Home & Away (Mr Positive and QuirkyQuill)

[QuirkyQuill]

Sophia raised her hands above her head, stretching her back and spine as they walked. The movement triggered a yawn, and she reached up to cover her mouth, shaking her head. His use of the word ‘lad’ brought a smile to her face as she looked over at him, a small giggle barely audible over the distant sounds of the waves. She made no comment as she mentally made a note of the places he brought up.

“Is the spot in Dunowen easy to find? Or is it like the secret beach at home that’s unmarked so you can only get to it if you know where it is?” Sophia hadn't been to any of the major cliffs because she didn't want to wade through the tourists. As he continued to speak, she watched the trail beneath her, stepping carefully across the stones so as not to roll her ankle.

A twinge of excitement sparked as he continued to share, painting just enough of a picture to open her curiosity.

“How much of a climb?” Emerging onto a wider path she slowed her pace just a little for him to fall in beside her, and then picked up her pace to match his. His question made her smile, warmth spreading through her chest.

“Back home? Definitely. Caladesi Island. It's a state park off the coast. You can only get there by boat, so my brother and I and our friends would kayak over. It's untouched and protected, and it's easy to escape the tourists. It was a safe haven for me. The physical exertion to even get there was just enough to drive out stress so that by the time I get there, I’m ready to just sink into solitude and peace. Going over with friends was different.” Grinning, she chuckled and shook her head as memories flooded her mind. “Friend trips were significantly less…um…peaceful. But we also never knew what might happen on those trips.” There was a hint of mischief in her eyes as she continued to walk, content to forego the running for the moment.

“Other than that? Put me in a goalbox on any field in the world, and it's going to feel like home.” Reaching up, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What's your favorite moment you’ve ever had as a professional?” She shifted gears suddenly, darting a glance at him. He’d given her some insight into him, but she was curious to get a little more about the man behind the pitch.

 

[MrPositive]

Donal let out a quiet chuckle at her question about Dunowen. "It's not on any tourist maps, if that's what you're asking. No signs, no paved paths, just a narrow track through the grass and a bit of scrambling down some rocks. You wouldn't find it unless someone showed you." His tone carried a hint of pride, the kind that came with knowing the land like the back of his hand. "But once you do, it's worth it. Best view in West Cork, in my opinion. Maybe I'll prove it to you sometime."

As she spoke about Caladesi Island, he listened in silence, taking in the way her voice changed as she described it—how it softened when she spoke of solitude, how it sparked with laughter at the mention of friends and chaos. He understood that kind of attachment to a place, the way certain landscapes wove themselves into your bones.

Her sudden shift in topic pulled him from his thoughts. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "My favorite moment?" He repeated, as if turning the question over in his mind. He'd had plenty—goals in finals, lifting trophies, roaring crowds in stadiums packed with thousands. But the one that came to him wasn't the obvious choice.

"First time I pulled on an Ireland jersey," he said after a moment. "I was twenty, a kid really. Just got called up to the senior squad. We were playing at Lansdowne Road—before they knocked it down to build the Aviva. Full house. Could barely hear myself think over the crowd." He shook his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I remember standing in the tunnel, heart going like a hammer, and then the second I stepped onto the pitch, it all settled. Like I'd been waiting my whole life for that moment, and now that I was there, everything made sense."

He let out a breath through his nose, glancing out at the horizon. "Didn't even score that night. Probably ran myself into the ground trying too hard. But I'll never forget the way it felt to hear the anthem, to see my family in the stands, to know I was part of something bigger than myself."

Donal's gaze flicked back to her, a wry glint in his eyes. "Of course, if you ask the papers, they'll tell you my best moment was some last-minute winner in a cup final. But those are just goals. That night? That was something else."

"What has been your favourite moment. Of your career, not mine", he said with a slight smirk in his smile.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Sophia’s brown eyes lit up as he described the hidden spot, the very idea of it igniting the adventure seeker inside her. Before she could even ask, he pitched the idea of showing her.

“I would love that. The secret beaches back home were always my favorite. Free from tourists and all their shenanigans. Although, those secret places became a little less so once social media influencers became a thing. I could handle the crowd if that’s all it was, but tourists just never seem to care about taking care of the local ecology. They trash the beaches with beer cans and so much other garbage.”

Her nose wrinkled slightly as she thought back to how untouched those places had been before locals started blasting them all over the Internet. Once the secret was out, they’d lacked the quiet privacy the locals had come to appreciate. It was one of the reasons they’d begun paddling to the state park.

