Chapter Text
Andrew
The store was amazing, just as I thought it would be.
It was half of an old, old building just off the main road and it had this big glass facade. Said facade would lend the place to being light and airy but instead it was dark and warm. I couldn't remember what the space had been before this, somehow it seemed like it had always been this store- though I know in reality it had only been open two weeks and before the bookstore, it had been empty for years.
I liked how the establishment demanded to be accepted and slid into Dublin like it had been there since the first brick was laid.
The high ceilings were draped with dark velvet and the walls were painted a red so rich it was almost brown. Though the colour itself was hard to find behind all the wall decor, posters of movies and books and old ads were plastered across every free patch of architectural flesh. It appeared old and lived in and yet it wasn’t.
To the left of myself as I stood in the entrance, was a small cafe area, there was an older man at the coffee machine- at least 75. His hair was like rabbit fur, stark white and wispy in a way that seemed soft, as he made the drinks he had a sweet smile across his face.
There were at least five people already drinking coffee, every single one of them were reading, sat in big leather chairs or beanbags or even the window nook that faced the full, rainy street.
To the right was the shop itself, with rows upon rows of dark mahogany shelves stocked with crisp, new books. There were small trinkets on many of the surfaces, my eyes were particularly drawn to a little felt frog in a bowler suit that sat on the new arrivals shelf.
The place was the epitome of new, embryonic even and yet it already oozed with personality. Despite how my first impression of the shop had pulled me in so tightly all I wanted to do was sit and read. I wasn’t here for that.
I was here for her. Clodagh.
She was just a friend, a like minded soul- and I didn't even know what she looked like but my heart was jumping out of my chest as I scanned the store for any sign of what could be her- of what matched the description I'd slowly created based on no more than how she cleverly strung words together.
"Beautiful..." I murmured as I finally saw a glimpse of the woman I somehow just knew I was looking for. She was taller than I’d imagined, all dark curly hair and bronze skin.
"Sorry?" I glanced up to see a man, far closer to me than I’d noticed. He was equally as eye catching, he had an arm full of books that he was clearly about to pack up. I examined a large tattoo on his forearm, a sparrow I think.
"Your store- the store is- ehm yeah, it's beautiful. Is that Clodagh by any chance?" I asked, trying not to be rude and stare past the man but I was fixated as I tried to get another glance in.
He gave me a smirk, as if he knew something I didn't, and then nodded.
"Clo! Ya' being asked for!" He turned around and bellowed, his voice somewhat strained as he yelled. I instantly went pink, I'd been hoping for a more subtle entrance.
I looked down at my houndstooth coat and immediately started plucking small pieces of fluff from it, as if she'd take one look at me and decide I was too lint covered to be seen with.
I'd dressed up for her, Is that bad to say? Is it presumptuous to do? Well, regardless, I had.
“Be cool. She knows you’re coming.” The man then said, smiling at me in a way that made me feel both a little stupid, and very supported.
Clodagh started walking towards us, her gate was smooth, almost like she was walking on a treadmill and her hair was long, dark brown and full of big open curls. It swung as she walked, her face wasn't fully revealed to me until she actually reached us.
"Christ James. We've been open a week, who have you pissed off this ti- Ah, Hozier, of course." She hummed as she looked at me. Her stare kind of made me shrink, she gave me the distinct feeling she could see my soul with just a look. Despite my hundred layers of clothes, I felt exposed.
"So nice to grace us with your presence." Her voice was like the chocolatey sip of a cappuccino, deep, smooth and sweet. Then I really looked at her.
Jesus.
———
Early March
"Alex, Facebook? Really?" I chastised jovially as I clambered my way past my bassist who was sprawled across the tan leather lounge in our tour bus rather selfishly. His phone was open in his lap, he was scrolling through Dublin's notice board.
I couldn't blame him, we were 12 shows from home, in the unforgiving Australian heat. I was homesick more than I'd like to admit.
"Yep. I'm old, Facebook must now become my go to social media I'm 'fraid." He grinned lazily, still in his flying outfit of black sweats and an olive green shirt.
"Aye, 28 you're practically wasting away in front of me- anything interesting on the el' platform then?" I asked, practically collapsing into a chair beside the lounge. My body, 90% limb and back pain was exhaustedly limp.
Another month in this fucking bus.
He shrugged.
"Dublin's getting a new bookstore." He said, his voice somewhat excited. I scoffed a little, Dublin was an old city, we didn't need yet another bookstore.
"Christ- why?" I asked, perhaps a little coldly. I wasn't against bookstores but I can't imagine this one would offer anything particularly innovative to the Dublin book scene.
Alex laughed, widening his eyes.
