So Much More - Kim Holden Page 0,54
never thought I had a type. Apparently that’s because I’d never met Seamus McIntyre. As soon as I saw him, I didn’t want to look away. Ever. He was tall, the kind of tall that denotes a definite presence, but the way he moved and postured himself signaled a kind and laid-back nature. His dark hair was short but looked like he was overdue for a cut, the perfect mix of untamed and messy that a little extra length creates. It also hinted that he wasn’t the kind of guy who was hung up on his appearance—the worn out jeans, scuffed up Doc Martens, and simple white t-shirt backed up my theory. Everything about his face, the set of his jaw covered in days old scruff, high cheekbones, strong nose, and dark, deep-set, mysterious eyes, was a contradiction. Intensity versus gentleness. Youth versus wisdom. Strength versus vulnerability. I’d never seen such an expressive resting face. And after getting to know him, I realize it’s because he doesn’t hide anything— it’s all there written all over his features.
The first thing that attracted me to Seamus, the man, was when I watched him squat down on the sidewalk to talk to his little girl, Kira. She was crying, a hiccupping, distressed howl. The transition from standing to kneeling isn’t a big deal for most people, but for him it is. He could’ve patted her on the head or just talked to her, but he didn’t. He struggled to get down on his knees, the progression slow and painful, but also beautiful to watch, because I knew at that moment, that he would do anything for his kids. Anything for his kids. It was so simple, but so telling. And that’s when I realized that being attracted to someone happens at a visceral level. It happens when you see and feel the other person’s heart and your heart twinges in your chest in reaction. I watched him get face to face with his daughter, so he could look her in the eye while he consoled and then hugged her. That’s when my heart decided it liked Seamus McIntyre more than any other person I’d ever met before.
The first time I kissed Seamus, my mind went blank and ran wild all at once. I was stunned by physical sensation. And decided that though other men’s mouths had moved against mine, I had never been kissed until that moment. Seamus’s lips told a story. A story I wanted to live in. Forever. A realistic story that was sprinkled with darkness, but that always came back to light. A light that made me believe love exists. Pure, intentional, forgiving, enduring love. Bone-jarringly beautiful love. He took his time, pace was part of the allure and signified sincerity. There was presence and intent in every movement, every sigh, every moan. Seamus’s kiss was a kiss within a kiss…within a kiss…within a kiss. Layers upon layers of Seamus assaulting my senses in the most satisfying, impassioned way.
The first, and only time we had sex, Seamus gave me a gift. He didn’t know he was giving it to me. He doesn’t know my past because I haven’t burdened him with the truth, but he vanquished some of my demons that night. He made love to me. It was everything he’d previously poured into a kiss amplified until it was pure bliss. A deep connection of mind, body, and spirit I didn’t think could exist between two people, especially within the confines of sex. Only Seamus. That’s the night I fell in love with him. All of him.
The first time I said goodbye to Seamus, my heart shattered. It was a blast that obliterated me, leaving only dust and making the task of putting the pieces back together impossible. But through it, my mind kept going back to something he told me, so much more than thank you. So. Much. More. Seamus was so much more. He needed to fight for his kids. They were, and should be, the most important things in his life. And I needed to find and fix myself. I call it research, and it’s far from complete. I like to think that given another place and another time, we could’ve turned into something more. We could’ve been a we.
My time here is up. I gave myself six months to find my birth mother. I knew it was a long shot, I don’t even know her name, but I thought faith, not me but the incredible,