted a word with you."
He gave her a curt nod and stormed out of the room. He moved swiftly to his grandmother's room.
"You wanted a word?" he said, voice polite.
The wizened old woman gave him a sharp look.
"Come in for goodness' sake Liam, and close the door, boy," Maeve said.
He curtly followed her instructions.
"Yes?" he asked.
She scrutinized him.
"I hear you have been talking with one of the American girls." She said. He did not reply.
"The pretty one," she added, her pale eyes focusing on him deliberately.
There were times when Liam liked Castlegar and there were times when he did not. The simplicity and rest did him good, but he loathed the gossipy old hags that seemed to know his every possible misstep and dutifully reported them back to his grandmother. He was 29 for Christ's sake. He was a man. He made millions and had recently taken over financial support for the household, after his grandmother's money had finally run out.
He kept his face blank.
"I suppose she is," he said blandly. His poker face was notorious in the boardroom.
"She's very young," his grandmother said.
"Very," he agreed offhandedly.
Maeve glowered at him.
"Well?" she snapped. He arched an eyebrow at her.
I wonder if I should ask Mary to make sure she gets more rest, he thought to himself vindictively, After all, it can't be good for her working herself up like this.
Silence reigned for minutes.
"She stopped by the other day with the redhead, who incidentally is Jewish-"
Liam rolled his eyes.
"They were asking for a cup of brandy to make some desert."
He had missed her?
"She was very pretty," Maeve finished. She eyed him closely.
"Don't go making a mess Liam," she warned. Another woman might have looked silly delivering such a warning from a patterned chintz armchair in plush slippers. Maeve did not.
He nodded curtly in response.
"I won't," he said. "I'm going to have to go to Berlin tomorrow. It's an emergency."
"One would think they would be able to do without you for two weeks," she sniffed.
"Yes," he agreed. "One would think."
My cave is deep now, yet your light is shining through
I cover my eyes, still all I see is you
"Buffy," Liam greeted his obsession genially. She was looking particularly beautiful today in a pale yellow dress, bright blue boots, with a flower tucked behind her ear.
"Liam," she smiled at him. "Hi!"
"Fancy seeing you out," he said, flirting ever so little.
She blushed slightly and looked down. Oh yes.
"Enjoying the local shopping experience?" he questioned with a grin, nodding at the bag in her hand. She glanced down at it and grinned up at him.
"It's not exactly Saks," she said, "But it was fun."
"Dublin is better," he assured her. "Galway is a grand town, but not quite as international."
"I never really got a chance to explore it," she said. "We flew through there, obviously, but then we came out here pretty much immediately."
She had luminous skin, he noted, a golden tint to it that she would likely lose if she spent much longer in Ireland. In the cities, the girls all slathered on fake tan until they were nearly orange. Buffy's natural color was radiant.
"You'll have the opportunity," he assured her.
"I hope so," she said, smiling. Liam found her smile infectious.
"Been enjoying yourself, darlin'?" he asked with a roguish grin.
"It's been good," she said. "I'm walking a lot." Perfect opening, he thought.
"Yeah? Been out to the Slieve Aughty Mountains?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"You should," he told her. "I'm going out there tomorrow. They're beautiful."
"That sound nice," she said wistfully.
"Yeah? Come with me," he invited. She looked taken aback.
"I'm sure you and your friends are a little sick of Castlegar at the moment," he continued smoothly.
Idiot, he told himself, no sane, city-smart teenage girl wants to go off into the mountains alone with a man she barely knows.
"And my grandmum won't stop talking about those Americans who stopped by asking for alcohol for a desert," he added, rolling his eyes for her benefit. She relaxed.
"Oh! Was that your grandmother?" she asked.
"Yeah," he grinned at her. "Just out of curiosity, were you using that brandy for baking, or was it for something else?"
She laughed.
