Warm Wedding

Chapter 1

Mr. Walsh had always been a good man. She always called him Mr. Walsh. He was always smiling and kind, ready with a joke or a good word whenever she was hurt or upset, like a brother. Well, she was upset now.

Her friends had warned her, had whispered their stories around her, about a man who'd charmed every woman in the Archaeology Department and stole their achievements right out from under their noses, but she shook them off with a laugh. She would never be taken advantage of like that. She was the serious one, the studious one, the one who was so committed she’d neglected relationships for her magnum opus. But then they met in the library.

He’d swept her off her feet, took her paper with a smile and wave and a promise of something more, and never looked back as he left. She flew between worried and sad staring at her blank messages, texting all those same friends that tried to warn her. Then, she checked his socials.

He was on a beach in the Irish isles, shaking hands with one of the most eminent researchers in her field, and she saw a familiar folder of papers in his hand, the plastic glinting like treasure in the flash of the camera. Her phone dinged with message after message, her friends all replying back to her, but she couldn’t look, couldn’t speak. An almost wail tumbled past her lips, and she spent the rest of the day huddled on her floor in her empty apartment, sobbing.

She couldn’t tell her dad about what had happened. He’d never taken her academic work seriously, always answering with a “that’s nice sweetie,” when she talked about her latest find. But Mr. Walsh? Blue eyes and 6 feet tall, with iron gray hair, an Irish king who told her stories of ancient fens and faerie rings and graves filled with treasure? He’d understand, even if he worked for her father.

Brushing the knots out of her blonde hair, she put on her armor, some lipstick, a bit of concealer and blush. She looked fine, she thought, as she looked in the mirror. Very put together. Very professional. She nodded, a determined look in her brown eyes, opened her door, and ran smack dab into Mr. Walsh.

Before she could even react, his strong arms, corded with muscle, were around her waist, keeping her from falling to the floor. She looked up into his eyes, his beautiful sea blue eyes, and immediately started crying.

“Shhh, shhh,” came his voice, rough like gravel and a roiling sea. “Go on, it’s okay.” He tightened his arms around her as she sobbed into his chest. He was warm, and strong, unyielding, and exactly what she needed in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and chuckled with a wetness in her voice. “I stained your shirt, Mr. Walsh.” There was a streak of red on his white shirt, tracing an outline around one of his well-defined pecs. He shrugged, moving his broad shoulders in one fluid motion. “It’s not a problem Kelly. The problem is your tears.”

He sat down on her bed and patted the space next to him. “Come on, tell me what happened.” She took a deep shuddering breath. She was safe with this man. She told the whole story to Mr. Walsh, and as she spoke, her tears fell again as her voice broke. She hated feeling this vulnerable, but it was okay in front of him. As she got to the social media post, he gestured again, and pulled her in for one more tight and warm embrace. She whispered the story into his marred white shirt through her sobs. When she was finished, she wiped her eyes, and pulled out of his embrace. He was frowning, staring off into the distance, his eyes deep and stormy, one of his hands close to hers.

He was so handsome. His stormy grey eyes, his soot hair, his unblemished alabaster skin, the lilting edge of an Irish accent, and he cared about her. He was a knight in shining armor, but now she could see how much he fit that, physically.

She could practically trace the lines of his chest, damp with her tears. His muscles were perfectly sculpted, and normally wouldn't be out of place in the airbrushed photos of a fashion magazine, On him, they looked natural, like they’d been crafted for him, a fact of the universe. Snow was freezing, light was warm, and Mr. Walsh was ripped.