Oil sizzled in the frying pan as Andrew slid two chicken breasts into it. He was in the kitchen at Molly's making dinner for the two of them. She was on the other side of the kitchen chopping items for a salad while James Brown played softly in the background.

"Chicken's in," he said, walking over behind her. "Should be done in ten. How's the salad coming along?" He slid his hands around her waist.

She finished chopping a green bell pepper and slid it into a large serving dish on top of lettuce and grape tomatoes. "Done," she answered. "I'll go set the table."

He returned to the stove and watched her set the table outside on the patio. Several candles flickered in glass jars at the center of the small table and the setting sun was reflecting off of the pool's rippling surface. He turned the chicken over and sprinkled some pepper on the cooked side just as Molly came back in.

"That smells divine," she said with a smile. "When did you learn to cook so well?"

"My mum," he answered proudly. "She always insisted that Jon and I help prepare meals so that we could, and I quote, 'learn to survive an apocalypse'. I guess she thought us living on our own meant we'd be starving otherwise."

"Your mother is quite the character," Molly said, leaning against the bench top. "I liked meeting her. I'd love to see some of her work sometime."

Andrew smiled and scratched his head nervously. "I - ehm - sure. I'm sure she'd like that."

She cocked her head. "Unless...you don't want me to spend any more time with her?"

He shook his head. "Its not that," he stammered. "It's just..." he bought himself more time by flipping the chicken and removing it from the pan. "It's just that she doesn't usually show her studio to people. So I don't know if she'll open it up to you."

She followed him out onto the patio carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. "What have you been up to since we got back?" she asked, sitting down across from him.

"Writing mostly," he answered. "It takes a lot longer than most people realize."

"How long does it usually take?"

He tilted his head as he thought. "Sometimes a few months, sometimes a year. 'Take Me to Church' took a year to write and find the melody."

"A year?" Molly said in surprise. "That seems like a long time to write just one song."

He smiled over his wine glass. "Its not like I'm only writing that one song the whole year. I work on a lot of things simultaneously."

"Do you have completed songs you haven't released yet?"

He shrugged. "Maybe," he smiled coyly.

"What was it like the first time you heard your own song on the radio?" she asked as she brought a piece of chicken to her mouth.

"Like heaven," he grinned, remembering the moment keenly. "I remember it exactly. I was waiting for a train with Alex back from Dublin and we caught the hind end of 'Church' from the station master's office. We almost missed the train because we were too excited to pay attention." The moment of happy shouts and screams as a train blew past them still rang in his ears like it was yesterday, his voice blaring from the speakers of the shitty radio. "Easily one of the top ten moments in my life. Easily."

"You and Alex are pretty close, huh?" she remarked.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm really, really lucky. We met at Trinity and just managed to stay in touch and keep a friendship going through the years, even when I dropped out. And to get to tour with him and live this crazy life with him is just an intense blessing." He took a bite of food. "You know, a lot of musicians don't have the luxury of having familiar faces around them. Your touring band just comes and goes. But Alex - and Rory, my drummer for that matter - has just always been constant."

"Do you ever worry he'll leave, though? That he'll get tired of following you around the world?" Molly asked.

"Sometimes. But when you've been through what we've been through, its hard to find a reason for him to want to leave. We've had fights and made up and he's been with me since the beginning. If he wanted to leave, sure I'd be upset - he's like my second brother. I can't imagine going on stage without him there on my left," he swirled his wine glass around. "But at the same time, I love him and I want him to be happy. So if he found something else that made him happier than following me around the world, as you put it, I'd definitely be happy for him."

"Do you guys usually spend a lot of time together when you're not on the road?"

"It just depends. He's got a life in Dublin and other things he's working on. So we don't usually have the time," he explained. "Plus when you're at home, you just want to enjoy the time you've got without reminders of the road."

"Have you ever tried dating someone while you've been on tour?" she asked, sitting back, her plate clear.

He blinked, trying to decide why she'd ask that question. "I - ehm - I don't think so, no." Was she asking out of curiosity or for some other purpose? "Its just never been easy to keep a relationship going while touring. Different cities and time zones and the demands on my time usually just make things fall apart. I mean, the last time I toured, it was for two-and-a-half-years, almost straight. No way could a relationship have survived that."

"But isn't Alex dating someone?" Molly asked.

"Yeah. But he doesn't have the same amount of demand on him that I do. He's not signing autographs after shows or doing photo shoots or interviews and all of that other shit. He has way more time than I do," Andrew explained. "Plus, when I'm on a break from the tour, it doesn't mean I'm not working. The rest of the band gets time off, but I'm usually still doing press for another week or so."

"It doesn't sound like a great life to me," she remarked. "I think I'd hate the level of isolation that must come along with all of that."

