I laugh. What the hell is this easy rapport?
It feels like the kind of connection that takes years to build. And yet, Saoirse and I have stumbled across it during the course of a few hours.
Shit like this doesn’t happen every day.
“You wanna know what I’m thinking?” I ask. “For real?”
She sighs. “Are you building this up for dramatic effect?” she demands. “Because it’s going to be a let-down when—”
“I was thinking this is the night we’re gonna tell our children about,” I say abruptly, cutting her off.
She stops short, clearly shocked. Clearly blindsided.
I expect to feel regret, but it doesn’t come.
I’m glad I told her. It reinforces what I’ve always believed: you never regret the truth.
“Is… is that serious?” she asks softly.
“Yes.”
Our eyes meet and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.
“Insane,” we chirp simultaneously.
“Completely insane,” she adds. “But… it doesn’t feel insane.”
“Well, then maybe we should stop listening to everyone else’s rules. Let’s make our own.”
She smiles. Her aqua blue eyes catch the lights hanging above us. “Okay.”
“Tell me where you wanna be ten years from now.”
“Ten years,” she breathes slowly, weighing it. “That feels like a lifetime away. But… I think I can see it.”
“What do you see?”
We both turn our faces up to the lights above. The canopy that stretches above us is a chaos of fairy lights and creepers.
But beyond that, we can see the dark skies, churning with half-realized clouds.
“We’re living somewhere out in the country,” she murmurs like she’s caught in a lovely dream state she doesn’t want to shatter. “Somewhere with a huge backyard and tons of greenery. Preferably by a lake, but I’d be just as happy looking out my window in the morning and seeing mountains.”
I smile, seeing the image come to life with her words. “What else?”
“I have a little garden patch where I grow vegetables. And we have a chicken coop.”
“A chicken coop?” I ask. “I hate birds.”
She laughs at my expression. “You’ll get over it, you coward. We can have fresh eggs and milk every morning.”
“Jesus, you want cows, too?” I demand. “‘Cause I sure as hell won’t be milking them.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t want a whole farm. I just want a little piece of it.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No,” she says firmly. “It’s not.”