"Jesus, it's just a bookstore. I thought you'd be excited you filthy little bookworm." He snickered, still scrolling idly through his phone. I thought it was funny that he assumed both that bookworm was an insult and that my broken reading of half a poetry book here and there constituted bookwormedness anyway.
"Sure like- we just have a lot, what's it called?"
"Ehm two birds swimming." He answered, scrolling back up to find it, giving me a quick glimpse of the profile. I shrugged and tried not to say something rude.
"Kinda pretentious."
——
That night, when it was 10 am at home and 2am here, when my eyes, burning from a perpetual lack of sleep and the constant dryness that came with sleeping in air conditioning, I opened Instagram.
The first post I was met with was a picture of an old book with tattered edges and a yellowing cover. It was "At Swim-Two-Birds." By Flann O'Brien. "The Third Policeman" was a favourite of mine. I hadn't yet read this one though (despite the fact it was apparently his Magnum Opus.) I glanced down to see first the user name (@twobirdswimming) and the caption:
Well Dublin, it's happening!
207 D'Olier street, December 1st,
Your new favourite book store is opening.
I wanted to text Alex and slag him off for using Facebook when the bookstore he was so excited about was clearly on instagram as well- but, I decided not to risk interrupting his sleep.
I smiled at the post itself and let myself click the username to see the rest of the profile, we didn't need another bookstore but that didn't mean I didn't want to browse the profile.
Their posts were varied, a lot of book reviews, the occasional think piece... At first it seemed pretty standard but I slowly found myself reading almost every post. It was a sort of intoxicating page and I wasn’t becoming gradually more familiar with the voice behind the profile. It seemed that the account started just as a platform to share thoughts on books and poetry as well as the occasional piece written by whoever owned the account. I supposed it was kind of sweet that they eventually got to open their own store.
Something in me urged me to keep scrolling, to keep diving into posts. It became quickly clear that the account was run by a single person with a distinct voice, dry and witty...
I was mildly surprised and admittedly impressed when I saw the account had over 100k followers. I wasn't sure if it was the warm, dark aesthetic of the page or the dry humour of the captions and articles but I found myself eventually pressing follow, joining the hundred thousand people who had done so before me.
@twobirdsswimming - An impromptu follow *and* a like on a photo from two years ago? Hozier, you're flattering me.
My eyes widened at the DM and I looked down at the post I'd accidentally liked from indeed, two years ago. The account was verified and so any interaction from them gave me a notification. For some reason my heart started to race and I was determined to respond with something at least mildly witty.
There was an unfounded urge in me to impress. I was somewhat apprehensive, usually I wouldn't respond to something like this...
- Can't blame me for wanting to support a local business, can you?
- You're right. Is there any way and I mean ANY way that I could repay you for the single like on a photo from two years ago that doesn't pertain in any way shape or form to my business?
A low chuckle warmed in my throat at the message and I sucked my teeth, my thumbs hovering over my screen as I thought of a response. I was used to a different calibre of impromptu online conversation, I often got requests for collaborations or shout outs or just messages preaching how amazing I was to them.
If only they knew...
- Of course not, I did it out of the kindness of my heart.
- Wow, I'm forever indebted to you
- Don't mention it.
I groaned at my response the second I sent it, it was far too closed. I probably wouldn't get a reply... I wanted to get a reply- why did I want a reply?
- I mean, I can offer a free cup of some pretty wicked tea when you visit us but only if you buy at least 10 books
I was confused at how my heart jumped when I got the message, she had replied. Or- or he, they?
I had no idea who I was talking to and yet I wanted to continue. I had to continue, I wasn't sure why this felt so wrong. Michelle, my girlfriend's face popped into my mind- I wasn't sure why. This wasn't disloyal, this was just friendly conversation, with an absolute stranger.
- That feels like an apt payment
- I'll see you opening day?
- I'm not back in Ireland until the 8th
- What a shame, I really could've used someone famous to bump up the press, we need a good first day.
- You just want to use me? After all I've done for you?
- It's a dog eat dog world
I chuckled and placed my phone face down on my chest. Perhaps it was boredom, on the road I only really had my phone to keep me entertained. I couldn't write- it wasn't the right place, I needed and time and space to open myself up to writing. Management occasionally whipped something crazy up to keep us all from going stir crazy, a trip to a bowling alley, a fucking bouncy castle in a venue car park- but none of it really attacked the monotony of travel.
Occasionally Michelle would visit and life felt a little better then, I hated sleeping alone.
I needed to go sleep now and yet I didn't, instead opting to respond and respond and respond.
Over the next few weeks this conversation would only progress. We talked about work and travel and literature and politics- I wasn't sure how I'd grown so attached to the anonymous admin of a bookstore page- but I had and I made it a point to reply promptly to all the messages I received from them.