Listening to him as he spoke, her stride fell easily into step with his, and she caught herself smiling. Lifting her eyes to him as he walked down memory lane, Sophia studied his features, and not for the first time. She had to pull her gaze back to the path ahead, knowing that the last thing she wanted to do was slip on the uneven ground because she was too busy following the line of his jaw.

“I get that. There’s something really special about representing your country. It’s not just fans of a club that are counting on you. It’s an entire country. I remember the first time I put on that USA kit and saw myself in the mirror. Part of me felt like a fraud, and the other part of me felt like I was going to go out there and kick ass.” Shaking her head, Sophia could remember vacillating between feeling like an imposter and embracing her confidence. The moment she’d stepped foot on the turf, though, her mind locked into what she knew she needed to do, and what she was capable of doing. Considering his question back to her, she went through her mental rolodex of memories until she landed on one.

“Actually, mine was about four years ago. I was invited back to my college during their team camp, along with a couple of other alumni, and I met their new Freshman keeper. Her name is Hannah. She came up to me immediately to show me a picture on her phone that her mother had taken of her when she was a child. I was a senior in college, my last year at FSU, and they’d come to the game. We were standing next to each other and I had given her one of my gloves. She was very adamant that she was going to become a goalkeeper and that she would be a Nole one day. And here she was, all those years later.” Smiling, Sophia shrugged her shoulders lightly as nostalgia peppered her features. “She told me that I showed her that women could be strong and fierce without having to be a certain kind of way. Female athletes are expected to perform at a high level, but we’re expected to do it while looking like Barbie dolls. Hannah told me she was determined to be goalkeeper one by her sophomore year and then she wanted to go pro. I think it just reminded me that we never know who’s watching in the stands.”

Her eyes darted to him, feeling like he would understand. “We go out there and we play for ourselves, we fight for our team, and we keep pushing for our fans. But it’s easy for those fans to just become a blur. I think it’s easy to forget that any one of us have the power to step out on the field and inspire a child to make this their life. I think for me it was the first time I’d ever experienced having a young lady tell me that I inspired her to chase this insane dream, and she actually did it. Seeing that picture of both of us then and seeing where we both were at that point. I don’t know. It just did something.” Swallowing, she looked down at the ground, a shadow passing over her face as her eyebrows furrowed. “That was also the moment I realized that I wanted her to be able to step into a safer professional environment, and if that was going to happen, I had to use my voice to speak up. Hannah’s a senior this year.” The grin returned to her face as she looked over at him. “She is amazing and the future of this sport. I have no doubt she’s going to help take them to another NCAA Championship.”

 

[MrPositive]

Donal listened intently, his gaze fixed on the path ahead as Sophia spoke. There was something about the way she described that moment—how it had shaped her perspective—that resonated with him. It wasn't just about playing, about winning. It was about the impact, about the way a single moment on the pitch could ripple outward, reaching people you'd never even met.

He exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly. "It's a strange thing, isn't it? You go out there thinking you're just playing a game, doing what you love, but for someone watching, it's something bigger. You're proof that it can be done. That the dream isn't impossible."

His voice took on a thoughtful edge. "I remember being a kid, watching the Irish team on the telly, thinking those lads were untouchable. Like they were giants. And then, suddenly, I was there. I was one of them. But it never really hit me that I might be that for someone else until years later." He ran a hand along his jaw, pausing briefly before continuing.

"There was this young fella, maybe twelve or thirteen. He was part of a youth team I trained with during the off-season. He wasn't the biggest or the fastest, but he had a proper striker's instinct—sharp, confident in front of goal. One day after a session, he came up to me, dead serious, and said, 'I'm going to be Ireland's number nine one day, just like you.'" Donal let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "He said it with such certainty, like it was already decided."

His tone softened. "I saw a bit of myself in him, I think. Same single-mindedness, same fire. He asked if he could have my boots from that session, said he wanted to train in them until he outgrew them. I gave them to him. Didn't think much of it at the time." He glanced toward the horizon, lips pressing into a thin line before curving slightly. "Few years later, I saw his name pop up in the youth squads. And now? He's in the senior setup, pushing for a spot in the squad."

Donal let the words hang between them for a moment before speaking again, quieter this time. "You're right. You never know who's watching. You never know who you might be shaping just by doing what you do." He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "It's humbling, in a way. Reminds you that football isn't just about us. It's about who comes next."