"As if! Giles, that's my stuffy mentor father figure type guy who came with us, and anyway, he's super strict so that would never happen and anyway, it was for his birthday because Willow and I found this old recipe book and were like, 'Hey! We can do this!' but then it was like, 'wait, we aren't 21 and we can't ask Giles for brandy' so we figured that we'd take the chance that the neighbors didn't totally hate us," she said, speaking rapidly. Liam was a little surprised at the speed and diversity she managed to pack into one sentence.
"And I'm babbling," Buffy said with a little shrug. "I'm sorry."
She bit her lower lip in an incredibly attractive manner and looked up at him through hooded lashes. Liam grinned at her reassuringly. She blushed.
"It's no problem," he assured her. "You brightened Maeve's day. Now she knows something that none of the other grannies know, and can lord it over them next Sunday after mass."
Buffy's eye widened comically.
"Oh no! She does think we're delinquents!" she cried. Liam grinned and shook his head.
"Nah, she just wants to assume the worst. You do know that you can drink at 18 here, right? I've been commanded to check you lot out though, make sure you aren't hooligans or cult members," he told her.
Buffy looked relieved and amused.
"I feel so much better," she said, a note of sarcasm in her voice.
"Normally," Liam told her, "I do what I like, but while in my granny's domain, I hop to every time she says so." That was a lie.
"So the walk was just your grandmother's idea?" Buffy questioned.
"Nah," Liam said, loving the faint disappointment in her voice at the idea. "I'm starving for company. Everyone knows me as the brat who messed up their gardens or the man who is unmarried and doesn't own a farm." It was more than a slight exaggeration, and Castlegar had joined the 21st century, but the statement served its purpose.
Buffy smiled.
"I don't believe I ever had the opportunity to ruin your garden, seeing as you're an American who lives in a city, and I think my virtue will be safe with you lot, though rest assured, I'll be on my guard," he finished with a dramatic flourish that made her giggle.
"Cordy and Xan aren't into getting up early," she told him. "But I bet Will and Oz would be up for it, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," he assured her. He did mind, but only because he resented their intrusion on time he could be spending alone with Buffy.
"You're not supposed to go alone anyway, safety and all that," he said, rolling his eyes. Liam had never had much respect for the rules.
Looking down at her he said, "Dress warm, do you hear me? It's cold up there. Easy for a little thing like you to catch a cold."
She glowered at him playfully.
"Yeah? And what about you Mr. Roarke? Are you going to follow your own advice?"
He smiled at her. He liked a girl who could keep up with him.
"But of course," he said. "I'll pick you lot up at eight, yeah? I'll be the one in the bulky sweater," he finished with a wink.
She smiled at him, laughing. It sounded like bells pealing, joyful and clear.
"See you later darlin'," he said, and walked away.
Oh and she's always dressed in white
She's like an angel, man
She burns my eyes
Oh and she turns
She pulls a smile
Liam knocked casually on the door to the bungalow and examined the peeling white paint. Buffy opened the door, looking adorably flustered in a fluffy white sweater and jeans. He glanced down at her feet and nodded approvingly at the sturdy hiking boots on her feet.
"Hello," he said.
Buffy grinned back at him.
"Hi!" she responded. Oz, the blue-haired fellow and Will, the redhead appeared behind her, similarly attired. They all carried small rucksacks which he eyed with approval.
"Glad to see you're all ready then," he said. "Should we head off, then?"
"Sure," Buffy chirped. Liam turned and walked to his car. He had chosen the more subtle BMW for the occasion. The Italian sports car only sat two, and he was embarrassed to admit that he mostly used it to impress his associates and attract women.
The redhead moved for the back and her boyfriend followed. Perfect. Liam opened the passenger door for Buffy and slid in to the driver's seat.
"It's still weird to me sitting on the wrong side," Buffy mused. Liam grinned.
"I feel the same way when I'm in your country," he told her, as he put the car in reverse and maneuvered deftly out of the winding little driveway.
"So, I have to ask," he said to his passengers, "Where do the nicknames come from?"
The laconic youth in the back shrugged. Liam, looking at him in the rearview mirror surmised that this was his answer.
