I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me.
My body took on a mind of its own as I walked: clumsy feet, fluttery heart rate, jittery knees. I probably would have wobbled to the ground like some fainthearted actress if I didn’t have such a tight hold on Cassidy’s arm. I couldn’t wait to meet McKale and get it over with so my body could go back to normal. Weak did not suit me.
As we rounded the corner, the four of us stopped. The sky had darkened, illuminating four giant bonfires at each corner of the expansive clearing. The back of the flat field was lined with forest, and on the other two sides were tall rows of flowering grasses. At least a hundred little people were gathered, both men and women. There were long rows of wooden tables with benches along the edges of the fields of grasses where people ate, drank, and conversed. In the center was music and dancing.
My first thought was that I’d been wrong. The Leprechauns definitely knew how to throw a party. The atmosphere was festive and lively. I bit my lip against a smile at their outfits. They weren’t wearing green top hats and buckled shoes, but some of the older-looking men did have on little gray suits with waistcoats, the kind with tails that hung lower in the back. Others wore tunic shirts with plain pants, like woodsy hospital scrubs, only in natural colors like tan, brown, and forest green. Nearly everyone was barefoot. Some of the males wore little caps that resembled berets. The women wore simple peasant dresses with their hair pinned up.
Everyone looked so happy. I wanted to feel happy, too. Not this sense of despair.
Two bearded men in suits sitting at the end of a table noticed us and jumped up, hurrying over. They went straight to my father, looking way up and shaking his hand with exuberance.
“You must be Mister Mason, then!” said the older little gentleman with a long, white beard. He wore a matching charcoal cap, which he took off to reveal a shiny bald top with tufts of fluffy gray hair around the sides.
“Yes, sir,” Dad said. “That’s me. Call me Leon, please. This is my wife, Cecelia.”
“So nice to have you! I’m Brogan, the father of McKale, I am.” He bowed toward my mother and she inclined her head to him in return. Then he looked toward Cassidy and me.
“This is Cassidy, our youngest,” Mom introduced. “And this… is Robyn.”
Brogan nodded at Cassidy and then came forward to stand in front of me. He bowed low and I let go of Cass’s arm to do a curtsy/bow combo, which felt absurd. He straightened and smiled big, wrinkling his whole face and eliciting a smile back from me. I felt like I should squat to talk to him because of the height difference, but stood straight for fear of appearing condescending.
“Ye’ve a pretty face, Robyn, that’s fer certain,” he said.
“Thank you, Mister Brogan.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Just Brogan is fine by me. I suppose ye’ll be wanting to meet my McKale, then, eh?”
No! Not yet.
The moment I’d waited for all these years was here, and now all I wanted was more time.
Brogan winked up at me. Why did he seem so happy? Couldn’t he see this was a bad fit? Didn’t it bother him that his poor son was being forced to marry a behemoth female? I bit my lip as he peered around at the crowd. He pointed to the middle.
“There he is, back there fiddlin’. Soon as this song ends I’ll call to ‘im. He’s our best fiddler, he is.” Brogan grinned up at me with pride and I followed his gaze toward his son. My face wore a neutral expression that I’d practiced to perfection. I didn’t want to give away the fact that my heart was going ballistic or that my insides had all but liquefied.
I’d spent my life dreaming of him. And then I’d spent every moment of the last day undreaming him. As much as I prided myself on emotional control, it all fell to the wayside as I weaved my sights through the sea of dancing little people, seeking out the sound of the fiddle, and finding the source sitting on a tree stump.
My hand flew to my rapidly pounding heart in my throat as I stared. Sitting on the stump with his long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles, was a redheaded guy playing his heart out—an average-sized man among the little people.
I think I made a really weird squeaking sound, but I couldn’t be sure.
His eyes were closed. His wrist moved back and forth over the polished fiddle at high speed, ringing out pure notes of sunshine in the darkness. I would remember every detail of those few seconds for the rest of my days. I’d expected to feel emotional when I laid eyes on him. But I hadn’t expected the emotion to be so intense that it would impact me physically. Blood rushed through my veins at an alarming speed. My mind swirled and I swear I tilted to the side, off balance and unable to fully fill my lungs.
Cassidy was the drama queen, not me. To be so out of control was disorienting.
“Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh!” Cassidy squealed, and started jumping up and down and clapping when she saw him. Mom grasped her by the wrist and begged her not to make a scene. My family beamed at me and my eyes stung.
I looked back at McKale. His father had been right to brag; he played beautifully. I’d never known anyone who played a violin. I loved the bursts of tinny sound, especially when combined with the high-pitched wooden flute of the Leprechaun boy next to him. It was a lively tune that had everyone kicking up their heels, clapping, and spinning one another round.
Brogan turned and caught my expression.
“No’ bad, eh?” he asked. I smiled and nodded my head. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would squeal idiotically like Cassidy. I looked over and saw her wiping tears from her face. Oh, man, I wished she wouldn’t do that. When she caught my eye she gave a great laughing sob and reached out to hug me. I was such a firmly wound bundle of emotion that I had to lock my jaw and swallow hard. We pulled away as the song ended, and my heart began doing that slamming thing in my chest again.
The crowd cheered and Brogan hollered McKale’s name, waving his arms at him. I held my breath as McKale lowered his instrument and peered around the crowd, searching for the caller. As soon as he spotted him, Brogan motioned toward me. Cassidy stepped away, nearer to our parents, leaving me as the lone beacon for McKale’s sights. His eyes moved slowly from his father… to me, and stuck there.
Later, I would ask Cassidy how long we stayed like that, just staring at one another across the field, and she swore it was only for a few seconds. It felt much, much longer to me, like forever. I schooled my face into its careful, expressionless pose and he seemed to do the same.
He stood, and as he made his way toward me in long, graceful strides, a hush dropped over the party. He towered over the other people, walking with purpose. The closer he got, the more apparent it became that he was gorgeously, blessedly tall. I pressed my lips together against the geeky grin that was trying so hard to appear.
McKale wore a dark green tunic with brown bottoms that went to his mid-calf, and his bare feet swished through the grass. His dark red hair hung in waves about his head. He had sideburns that turned into a thin beard running neatly along his jaw line down to a slightly pointed chin. His nose was straight and narrow and when he stopped in front of me I could see his eyes were hazel. I couldn’t look away from him.