He hung his head under the freezing water, wetting his hair and waiting for the ache to fade. When he was satisfied that his sexual urge had receded, he rewarded himself with warm water and washed briskly. The shock on her face when she had seen him though... Her mouth had fallen open, luscious lips gaping in genuine surprise. When she’d finally found her voice, it had been halting and breathy. Aiden was surprised she’d lost her wit since their grocery store meeting. He’d began to feel more confident the more she stumbled over her words. Perhaps it was because he was steadier on his home turf. And perhaps the incident with Drunk Michael helped. Rescuing a beautiful damsel from a tumbling fat man never hurts the cause. His heart had sunk when she decided to leave the pub so abruptly. He hoped that he hadn’t scared her off. Aiden rinsed the shampoo from his hair while recounting their short conversation. Had he said something untoward?

“She was drinking pretty fast,” he murmured. Perhaps she was tired and tipsy. He remembered holding her steady; standing so close that he smelled her hair. He caught the scent of coconut and maybe...vanilla? The flash of the memory forced him to turn his shower dial back to cold. He had to write something today. Anything really. Just start writing.

As he stepped out to towel off, Aiden reviewed his original paper proposal. Homecoming narratives. He would return to the DuBois biography and reread the passages on his life in Ghana. Aiden padded into his bedroom and searched his suitcase for jeans. Still running hot, he skipped the shirt and started his day. A couple of eggs and toast should do the trick. First, he would need a little motivation to accompany his breakfast. He found his phone and scrolled through his music playlist, settling on some Hozier. A nice bluesy Irish boy could set the breakfast tone. Aiden connected his phone to the portable speaker he brought with him and flooded the entire cottage with the mournful death march of “Take Me to Church.” He sang loudly to the tune of lost love and regret while searching the kitchen cabinets for a frying pan.

As he fired up the stove, he set his pan on the burner and buttered it liberally. After an entire semester of rushing out the door without eating, he basked in the pleasure of a decadent breakfast. As he cracked two eggs, he lamented forgetting a pack of rashers at SuperValu. He missed cured breakfast pork.

As the next Hozier track began, his own voice rang out, off key and piercing the loneliness of the cottage. He was grateful that Mr. Creely hadn’t inquired about Lisa when he checked in. Her previous visit had caused quite a stir. Any new female visitor to Tully Cross usually got people talking. The young women were largely outnumbered in the village because many of them fled to university, leaving the young men to stick around working their fathers’ farms. Lisa’s appearance, coupled with her aloof attitude, had garnered plenty of attention. She hardly spoke to the locals and barely left the cottage.