The redhead managed to tear her eyes away from her boyfriend and give a small smile.
"Um, well, I can't say for Oz cause he's always been Oz and um, Xander has never been Alexander so it's just Xander or Xan, and um, Cordelia is Cordy or Queen C because sometimes she's kind of a bitch!" she said, finishing in her ramble in hushed tones.
"Willow!" Buffy laughed. The redhead's face matched her hair.
Buffy turned to him and smiled.
"It's pretty much like she said," Buffy giggled, "Only, I dunno, I guess we're kind of lazy. Everyone gets a one syllable nickname."
"So is Buffy a nickname then," Liam asked, "or do you go by Buff?"
Buffy shook her head.
"It's just Buffy. And I don't go by Buff really, but sometimes someone, usually, Xander, just calls me it."
Liam nodded, his hands tightening imperceptibly on the steering wheel. That boy was damn lucky he had a girlfriend, otherwise Liam would be strongly tempted to maim him.
"What about you?" Buffy asked shyly, gazing up from under attractive eyelashes. "Any nicknames?"
Liam shook his head with a little bit of embarrassment. "Just, you know, the silly things my mum used to call me when I was little, but that was a long time ago."
Buffy tilted her head and smiled at him.
"You can tell me," she said invitingly. And how sweet the invitation was.
"Angel," he told her with a grimace.
"Angel," she repeated softly, "Angel."
Buffy, Liam reflected, was luminous. There was something about her that drew him in, but softly, sweetly. He had noticed when in public how aware of her people seemed to be, how they glanced her way. It wasn't even a crude sort of thing. But she seemed to make old people smile at her, young hassled mothers look at her wistfully, girls glance at her in admiration, and men stumble at the promise in her eyes.
He glanced at the winding road ahead of them. They had a bit of a drive. Liam pressed the button to turn on the car's stereo system, and deftly switched off the radio, preferring a CD.
"Are you alright with Bell X1?" he asked his passengers.
"Never heard of them!" Buffy replied cheerfully, and her friend Willow nodded in agreement.
Oz shrugged.
As the lyrics drifted out of the speakers Buffy smiled at him.
"I like them," she said. He grinned back at her.
"One of our better kept secrets," he told her.
"And here I thought those all involved leprechauns," she joked. Inwardly, he grimaced. Liam hated leprechaun jokes, references and anything of that sort. It was the first thing Buffy had ever said that he didn't want to hear again and again though, which, he reflected, was good progress. His obsession was scaring even him.
He adjusted the volume to cover up his thoughts.
The look on your face is delicate
Willow and Oz had drifted behind a few paces, leaving Liam to enjoy Buffy's company relatively undisturbed.
He had amused her with some of his misadventures in international travel and she had been an eager audience from what he could tell. Her eyes sparkled like jewels in the sun and her laugh was a sound that made him catch his breath. Objectively, he tried to tell himself that she wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and that her laugh had a tinge of insecurity to it which he wanted to banish and that while yes, her eyes were pretty, so were the eyes of nearly every person Liam had ever met, no matter how unappealing the rest of their face was. He reminded himself of all that and yet it did him no good.
"So that was the last time I ever used that airline," he told her.
Buffy nodded to him and smiled.
"Yeah, I think that a plane that is literally falling apart, if only on the inside might frighten me a little too," she said.
He nodded, "As well as that I'm pretty sure the Russian flight attendant was plotting to murder me, considering the look on her face when I rejected the vodka."
Buffy giggled.
Liam liked this, the pretty girl listening intently to him. After being mostly ignored for part of his childhood, he craved attention, and he had gotten used to having it. With his looks and money, there were plenty of women who were happy to listen to him talk and hang onto his every word. He told himself though, that this was different. Buffy was laughing and seemed interested (which wasn't actually different, a small part of his mind told him) but she seemed so much more, pure, somehow than anyone else he had talked to.
And he was far more interested in her.
