Page 27 of Destined Lovers

I’ve been talking about him for the last million years, and she deserves to meet the guy who still holds my heart in the palm of his hand.

I take two steps toward the house with my head down and practically run into Declan.

“What are you doing?” I cry, startled that he appeared right in front of me.

“Nora,” he whispers with sorrow in his voice. “Your parents are dead?”

Declan

“I told you to stay inside,”Nora cries, but I don’t answer.

I can’t.

I’m rooted to the ground, shocked.

Her parents are dead?

Fecking hell.

I can’t wrap my head around this, but it also answers so many of my questions.

After Nora and her family disappeared, I thought I had done something wrong for so long. I couldn’t understand how my second family would leave me like I was nothing. I wasn’t just close with Nora but also with Nora’s da. We were in constant contact about school, life, and when I graduated, we often spoke about rugby and his favorite, Gaelic football.

Then one day, they all disappeared, and I became utterly lost.

So, finally, it’s starting to make some sense. It still doesn’t explain why Nora never came to find me.

I move my head down and gaze into Nora’s hazel eyes. Her emotions are masked, something she’s done her whole life, except I learned a long time about picking up on all her cues.

She’s nervous, but about what, I’m not sure.

We hold each other’s stare while she nibbles on her bottom lip until she finally gives in and pulls me into the house, wordlessly, hand in hand.

I eye the couch as she pulls me closer.

She’s about to tell me how her parents died, and not only but ten minutes ago, I had her coming all over my lap on this very couch. This is so bloody wrong.

She rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what I’m thinking, and pulls my hand hard, so I fall into the seat next to her with a thud, and I get a whiff of perfume.

I hadn’t noticed it earlier, too caught off guard with what’s gone down.

It’s floral but mixed with undertones of something deep or musky. I’m not sure of the right word to describe it.

She takes off her hat, puts her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head, and scrubs her hand down her face with a groan. Even through her worry and frustration, I can’t pull my eyes away from her. She’s… perfect.

The last few days have been like a goddamn hurricane, not giving me a chance to sit and really look at her. Now, with the hat out of my way, I’m getting the perfect unobstructed view, and I am completely transfixed.

“Stop staring,” she says and purses her lips as she leans her head back on the arm of the couch and closes her eyes.

“What’s with your perfume?”

She cocks one eye open. “What are you going on about?”

“Your perfume, it’s dark,” I explain.

She sits up straight and turns toward me with a raised eyebrow. “Explain.”

“Don’t be daft. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

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