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"Ahhhh!"
Ian could barely hear Quinn's happy sigh over the music, but his Jedi-like hearing allowed him to pick it up.
The beautiful notes of a 19th century sonata wafted through Luke Chapel, as a student string quartet performed for the university community on March 17th, on a lovely Friday afternoon. Ian had recognized one of the players, Sookie Tanner, as a student in his Hawthorne course and waved at her before the recital started, which put a big smile on her face as she waved back at him. Since it was St. Patrick's Day, the quartet was featuring Irish composers from the classical period, and Quinn was delighted to hear that the melody was one of his favorite compositions by John Field -- Sonata in A Major. He had even played the sonata on his guitar last Sunday, while Ian accompanied him on the piano.
He and Ian had decided to take a break after their morning classes to attend the weekly Lunchtime at Luke concert series. The chapel, where they had gotten married in 2011, was only a quarter of a mile from Taton Hall, and they frequently used the church bells to rouse them out of their work spell, so they could go home for the evening. The concerts were a haven in their workday on most Fridays, and they often left the chapel with the melodies still playing in their minds.
When the performance was over, Ian gave another wave to Sookie as they strolled outside. It was 50 degrees Fahrenheit, and the sun shone down on them without a cloud in the sky, making it seem like springtime already, although spring wasn't officially due to arrive for three more days. Quinn's eyes crinkled as he squinted against the glare, and Ian gazed up at him in adoration. He loved each and every one of those crinkles.
Dutchess County had been unseasonably warm for the past couple of weeks, so they'd left their greatcoats at home. Quinn wore his favorite Aran pullover, which was pleasantly stretched-out from years of use, while Ian had pulled on a green sweatshirt with a Skyhawk flying over the high bar for his third-period training session with the gymnastics team. He'd take off the sweatshirt before class, of course, leaving on his buttondown dress shirt. Both of them wore their corduroy jackets without closing them.
The lapels of their jackets had something special added for the occasion -- Ian proudly wore the little shamrock Quinn had given him so long ago displayed in his buttonhole, and Quinn had Ian's more recent gift of the little clover in his. The tiny charms sparkled just a bit brighter in the sunlight today, just like the eyes of their favorite men.
They ambled up the path to the Faculty Club to get a bite to eat. Surrounded by a sea of students, they drifted on the currents past Taton Hall, since they didn't need anything from their office beforehand. At this time of year, the first buds were on the trees, and Quinn noticed that there were more animals on the park-like grounds than he'd seen in months. Rabbits, woodchucks, and squirrels scampered around them on their own quests for lunch. Quinn even thought he'd seen a fawn between the trunks.
The Faculty Club had been a good idea of Ian's that morning, since he knew they'd have specials for the holiday, unlike the fast food available at the student center. It was after the lunch rush, so the dining room was sparsely occupied, and the men smiled at each other when they calculated the time they'd save by not having to wait for a table. Since they had about four hours of classes and office hours left today, this was a sweet bonus from delaying their meal.
The club was decorated for the holiday in banners, depicting a Luke Skyhawk flying across the emerald-green heavens. They even had one with a gymnastic Skyhawk tumbling over a floor-exercise mat, in matching green, reminiscent of Ian's sweatshirt. The men chuckled; this was the first time that Ian's outfit echoed a restaurant's decor. Since the hostess knew them, she seated them by the gymnastics banner with a smile.
It happened to be one of their favorite spots -- the corner booth by a window, which looked out upon an oak tree, which had to be as ancient as Luke University itself, remarkable since Luke was 206 years old now. Their waiter came by with menus and a tray containing a basket that held two loaves of soda bread wrapped in a napkin and glasses of water for them. Just as Ian had expected, the club was offering holiday specials today, including bangers and mash, shepherd's pie, and Irish seafood chowder. He gave Quinn a jaunty 'Do your worst' grin, which his husband answered with a devil-may-care smile.
Ian heroically resisted the lure of bangers and mash, since they were going to Farrell's Pub at 8 o'clock this evening with Case, Ethan, and Evan. It was one of Farrell's specialties, and besides, it was always a challenge for Ian to eat sausages in front of Quinn when it was just the two of them in a booth, lest he get too provocative.
They opted to start with two bowls of the chowder, since almost seven hours had passed since breakfast. Ian decided upon the cottage pie, when the waiter recommended it, and Quinn had a hankering for a pork pasty. Quinn hadn't had the chance to eat many pasties, since the Cornish pasty he'd enjoyed at the Governor's Palace in Colonial Williamsburg. Both of them chose side dishes of champ, a mashed potato and scallion blend, along with boxty, an Irish potato pancake. All washed down with two pints of Guinness Stout.
They sat back at their ease, simply enjoying the oasis at their own private Emerald Isle, with the little shamrock and clover enjoying themselves right along with their men.
"So you're still on schedule in your Joyce seminar?" asked Ian, buttering a piece of warm soda bread.
Quinn nodded. "Yes, I'm covering the last chapter of 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man' this afternoon, and the midterm is scheduled for next week."
"Glad to see our snow day didn't set you back." Ian took a sip of water. "Looks like I'm going to squeak by with 'The House of the Seven Gables', as well. I'm wrapping it up at 6th period today, and the exam is this Monday." He pretended to wipe sweat off of his brow. "God forbid it had turned out to be 'The House of the *Six* Gables' instead, due to time constraints," he continued drolly.