Buffy was tugging absently at the sleeve of her white sweater and ran her hands up her arms. Liam looked at her a little more closely, if possible.
"You cold?" he asked, noting the pink flush to her cheeks.
"Only a little," she told him honestly, "It's mostly my face and ears."
They had gone out about four kilometers and had two left. Liam glanced at his watch.
"We're more than half done", he told her. "And it's about eleven, so it'll only get warmer from here on."
"It's not too bad," she reiterated.
Liam judged her critically and decided she was telling the truth.
"We've about another hour and then a half-hour drive from here back to Castlegar," he told her. "I'll have you back in time for a late lunch."
They locked eyes for a minute and Buffy didn't break their gaze like she normally did.
"You could join us for lunch," she invited quietly. Liam's heart leaped in his chest though he kept his face composed.
"That'd be grand," he said to her. "Thanks for the invitation darlin'."
She smiled and it was beautiful.
"It's nice spending time with you," she said candidly, while looking straight ahead.
Liam allowed his eyes to trace the clean and delicate lines of her profile.
"I like your company," he replied. Still looking ahead, she graced him with a soft and beautiful smile.
He wanted to hold her hand, but the thought of her friends seeing worried him, so he didn't take it.
And after that there was really nothing more to say so they walked along in silence for some time.
I was stood in the stairs
And time stopped moving
Liam did not end up joining Buffy and her friends for lunch.
On the way back while the four of them made pleasant, meaningless conversation, Maeve called. She wanted to see him for lunch and the Americans were invited.
Only Buffy accepted the invitation. Willow had looked terrified at the prospect. Her stoic boyfriend didn't say anything, but to Liam it was clear that he would always follow his sweetheart's lead.
"I'll tell Giles," Oz said in a monotone. Somehow, that toneless voice made Liam feel like he was being judged and had been found lacking. The boy was perfectly polite, but there was a soft undercurrent, almost undetectable, that indicated the small young man didn't approve of what Liam was up to.
He couldn't have any idea, Liam assured himself. He couldn't.
He dropped the pair off at their house and smoothly continued on to his grandmother's house, Buffy silent in the passenger seat. He wondered what she was thinking about.
"Um, Liam?" she asked. He took his eyes off the road momentarily to look at her. She was nervous.
"Yes Buffy?" he responded gently.
"Your grandmother…" she trailed off, as he waited patiently. "Is there like, a way I'm supposed to behave or something?"
He warred with himself for a moment before answering her.
"Nah," he told her. "I mean, I wouldn't suggest behaving badly or anything, but I hardly expect you to act like that anyway. She's just a little old lady. You know how they love company."
Buffy looked reassured to Liam's relief, and they pulled into the gravel driveway.
As they stepped out of the car Buffy said,
"It's funny to me how no one really has a garage here, especially cause it's kind of rainy."
He winked at her.
"More than 'kind of' sweet," he said, not commenting on the pinkening of her cheeks. "And a little bit of rain never hurt anyone."
Buffy looked dubiously up at the cloudy sky.
"I guess so," she said.
"Right then, come along," Liam said, touching her back and maneuvering her towards the front door. She went docilely and brought up a hand to brush her hair behind her ear.
Liam opened the door and toed off his boots. Buffy stepped into the house hesitantly and followed his lead.
Mary walked into the foyer.
"Hello love," she said to Buffy. "I'm Mary."
"Hi," Buffy said shyly. "I'm Buffy."
"Mary," Liam said by way of greeting.
"Your grandmother's in the veranda," Mary told him. He nodded.
"This way," he said to Buffy, leading her to the enclosed glass room.
Maeve looked up as he entered, her eyes landing on the pretty girl beside him.
"Buffy, isn't it?" she asked somewhat less imperiously than usual. Liam turned to watch Buffy nod to Maeve.
"Yes, it's very kind of you to have me for lunch Mrs. Roarke," Buffy said softly.
The old woman sniffed.
"Nonsense, you're been here long enough that we really ought to have done this sooner."