It was never enough though, they wouldn't give up any identifying information, no matter how I pried. I knew they were the manager and co-owner of the store though and found myself desperate to get home, to visit.
I even thought about asking my mother to pop in and spy for me, but the questions she'd no doubt ask me before and after made it not worth pursuing.
———
- Good song choice
I swiped up on a story of theirs, it was a video of the new releases on the shelf, a familiar smashing pumpkins track playing in the back. I responded to a lot of her (or his or their) posts, they always replied to my response.
- From you? What a compliment.
- That felt sarcastic
- Just a little. How's the road treating you today, Andrew?
I groaned, I'd be home in four days, just four more days until I'd meet her-
- Exhaustingly..... ?
- Clodagh
My breath hitched a little, I was in my bunk, texting them as I usually did and I'd finally gotten a tiny piece of information, a name. Clodagh, a woman. A woman with a nice Irish name.
- Nice Irish name
- It's better than Andrew, sure.
- Feck off.
- I only told you what it was so you know who to ask for when you finally visit the store
- I thought you only wanted me on opening day to up sales? I told you I won't be home til the 8th
- Andrew, Andrew no, I will happily use your fame for sales on any day. Opening day would probably take advantage of your notoriety the most but I'll take anything.
- Sweet of you to say. I'll probably see you on the 9th
I was trying to be casual but realistically she'd definitely be seeing me the second I could get to Dublin. It'd been weeks of back and forth texting, I wanted to meet her.
I had to meet her.
———
Present.
She was looking at me expectantly, I needed to say something but I found myself frustratingly speechless.
She was- shit, she was ethereal, almost six feet tall with a prominent, straight nose, covered in freckles, a demure smile of plump lips painted rust brown. I wondered where she was from as I examined her warm, light brown skin that was decorated with a spattering of artistic tattoos.
Her body was just as captivating as her face, she was very tall but she wasn't lanky. She was delicate but warm, with curves that almost didn't seem possible, in tight red jeans that made my head spin.
But none of that could compare to what caught my gaze first. Those eyes. She had long, thick, black eyelashes and almond shaped eyes that were downturned in the outer corners- the colour was what really struck me though. They were honey brown- no, not brown, gold. Her irises were almost like the sun- producing their own light, their own glow.
I decided quickly that was the most impossible thing about her. In fact, had I not watched the warm lamps in store bounce light off of the umber below her lashes- I'd have been certain they were contacts.
"Clodagh..." I murmured awkwardly, pushing my hand out to shake it. As I glanced at the man in front of me it was obvious they were siblings, they looked uncannily alike.
"That's not how you greet an old friend is it? C'mere." She grinned revealing a perfect smile, one that I sort of wanted painted on the inside of my eyes...
Before I could do anything she was hugging me. Her body was soft and so warm. She smelled like Turkish rose and cocoa butter, it intoxicated me like smoke.
I let my hands melt into the soft curve of her waist, squeezing just a little before forcing myself to let go. It felt wrong to hold her in such a way but Michelle had broken up with me while I was in Brisbane. The distance was too much, she never saw me, etcetera. It was the same reason I’d broken up with my last girlfriends but Michelle and I had been together for three years, I’d grown used to the assumption I’d marry her- and then she left.
Clodagh smiled again, or perhaps she hadn't stopped, her eyes locked on mine in a gaze that would trap any man.
"So, are you about to hop on a plane to play some million seat arena or can I tempt you to a coffee? We even have profiteroles but James made them so I can't speak to their quality." She smirked, my eyes lingered on her for probably far too long. She chuckled slightly, the sound was like a bubbling brook or the warm crackle of a fire.
"Just kidding, they're grand, I've already eaten like 4." She told me, to fill the silence, offering a small wink.
"Ehm I've already eaten but some coffee would be grand if that's okay?" I smiled, nerves slowly dissolving from my body. There was something about her that put me at ease. It was as if she'd slapped a nicotine patch on me when we'd hugged and the calming drug was oozing into my skin. (I was trying, with varying levels of success, to quit smoking.)
"Of course." She smiled as she began walking quickly to the cafe side of the store. Her pace was oddly fast and I found myself speeding up to match her.
She stopped in front of the coffee machine, the old man I'd seen earlier looked up at gave me a sceptical gaze, his grey blue eyes hovering over me uncertainly.
"Clyde, this is Andrew. He sings that new song you like." Clodagh explained. Clodagh, Clodagh- have I mentioned that she has a beautiful name yet? Her brother had called her Clo, I wanted to call her Clo.
