Page 39 of Trying Sophie

Chapter Thirteen

Sophie

I hadn’t heardfrom Declan for a few days, which was strange since we’d been texting frequently since I arrived, even if it was just quick hello. I knew he’d been hurt when he realized I hadn’t told Cian we’d become friendly, but I thought for sure he would at least ask me why. And then when he’d failed to, I’d been too chicken shit to reach out to him proactively instead.

Honestly, I didn’t understand why I hadn’t told Cian about Declan. The only explanation I could come up with was that I hadn’t worked out what my feelings for Declan were so I hadn’t wanted to be forced to examine them publicly. The other issue was around Cian’s interest in me. It was one thing to reject someone’s advances; it was an entirely other thing to tell him you might be hung up on his best friend instead.

“So, Sophie,” my grandpa said, setting down his spoon. “What do you think of our Declan?”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, sputtering into my potato and leek soup.

“Declan?” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard. “What do you think of yer man?”

“My man?” I squeaked, worried I’d given my attraction away.

“Aye,” he answered, eyeing me shrewdly.

I set my own spoon down and straightened my bread plate and napkin. “He’s not my man.”

“Oh, that’s just an expression,” my grandmother clarified, catching the petrified look on my face. Then she patted my hand and continued. “It’s the same as if you asked me or Colm what we thought of ‘that guy.’”

“Oh, um. Okay,” I answered, feeling heat rise along my neck leading to a slow creep of pink fan out across my cheeks.

“Why dear, what did you think it meant?” she asked cryptically, staring at my beet red face.

I cleared my throat and hoped my voice would be steady when I answered. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression is all.”

“And what impression would that be?” my gramps asked as he watched me like a hawk.

Why did I suddenly get the sneaking suspicion there was more to those questions than polite interest?

“Why are you so interested?”

“No reason. It’s just that Declan’s a good lad when you take the time to get to know him.”

“And you have?” I asked, lifting the spoon to my mouth. No point in letting my soup get cold while this strange conversation continued.

“Oh yes, dear,” my grandma chimed in. “He’s been coming around for years.” Her voice softened. “After his ‘da passed, he didn’t have anyone to give him guidance. And he really needed it.”

She shook her head and my grandpa chuckled. “That he did. The lad was running wild. I didn’t know if he was working through his father’s death or just sowing some wild oats, but his mam couldn’t make him see reason so she asked me to talk some sense into him.”

“Why would you do that, knowing how terrible he was to me?”

Frankly, I was surprised he’d agreed given what he knew about Declan’s constant teasing of me back in the day.

“That’s just how little boys and girls act around each other, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

What Declan had put me through went well beyond the scope of normal teasing. I’d I felt hollowed out when they’d taunted me on the playground and mortified when he stood below my window shouting all of his stupid, childish nicknames. That they were re-writing history hurt my feelings, but worse than that, it disappointed me.

“The lad followed you around like a puppy dog,” my grandpa said, as if I’d been too blind to have noticed.

I dropped my napkin onto the table and pushed my seat back. I was done with this discussion. Declan and I might have put it behind us, but I still expected my grandparents to support my feelings and right now it felt like they were choosing him over me.

My grandma’s face looked stricken when she said, “Oh dear, you didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” I asked angrily, waiting for her to enlighten me.

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