"Oh, Ian! I imagine that it was the title of Hawthorne's first draft," Quinn replied.
"Nah, his publisher would have rejected it. Doesn't pack the same punch," Ian said, without missing a beat.
Chuckling as he took his second piece of bread, because he was in too good of a mood to even pretend to groan, Quinn said, "The students will never know all of the hoops we have to jump through for them."
This offhand comment prompted Ian to indulge himself with a little fantasy, starring Quinn as a basketball player -- the center forward -- for the Skyhawks. Ian pictured his guid-man (husband, master) dunking the ball through the hoop, as he raptly looked on, cheering from the stands. He gave Quinn an enigmatic grin -- his imagination was almost as vivid as the man sitting in front of him right now.
The soup course came, and they dipped their spoons in eagerly. It tasted wonderful, very similar to New England clam chowder, one of Quinn's favorites, but made with other types of shellfish and fish, as well. Even though it wasn't that cold outdoors, it brought them a welcome warmth, both inside and out, especially since it boasted a splash of Harp Lager on top.
Their waiter had timed the courses to a fare-thee-well, because just as Ian was laying down his spoon, and Quinn was discreetly using bread on his fork to scoop up the last of the cream, the man came by with their steaming entrees. Conversation trailed off for about fifteen minutes, while they enjoyed the meal. Quinn looked like he was nearer to paradise with each bite of his pasty, and Ian was close behind with his pie. Of course, Ian had to swipe a bit of his herven's pasty, but he also forked over some of his pie for Quinn. Since they had ordered the same side dishes, there was no need for high-level trading with them.
At last, Quinn said, "My mom knows how to cook a couple of these traditional dishes, but it's hard to find them elsewhere, except on St. Paddy's Day."
Ian nodded. "The only Irish cuisine you find everywhere is something like corned beef or stew."
"Luckily, I love a good corned beef sandwich, stacked high." Quinn ate the last bite of his champ with a sigh of satisfaction.
"Ah, the lunch of 'champ'ions," Ian quipped, delighted at the chance to get in another pun this afternoon, just when Quinn was off his guard.
Quinn obligingly gave his fear-cheile (husband) the groan he was so clearly anticipating, after missing out on Quinn's groaning earlier.
"Wish I could get any Scottish food at all over here," said Ian with a wistful smile. "When I was a wee lad, I had Cock-a-leekie soup on Sundays at my nana's house."
When Quinn heard the word 'cock' from his husband's mouth in public, he couldn't help the crooked grin that spread all over his face.
"Unfortunately, that's not as tantalizing as it sounds." Ian gave him an insouciant wink. "It's just chicken soup with onions, Quinn."
Both of them started to laugh, only catching their breath when the waiter came to their table with the dessert menu. Since his recommendation of the cottage pie had been such a success, they also took his suggestion of Porter cake to finish off the meal in style, although they'd never tried it before. The cake was made with dark beer and dried fruit, and turned out to be a tastier version of a fruitcake, very moist and dense. It had enough alcohol to be served in a tankard, so it was fortunate that each of them had only ordered one pint of Guinness with their meal.
The waiter gave them the check, but they were so relaxed after the feast that they stayed and chatted for a couple of minutes more.
Quinn said, "Now that was a proper coisir!" (party) Even though he saw that Ian had gotten his MasterGuard out, the waiter had left the check closer to Quinn, so he was able to reach it first, and then he paid it with a sweet smile.
Ian accepted defeat graciously, sliding his credit card back into his wallet. "A real treat," he agreed. "Thank you, handsome."
They left the club, opening the door into bright sunshine, with the temperature even warmer than it had been an hour and a half earlier, when they had walked over here. On the way to their office, they were greeted by a calliope hummingbird, a tiny little fellow who flew to their right and followed them up the pathway. Quinn's keen eyes were able to distinguish the subspecies because of the vivid green color on his back. The hummingbird started to sing for them, although he was probably trying to attract a mate, as well. It seemed like a continuation of the concert at Luke Chapel. The little songbird stayed with them until they reached Taton Hall, then veered off to fly into the nature preserve across from the soccer field in back of Taton.
They headed to the English Department office on the main floor, so they could check their campus mailboxes and see Jessica, Case's secretary, for messages. Case poked his head out of his private office to remind them about their date at Farrell's.
"Let's meet over at the pub at 8. That way, we can drive straight home afterwards," Case said.
Ian grinned. "A good day to make an early night of it."
They waved at both Jessica and Case, walked across the hall to the staircase, and climbed up to the second floor. Ethan and Evan's door was closed, so they went straight to their office next door. Ian turned the key in the lock, then gazed at Quinn with a look of sheer joy.
"Feels like we've celebrated the holiday already," he said with a lazy smile.
"That it does, little lad." Quinn took his husband into his arms, and the little shamrock and clover on their buttonholes winked at each other in a gleam of silver and gold.
Ian nestled closer to his herven, relishing his embrace at work. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, ma gradh."
"Happy St. Patrick's Day, m’fhíorghrá." (my true love) Quinn kissed him as if they were alone in Taton Hall.
And they were, in a way -- everything and everyone else had faded to insignificance in the Moment of their kiss. Apparently, St. Valentine wanted a joint celebration this year.
He got his wish.