Liam's grandmother had never really gotten on well with the other women in Castlegar. She was the daughter of a once wealthy family who had fallen on hard times, but she never forgot her status, and never let anyone else do so either. Upon marrying Liam's grandfather and moving to his intimidating drafty home, she had become isolated.
Maeve had been a beauty once. Long chestnut hair, dark eyes, and full lips, it was little wonder Michael Roarke had fallen for the haughty young woman. His parents wouldn't have approved of his proposal to the girl only days after meeting her, but they had died a year before, and weren't around to complain.
But once at Castlegar she had been lonely and had become bitter. Her husband was a busy man, and their neighbors disliked her pride. To give her credit, Maeve had never broken. As a young boy, Liam had been somewhat aware of how the other women in town tolerated his grandmother, but held no great affection for her. When he had asked her about it, her lips had thinned and she had sent him to his room without food until the next morning, when the two of them, 60 year old woman and 9 year old boy, pretended the incident has never happened.
"Sit down," Maeve commanded imperiously. Liam touched Buffy's back again, gentle as before, to guide her to a loveseat. He imagined that he could feel the heat of her tanned skin through the bulk of her white sweater.
"How was your hike?" she asked.
"It was great!" Buffy enthused, shyness forgotten. He grinned to see the look on her face.
"Yeah, it was," he agreed. The shape of the light as if fell on her face, the mists that had been present at the beginning, the agreeable feel of the gravel under his feet had all made Liam about as close to ecstatically happy as he could remember being.
Buffy turned to him.
"Thanks again for taking us out Liam, I had an amazing time" she said. He grinned at her, feeling a little stupid.
"The pleasure was mine," he replied. Normally, he wouldn't have to worry about pulling off a line like that, but he felt insecure after he used it on Buffy. She was hardly impressed by his wealth, given that she didn't have any idea of its extent, and while he was fairly sure she was attracted to him, he doubted she was mad with lust for him. Not as easy as he was used to, his Buffy. Not his, he reminded himself. Be a good boy Liam, and pick your jaw up off the floor, keep your hands to yourself, and for fucks sake stop indulging in your masochistic desire for this girl.
"So where are you from dear?" Maeve asked.
"Well, I was born and raised in California, but I go to a performing arts school in New York," Buffy explained.
"Oh that's interesting," Meave said with approval. Liam nodded in agreement.
"Buffy studies dance," he elaborated. Maeve gave a nod.
"Interesting," she commented.
"I really love it," Buffy volunteered. "And in New York it's easy to get motivated, I mean, whenever I feel like I've had enough I just remember the feeling of being onstage looking out into the theatre filled with people. It's like, a spiritual experience or something. I've never done anything else so fulfilling."
Buffy's passion was a beautiful thing. Her green eyes lit up and her countenance brightened. She leaned forward, cheeks flushed, eyes animated, and Liam fell a little more in love. By God, she was magnificent.
Maeve seemed somewhat impressed too, and that, Liam reflected, was certainly an achievement.
"What are we having, Maimeó?" Liam asked politely.
"Fish pie," she told him. Buffy cocked her head.
"It's good," he assured her.
She gave him a small smile while tucking her hair behind her ears.
"I've never tried it before," she said.
There was another pause in the conversation.
"So where have you been so far Buffy?" Maeve asked.
"Like, in Ireland?" she asked. Maeve gave a slight nod.
"Um, well we flew into Dublin but we never really explored at all, which kind of stinks cause it looked cool flying in and then we took the rental car here. That definitely wasn't fun. Minivans might be made for more than six but they definitely were not made for six people and luggage. Especially the way Cordelia packs."
"Ah, and you're not an overpacker? At all?" Liam questioned. She looked at him, affronted.
"Are you implying something?"
He gave her a challenging smile.
"I've never met a woman who didn't pack more than she needed," he said to her with a smirk on his lips.
She cocked her head to the side in response to his challenge. There was a smile playing on her lips that she tried to suppress, but her mouth kept twitching.