The rhythm of their footsteps settled into an easy cadence as they pressed forward along the trail. Donal let the conversation drift into a companionable silence, his focus split between the uneven ground beneath them and the steady pull of the incline ahead. The salty tang of the Atlantic carried on the wind, filling his lungs as they climbed higher along the coastal path.

The trail curved inland for a short stretch, flanked by tufts of wild grass and low stone walls, before veering back toward the edge of the cliffs. Donal had taken this route countless times before, but there was something different about it today. Maybe it was having company for once, someone who seemed to appreciate the landscape as much as he did.

As they crested the last steep rise, the land leveled out onto a wide, flat expanse of grass. Donal slowed his pace, coming to a stop near the edge of the lookout. Before them, the land sloped down toward the sea, the vast blue expanse stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The morning sun, still low in the sky, cast a golden glow over the water, turning the gentle waves into a shimmering expanse of light.

To the east, Clonakilty lay nestled between the rolling hills and the bay, its streets and rooftops still quiet in the early hour. From this height, the town looked almost untouched, like a picture from an old postcard—timeless, unchanging. But Donal knew better. The world was always shifting, always moving forward, whether they wanted it to or not.

He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, exhaling as he took it all in. "Hard to beat this view," he murmured, more to himself than anything. His gaze lingered on the town below. "When I was a kid, I used to come up here after matches, whether we won or lost. Just to clear my head. Remind myself why I loved the game in the first place."

The wind tugged at his shirt, cooler at this elevation. He nodded toward the bay. "You can see where the old fishing boats used to dock, before the bigger trawlers took over in the city. Used to be the heart of the town, lads heading out at first light, coming back late in the evening with the day's catch." His voice tightened slightly, though he kept it even. "Now? Half the boats sit empty. Fewer people willing to take the risk when there's more money to be made elsewhere."

Donal fell quiet for a beat, watching the waves roll in against the shore. "That's part of why I came back. To be part of something here. To make sure places like this don't just fade away." He glanced over, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Football might not save the town, but it gives people something to rally behind. And sometimes, that's enough."

He turned back to the view, letting the weight of his own words settle. The town, the sea, the cliffs—it was all part of him, no matter where he'd gone or how far he'd strayed. And standing here now, he felt that pull stronger than ever.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Inhaling deeply, Sophia appreciated the hint of salt that intertwined with the scent of the wet air and grass. Clouds steadily moved in from behind the longer they walked, and she had a feeling rain wasn't too far behind. The sky above the water still remained clear. She figured that eventually she would have an outdoor excursion in this country that didn't result in her getting wet, but today was likely not that day. The running portion all but forgotten as she listened to him, she nodded in agreement with his sentiment. A single word etched itself in her ear, and she couldn't help but chuckle as she darted an amused look in his direction.

“Telly.” Repeating the word, her nose wrinkled slightly as she grinned, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Sophia had come to the conclusion over the last couple of months that there was no accent quite as endearing to her as the Irish. Her grandmother's Spanish lilt had always pulled her into peace and contentment. Until she was fired up, and then it ignited passion inside her, mirroring her grandmother's zest.

When the path opened up the view in front of them, Sophia came to an abrupt stop. Her face changed, a soft awe filling her brown eyes as the smallest gasp escaped her. The scene before her completely mesmerized her, and she soaked the view in. It almost looked too perfect to be real. She could hear the heart in his voice, and the way he spoke with conviction stirred a desire to know him better. He was a player who could have gone anywhere and ask for pretty much whatever sum of money he wanted, and the fact that he had chosen to give back to the town that raised him spoke volumes about his character. Hadn't that also been the point her brother had tried to make about her? She could have gone for a team with more renown and resources. It never occurred to her to question his authenticity, which in and of itself was a revelation. Sophia had developed an innate inability to trust people in her profession over the last couple of years, and had to actively work against that mistrust.

“I have to respectfully disagree.” Keeping her gaze locked on the town below, she wrapped her arms around herself as the chill in the breeze picked up. “Football can save a town because it's not just about football. It's about bringing the community together, and when done well, can reignite a fire in people to help the community thrive. It just might not look the way it used to. Both of these teams are moving up, and that will drive people here. The town needs to decide how they want to set themselves up to keep people coming back. People don't just fall in love with a place. They fall in love with the people, and the people will stay in a tourist’s heart long after the image of the view fades. You're the hometown hero.”

