“It’s a load of shite?”

He looked up at her, a curious smile played on his lips. “Yes, it’s a load of feckin’ shite.”

“Well go on with this idea of parallels,” she said.

“I think it’s the colonialism that still troubles both groups. In America, black culture and black English isn’t valued for itself, but has to be stolen and made a mockery of. And the idea of trying to reclaim something that’s been lost isn’t foreign to us either. Thousands of us had to leave this land during the famine, never to return to our home.” He paused to think, cocking his head to the side. “You could say that in our absence, Irish culture has been snatched and made a mockery of as well. On the other hand, while we know where we come from, there’s millions of African Americans who still wonder where in West Africa their lineage starts...” He trailed off, staring into space. “Hmm.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he sprang from his seat and ran from the room. “I’ve just got an idea,” he said over his shoulder. The clock that hung above his mantel made her wonder if it was time for her to take her leave. If he actually had work to do, she didn’t want to stand in his way. Her mother always said “don’t wear out your welcome.”

She stood from the table, taking the empty plate with her. She’d at least wash a dish before she left. When Antonia entered the kitchen, she took a quick peek around the corner, to find him sitting on his bed scribbling something in a notebook. Her cottage had the same layout as his, she noticed. Only opposite. She squeezed dish soap on his plate and contemplated. That means my bedroom is on the other side of his wall. The thought sent a tingle through her belly. As she scrubbed the plate, she fell into deep thought. When did he eventually get home last night?

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Aiden said from behind her. “I don’t feed guests only to make them wash up.”

Antonia kept her eyes on the plate. His nearness, the whiff of his fresh soap scent, made her hands tremble slightly as she ran a sponge over the flat porcelain. She worried that it might slip from her hands if he didn’t move away from her. But Aiden didn’t leave her side. Instead, his arms surrounded her body, both hands resting gently on her forearms. He was trying to still her movements. Antonia froze as he took the plate from her hands and set it in the sink.

“I should go,” was the first thing she thought to say aloud.

One of Aiden’s hands stayed longer than intended. Antonia stared at his long, graceful fingers, at his pale thumb grazing her soft flesh, and fought the urge to rest against his muscular chest. Under the running water, Aiden slowly rinsed the dish soap from her hands, rubbing her fingers between his own. She stood there, hypnotized by the rough calluses of his palms slowly sliding across the back of her hands. Antonia let her eyes fall shut as warm pleasure washed over her body, starting at her fingers and landing squarely in her womb. She released a quiet sigh as a shiver ran up her back and left goosebumps on her arms.