"For your information Liam," she told him, "I packed about two weeks of clothing, and four pairs of shoes. We're here until mid-July. We have a washing machine. How's that for reasonable," she finished triumphantly.
He grinned at her, admiring her spunk. Shy Buffy was pretty, but he liked her best when animated and impassioned.
"I concede the point to the lady," he announced. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Maeve watching him speculatively. He didn't usually joke around like this, or at least, not around her.
He saved his humor for those rare moments relaxing in bars with his friends. Or when trying to impress a teenager. Whenever appropriate.
They continued to banter, and it wasn't long at all before they ate lunch. Buffy was utterly charming, and Liam had done his best to amuse her during their meal. Maeve remained polite and unusually quiet, and Liam, unsure what to make of it, decided to ignore it until Buffy was out of the house.
He drove her home and they talked about their families.
Liam noted that she didn't sound particularly close to her parents, and wondered at the cause of it. Buffy had been very sympathetic about his parents deaths, but unlike others he had met in the past, didn't go on and on about the matter. He appreciated it. She was mature, he told himself. As though it absolved him of his guilt.
He took a calculated risk, kissing her on the cheek when he dropped her off. She colored prettily and smiled at him before entering the house, calling for Willow.
Liam wondered when he would find another excuse to see her. The drive back to his grandmother's home seemed much longer than the two minutes it was without her.
"This is crazy," he muttered to himself.
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
Liam dreams of Buffy which hardens his resolve to have her. They're strange little fantasies he has.
He wants to marry her and seclude her in some grand country house. He wants to go days without seeing anyone else.
But Buffy is a social girl, bright and vivacious. He knows instinctively that she would be miserable isolated in the country, and he has no desire to turn his golden girl into an echo of Maeve.
He wants to live in a city with her. Preferably Dublin, though New York would be fine, since she liked it. They could live in a posh townhouse made of white stone and drag each other to museums and theatres. He could take her to all of his stupid office parties, and she would outshine all of his colleagues' insipid trophy wives and whores. He might even enjoy himself for once, with her by his side.
They could travel the world, and he could show her the things that took his breath away the first time he saw them. Women are inexplicably fond of Paris, and he is sure that Buffy would find it incredibly romantic to kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower. He could show her the mad movement of downtown Mumbai. He thinks she would like Australia, with its strange animals, and New Zealand, with its eerie beauty.
Liam is in love and it is senseless. He balances on the line between rationality and madness wondering which way he will fall.
Buffy is beautiful and kind and funny. She is vivacious and witty. Sometimes, Liam has noticed, she can be insecure.
Liam cannot say what it is that draws him to her. Because in his eyes there is a light, a halo surrounding her petite form that he craves. He is in love for the first time, and he cannot even say why.
He tells himself this repeatedly that Buffy is a child, though he cannot convince himself it is true. Those cat-eyes of hers, green and sparkling, are not the eyes of a child. Buffy is a young woman, a very young woman, but no child.
The problem though, is there is just enough ambiguity that despite how much he tries, Liam cannot really hate himself for wanting her. Liam knows the age of consent is 17 because, to his deep shame, he looked it up. Buffy's birthday was in January.
But as his friend Lindsey has shown him so many times, there are a lot of unethical (not to mention profitable) things that are technically legal. It doesn't mean they aren't wrong.
The last time Liam was really interested in a teenager, he was one. He has never slept with a woman who was more than a decade younger than him. Granted, he is almost thirty, and if he ever bothered to contemplate his romantic (read: sexual) future, he would anticipate a lifetime of brief affairs with attractive twenty-somethings.
She is leaving for New York in a few short weeks. Liam cannot bear to think of it.
His love is a strange and greedy creature, always hungering. How could he be without her when he has managed to see her nearly every day for the past two weeks? He was usually in New York once every two months or so. It was nowhere near enough.
Besides, Liam had not yet admitted what he felt for Buffy, coward that he was. Then again, what could he say?
Liam is adrift, needy, confused, and most of all in love. And so he dreams.