Turning her head to look at him, her eyes met his, and almost challenging glint in her brown orbs.

“You also have a following all over the world. If anyone is poised to make people care enough about this place to help save it, it's you.”

A small rumble behind her made her turn to look behind where they stood. Rain clouds were moving in, but she looked unconcerned.

“I get it, though. I came here because I want to support any league that is actively striving to create a safe work environment for its athletes. Especially women. Ireland is trying to build something special here, and I feel honored to be a part of that effort.”

 

[MrPositive]

Donal exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over the town below. "That's a good reason," he admitted, his voice quieter now, carrying a weight that matched the shifting sky. "Takes guts to fight for something bigger than yourself. And it's not easy, speaking up when you know plenty would rather you didn't." He knew that well enough—had seen the fallout, the backlash that came when players tried to demand better, to change the game for the ones coming up behind them. "But if no one does, nothing changes." His lips pressed together briefly before he added, "So, fair play to you."

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the sea, but it wasn't just the brine in the air anymore. The rain was coming. He glanced over his shoulder. Dark clouds had gathered fast, stretching over the hills behind them, swallowing up the blue. A single drop landed on his arm, then another, and before he could say anything, the rain arrived in earnest. A sudden downpour, sharp and relentless, soaking them in seconds.

"Ah, for feck's sake," Donal muttered, running a hand through his hair as if that would do anything against the deluge. He motioned ahead. "Come on—there's shelter not far from here."

The path beneath them was already slick, the grass heavy with water, but Donal moved with practiced ease, leading them away from the exposed cliffside. The rain pounded against his skin, drenching his shirt until it clung to him, the chill seeping in. He barely felt it. His mind was focused on their destination. After a few minutes of hurried steps, he veered off the main trail toward a break in the landscape—a small overhang where the cliffside jutted out just enough to offer cover. It wasn't much, but it was dry.

"Here." He ducked under the rocky ledge, shaking the water from his arms before leaning against the stone. The space was narrow, forcing them close together, but at least they weren't being battered by the rain anymore. Donal glanced over, about to make some wry remark about Irish weather, but the words caught in his throat. She was soaked, strands of hair clinging to her face, droplets tracing paths down her skin. But it wasn't just that—wasn't just the way the rain had softened her edges, had made her look almost unreal in the dim light. It was something deeper, something he hadn't quite let himself acknowledge before now. Sophia wasn't just another footballer. She wasn't just someone passing through.

She was fierce, sharp-witted, unafraid to challenge him, to call things as she saw them. She had a fire in her that refused to be dimmed, even when the world tried to beat it down. And right now, standing there with the rain still dripping from her clothes, she was beautiful in a way that caught him off guard.

Donal cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the rain hammering the ground outside their shelter. "Well," he said, attempting a smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Welcome to Ireland. Hope you weren't hoping to stay dry."​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

"Ah, for feck's sake.”

His response made her laugh as she followed his gaze to the clouds. “Par for the course. At this point, running in dry weather is but a distant dream.” A particularly cold rain drop slid beneath the back of her shirt, running a frigid fingertip down her spine and causing her to shiver. It was quickly overshadowed by the torrential downpour, and she bit down on her bottom lip to drive back the sound that attempted to bubble up. Sophia followed his footsteps, trying her best to stay on her feet.

Twice she misstepped and her feet slid apart quickly, but her athleticism as a goalkeeper helped her shift her weight quickly enough to prevent her from falling. It wasn't her most graceful of treks, but by the time she followed Donal under the overhang, the cold had seeped between every crevice and she had no concern for how she might look. As someone who jumped into grass and mud for a living, Sophia had long ago shed any self-consciousness over her appearance when she was being active.

The long-sleeve dri-fit shirt she wore did nothing to shield her from the cold, and it clung to her body like a second skin. Reaching up, she ran a hand over her face, wiping away the excess water droplets that clung to her eyelashes. Laughing at the absurdity of the moment, she looked up at him, not realizing just how close they were and how small the space was until that moment. Fiona would have been envious of her, especially with the way his wet clothes outlined the curves of his arms and the way the rain seemed to accentuate the lines of his jaw. He was all soccer player, and Sophia was definitely not immune to that fact. One raindrop hung onto the tip of his hair, and her fingers twitched with the instinct to reach up and brush it away.

