New York felt a world away from Ballylaggin, Cork—the quiet hometown where you and Patrick grew up. Neither of you had planned for this. He was only meant to be in the States briefly, a stop in Nashville to record some new tracks. On his way back, he detoured. Just New York. Just dinner with an old friend. Harmless.

He showed up at your apartment door with a bouquet of roses—New York’s finest, the kind of bouquet that used to make him cringe at the price. But now, with a few successful albums behind him, money didn’t sting like it used to. He wore dark jeans, a Ralph Lauren sweater, and a tailored brown coat.

“Two secs—literally!” you called from inside, rushing to the bathroom. You ran your fingers through your hair, dabbed on some lip color, tugged your jumper down over a brown skirt, and dashed back to the door.

“Hey, come in.” Then you saw the roses.

“These are for you,” he said, his Irish lilt as familiar as ever. He kissed both your cheeks, then smiled. “You look gorgeous.”

As he stepped inside, his eyes moved around the space. “Nice place. Cornelia Street, right?”

You nodded, a little flustered. What followed was wine, laughter, and a dinner that melted into a kiss on the walk home.

He never really left.

First it was a few days. Then a week. Then a trip back to Cork to grab more of his things. Before long, it wasn’t a visit anymore—Patrick Feely lived with you, right there in your Cornelia Street apartment.

It felt unreal.

One rare slow morning—no studio, no flights, no interviews—you were up early. You slipped quietly from bed, earning a sleepy groan from him. After a hot shower, you stood at the bathroom mirror, fixing your hair, smoothing your makeup.

In the mirror’s reflection, golden light spilled across the sheets, catching the soft rise and fall of his bare back. You flipped through songs playing softly in the background.

Then you heard him. Barefoot footsteps. His arms wrapped around your waist, warm and heavy, his voice still husky with sleep.

“Keep this one. I like it.” He pressed a kiss to your neck as the music played; track nine of lover.