"Ah do ye now? Sure, what'd you like?" The old man, Clyde, exclaimed in the thickest Scottish accent I'd ever heard. I stopped myself from letting out a shocked laugh and instead absorbed the compliment.
"We'll have two large lattes, thanks Clyde-
Oh- lady told me that you made her the best cappuccino she ever had this morning by the way." She hummed, not giving me a chance to order for myself. He shrugged and smiled at us proudly.
"Well I've been making coffee longer than you've both been alive." He boasted in a way that was enduring rather than arrogant, making both Clodagh and I laugh.
The wait for our coffees wasn't long and when they were presented to us in old coffee mugs (mine was cream with a navy print of a sheep on it, hers was in the shape of a tuberous flower, in a warm golden yellow.) Clodagh was quick to grab them as we both thanked Clyde.
"Is a he a Movement fan?" I asked, cracking a smile as we took our drinks to a table near the window. We didn't speak about where we'd sit but we both gravitated to this table naturally.
She gave me a half laugh and swatted her hand, shaking her head.
"No, he likes sedated." She explained, making me furrow my brows in mild confusion.
"That's hardly new." I replied watching as she smirked a little. Those golden, almost yellow eyes sparkled at me like the sun on the sea.
"Andrew he's 92, 2014 was like yesterday for him." She smiled charmingly, raising her thick, almost black brows. She was funny. God, it almost wasn't fair.
"Jesus, I thought he was like 75... The lad's looking good." I replied, smiling as I took a sip of the latte which, despite not being my usual order, was fantastic.
She laughed, but this time it was more of a giggle, the sound ran down my spine like hot water after a long day.
"I'll tell him you said that, you two can have a nice long chat about skincare. He can give you some tips, what are you forty?" She teased in her silken, liquid gold kind of voice.
"Forty two. Tell him that this coffee is in fact insanely good though." I instructed, watching a satisfied smile bloom over her face, my eyes still caught in her golden gaze.
"So why did you order for me?" I then asked, not being upset by the gesture but having been at least a little confused.
"You don't know this yet but you have to be careful with Clyde, he'll talk your damn ear off. Have you seen Derry Girls?" She asked me, a sweet lilt to the end of her question made my heart jump.
"O'course." I answered, it wasn't really my usual thing but it was Irish and I'd ended up really enjoying it. I'd certainly watch the next season when it came out.
"Think Colm, but Scottish and angrier." She explained, her pink tongue darting out to lick froth from her lips...
"Ah, makes sense. How did it come to be that you hired a 93 year old barista?" I asked curiously, everything about her made me curious. Why had she opened the store? Was James her brother and co-owner? Where did she live? Was she single? Was she straight?
She had given me barely any information about herself and her motives over text. The lack of knowledge about her made me prickly with anticipation and frustration.
"He used to be my neighbour, he's a dear friend and a great barista. He lives alone, he used to own like a huge coffee chain- he's feckin' loaded but I dunno he just loves people, loves Grouchy too." She hummed, making my eyebrows knit.
"Who's Grouchy?" I asked in confusion. She nodded, having expected the question but before she could answer, a fat, gingery cat leapt into my lap.
"That is Grouchy. I promise she's very friendly despite the name." Clodagh chuckled, I generally wasn't a cat person but as the little thing nuzzled her head against my hand I couldn't help but start petting her.
"You guys have the same eyes... Is she yours?" I murmured as the cat's orangey, yellow face met mine. I then immediately regretted the statement.
"Ha, we kind of do. Her, James and I have the same creepy stare. She is technically mine but she's kind of just the store cat at this point, I have a dog so she spends the evenings at Clyde's. She was a rescue and a female ginger cat is rare and book people love cats- she really brings in the business." Clodagh beamed, though I didn't think her stare was creepy by any means.
"I imagine she does, I don't even like cats-"
"Andrew- Andrew! What do you mean you don't like cats? I didn't pick you for a dog person." She gasped in faux outrage, her eyes wide with shock.
"Well- I just think- they're often not very affectionate I guess, dogs love you regardless there’s something reassuring about that."
"That's why cats are better, you have to earn their love and you must be a pretty good guy because Grouchy really seems to love you." She mused happily. I rolled my eyes but I was smiling uncontrollably. I was for some reason a little worried that we wouldn't get on, but we did, like- a lot.
"So, can I grab your number?" She asked me sweetly. The question took me by surprise. My heart was now thudding and I felt my mouth going dry.
"Oh or- is that like not how making friends works for famous people? Do I have to go through your manager or something?" She asked confusedly at my silence. I chuckled, clearing my throat and shaking my head.
"No, ha no, no. I ehm, yeah, just let me grab your phone, I'll put it in."
And that my friends, was the beginning of the end.