Whoa there, Grayson. Abandon ship.

Mentally chiding herself, Sophia cleared her throat and dropped her eyes to her soaked tennis shoes, suddenly very interested in the dirt and grass that blanketed her shoes and legging bottoms. Her bottom lip began to chatter, and she bit down hard on it in an attempt to hold it steady.

"Welcome to Ireland. Hope you weren't hoping to stay dry.”

His words solicited another laugh from her, and she lifted her eyes back to him. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were tinged pink, and the shivering she’d been trying to hold back was beginning to break through her tightened muscles.

“I gave up on that notion within seventy two hours of arriving. What I still don't understand,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to trap what little body heat she possessed,” is why rain this cold even exists.”

 

[MrPositive]

Donal barely registered the cold seeping into his own skin. His focus was on her—the way her arms wrapped around herself in a useless attempt to trap body heat, the involuntary shudders breaking through her composure, the faint pink in her cheeks and the tip of her nose that betrayed just how cold she really was. He could hear it, too, the barely contained chattering of her teeth as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to suppress it.

He cast a glance out into the storm. The rain showed no signs of relenting. It pelted down in thick sheets, bouncing off the ground and streaming in rivulets down the slope they had just struggled up. There was no making a break for the cars—not unless they wanted to risk hypothermia along the way. And here, beneath this meager overhang, there was no hope of warmth.

His mind made the decision before his body moved. "You're shaking," he said, his voice quieter now, carrying an edge of concern he didn't bother to hide.

She didn't deny it. Didn't try to pretend she wasn't half-frozen. He took that as permission.

"C'mere."

The words left his mouth before he fully considered them, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest. It wasn't a question. It wasn't a move. It was a necessity. She needed warmth, and right now, he was the only source of it.

He kept his hold firm but not overwhelming, careful not to make it feel like something it wasn't meant to be. But Christ, the moment her soaked frame pressed against his, his body betrayed him. The sharp chill of her damp clothes seeped through his own, sending a shudder down his spine, but underneath that was the undeniable, impossible warmth of her. His hands flexed slightly where they rested—one at her back, the other loose over her arm, offering as much heat as he could.

His heart kicked up a beat.

Get a grip, Donal.

This was practical. Necessary. Nothing more. She was shaking, and he was stopping her from turning into an icicle. That was all.

And yet, he was entirely too aware of her. The way she fit against him, the damp strands of her hair brushing against his jaw, the faintest scent of rain and something else—something distinctly her—mingling with the sharp, briny air. He exhaled slowly, willing himself to focus on anything but the way she felt in his arms.

Still, it was hard to ignore the way her breathing slowly steadied, or how the rigid tension in her frame began to ease, even if just slightly. It was working. That was the important thing.

The rain continued its relentless assault on the land around them, the sky a deep, stormy gray. If they'd been anywhere else—if this had been a different situation entirely—maybe he would have let himself sit with these thoughts, let himself explore what it meant to be so acutely aware of someone he'd sworn was just a teammate, just a fellow footballer on this journey with him. But not here. Not now.

The howling wind carried a sharp chill, but here, beneath the overhang, with her tucked into his arms, Donal felt something unexpected—something warm, something grounding.

He swallowed hard, staring out into the storm, focusing on the rhythm of the rain hammering against the earth, willing himself not to dwell too long on the woman in his arms.

But for the first time, Donal found himself seeing Sophia Grayson as more than just a footballer, more than just a teammate or an ally in their shared cause.

He saw her as a woman—one who, despite the cold, despite the storm raging around them, was making it increasingly difficult for him to ignore the way his heart had started to race.​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

If Sophia had been alone, she would have hustled back to her car in the downpour as she’d done every other time the weather had caught up to her. The ground was precarious enough from the previous day’s rain, so Donal’s plan to wait it out was probably wiser. This path was much more narrow than anywhere else she'd run so far, and the rocky parts likely would have resulted in a situation in which she didn't want to find herself.

"You're shaking.”

“My muscles are just enthusiastic about this weather.” Grinning sarcastically, she bounced up and down to keep her blood moving. Her traitorous Florida blood made her joke fall flat as her teeth began chattering.

“C'mere.”

She looked at him questioningly, her breath catching as he pulled her into him, her body tensing initially at the squishing of two wet bodies, and a momentary flashback that she immediately pushed away. Sophia felt her heart rate quicken and she stilled to see if anything else would come of his actions, but nothing did. Exhaling slowly, she mentally chided herself. It had become difficult not to always assume the worst of someone, and Sophia had spent the last several years clawing her way out of her cynicism.

Once she'd settled her mind, she became acutely aware of him. His body heat managed to cut through the chill of their clothes, and his frame made her feel small and dainty. Sophia had never felt dainty. She wasn't entirely certain she could offer a proper definition of the word other than it was the opposite of her.

What the hell?

Turning her head towards him, she realized her face was even with his throat. Her eyes walked across his skin to his Adam’s apple, and she swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. Fiona hadn't been wrong about Donal. Spending most of her life around athletes, Sophia had grown desensitized to the men in her sport, but there was something about his predatory nature on the field and his down to earth demeanor off the field that put her on notice. Every last inch of her.

Feeling awkward just standing there, she brought her arms up and tucked them against her chest as if guarding herself against a hand ball, careful not to touch his front. The change in position protected her more from the wind that bit through their shelter.

You are not here to think about men.

Biting her bottom lip, she turned her head to look out at the rain, needing to get the sight of him so close out of her direct vision.

“Thank you.” Speaking after several silent moments, she kept her eyes locked on the outside world. “It's easier to ignore it on the pitch when I can move around.” Looking at him wasn't an option. If she turned towards him, their faces would be impossibly close, and that was the last thing she needed at the moment.

“Is it like this year round? Or just during football season?” Neutral ground. She could talk about the weather.

 

[MrPositive]

Donal exhaled slowly, keeping his grip steady, his mind caught in a quiet battle between reason and something far more dangerous. He told himself it was only the cold, only necessity that had him holding her this close. That was all. But as the seconds stretched on, he found it harder to ignore the awareness settling deep in his bones.

The rain continued to drum against the earth outside their small shelter, the wind howling through the exposed parts of the path. There was no going anywhere—not yet. But if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't in any hurry to move.

Her voice cut through the silence, quiet but steady. "Thank you."

He nodded once, barely moving. "Nothing worse than being soaked through with nowhere to go. Least I can do." His voice was lower than he intended, rougher somehow, like he'd swallowed half the rainstorm himself.

He could feel the tension slowly bleeding out of her frame, her muscles no longer locked up like they were bracing for impact. The knowledge settled something in him, even as it made him uneasy. He didn't like the idea that she'd needed to brace herself at all. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

"It's easier to ignore it on the pitch when I can move around," she added, keeping her gaze on the rain beyond their shelter.

"This country has a habit of keeping you on your toes," Donal murmured, glancing out at the relentless downpour. He wanted to say more, but the words caught somewhere between his mind and his mouth, tangled in something unnamed.

She hesitated for a beat before speaking again. "Is it like this year-round? Or just during football season?"

He huffed out a short, dry laugh. "Oh, this is year-round, no question. Summer's just the time when the rain gets slightly warmer. You'll get the odd stretch of good weather, but don't hold your breath. And when the sun does come out, the whole country loses its mind." His lips quirked at the thought. "People'll be out in shorts, half of them sunburnt before noon, pretending like we live in the Mediterranean."

His voice had found its usual rhythm again, steady, familiar. It was safer this way—talking about the weather, the quirks of home. Safer than acknowledging the warmth of her against him, the way he could still feel the faint, involuntary shudders running through her from the cold, the way he had to fight the ridiculous urge to tuck her even closer.

He needed to get a handle on himself.

Donal shifted his weight slightly, adjusting his stance, but it did nothing to curb the quiet pull in his chest. It was a dangerous thing, this growing awareness, the slow realization that he was seeing Sophia Grayson in a way he hadn't before. She wasn't just a teammate, not just another player in this shared fight to build something better. She was sharp and determined, quick-witted and resilient. She had a strength that wasn't loud, but it was unwavering. And, Christ, she was beautiful—not in the polished, untouchable way he'd seen in other athletes who spent as much time in the spotlight as they did on the pitch, but in a way that was real.

And that was the part that got to him.

Shite.

Donal cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus on the storm outside rather than the way she felt pressed against him, the faint scent of rain and something distinctly her wrapping around him. The rain had to ease up soon. It had to. Because if they stayed like this much longer, he wasn't sure he trusted himself not to let his thoughts slip past where they should be.

Still, even as he told himself it was just practicality, just warmth, Donal knew one thing for certain.

He was in trouble.​