He shrugged. "Its a small price to pay to live my dreams, I suppose," he reasoned. He shifted in his seat. "What about your dreams, Molly? What do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure," she said, looking out across the pool.

"You had to have had a dream at some point when you were a kid," he needled. "Like, I wanted to be the red Power Ranger at one point."

She laughed. "I wanted to be a figure skater," she said slowly, still looking across the water. "When I was younger, I remember watching figure skating on TV and just being amazed by how these young women seemed to float across the ice with so much grace and ease."

"So why didn't you go for it?" he asked.

"Costs money. We didn't have the money for it," she answered, looking back at him. "So it would seem it was just a child's dream."

"I'm too tall to be a Power Ranger now anyways," he smirked, making her laugh.

"I don't think you'd be very good at it," she remarked. "You're like an Ent. Pretty easy target."

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. "How do you think I feel? I literally outgrew my dreams."

Their laughter settled down and she looked at him across the table. Her eyes glittered in the candle light. "Do you want to go for a swim?" she asked.

"I didn't bring my swimmers," he said, looking at the water. "Won't it be cold?"

"Its heated," she replied, standing.

He watched as she reached behind her neck and shoulder blades and pulled at the ties holding her dress up. It fell to the concrete without a sound. She stood before him in just her underwear. Molly slid them down and kicked them in his direction.

"You don't need a suit, either," she added, looking over her shoulder as she stepped down into the water.

He felt his heart rate quicken as the water swallowed her for a moment. When she emerged from the surface, her long hair hung down her back, wet and glistening in the light from the house.

"Come on in," she urged, spreading her fingers out on the surface of the water.

Andrew stood and stripped his clothes off before wading in after her. The water was like bath water, warm and steamy. He slid under the surface, enjoying the free feeling being naked in water gave him. The air hit his skin and sent goosebumps across it when he surfaced; not even the steam rising from the water could stop the cold from creeping in.

Molly was on the opposite side of the pool, her clavicle even with the water's surface. The lights in the pool's walls cast her in a warm glow, making her look like a goddess shimmering in the sea. He closed the space between them as a hunger grew in his core.  Molly looked at him with confidence and for once, he just wanted to wipe that smug look from her face. For some reason, the thought that she had such control over him angered him in that moment.

"Up," he commanded, slapping the smooth tile of the pool's edge.

"What?" she asked.

He didn't repeat himself. Instead, he scooped her up, one hand on each ass cheek, and deposited her on the very edge of the pool. Before she could protest about the cold, he shoved her knees apart roughly and dropped his head between her thighs. A smile crossed his lips when she sighed his name and relaxed as his tongue drew lazy circles around her clit. He didn't wait for that first shudder to completely leave her body before he plunged two long fingers into her and set to work biting the inside of her thigh.

"Oh holy fuck!" Molly exclaimed.

He felt her fingers clutch at his hair and he smiled again. He'd have her begging by the time he was done. He didn't have to wait long, surprisungly enough.

"Please, Andrew," she sighed. "Please."

He pulled away and looked at her for several seconds, taking in her hardened nipples and ragged breathing. "Please what?" he asked with a smirk. He bit the inside of her thigh again, enjoying the way her legs trembled under his touch.

"Please fuck me," she whimpered.

He pulled her up by her wrists and eased her into the water, holding her tightly around the waist. Her legs naturally wrapped around his slim hips and he slid into her with ease. A small moan escaped her lips and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The water created drag, forcing him to move slower than he would have liked to. Still, it was nice to go slowly and feel the heat build between them with each stroke.

Andrew steadied himself with one hand on the edge of the pool and pushed her against the wall, kissing her slowly. He slowly thrust into her, enjoying the way small moans escaped her lips each time he moved in her. He rested his forehead against hers, allowing his eyes to stare into the dark chocolate of hers.

Each stroke inched him toward a climax. He didn't feel the chill of the air on his chest, nor did he pay any mind to the wrinkles forming on his finger tips. He was entirely consumed by Molly, lost in a world of lust and desire, with James Brown and her moans as the only sounds he heard.

"Shit, I'm close," she whimpered, her nails digging into his back.

He felt her legs start to shake around him and he knew she wouldn't last much longer. He cursed into her shoulder as he emptied himself into her, slapping one hand against the pool's edge and gripping her ass with the other. They stood like that for several seconds, trembling in each other's arms as their heart rates slowed and they came out of the haze.

She was weightless in his arms and he held her close as the night's chill began to set in around them. James Brown had given way to Etta James and "Sunday Kind of Love" was drifting out of the open patio doors. For several moments, he just stood there, cradling her against his chest, enjoying the way he could feel her heartbeat against his skin.

"Holy fuck," she mumbled. "That was..."

"Unbelievable," he smiled, smoothing her wet hair away from her face. "Come on. Let's get out before we turn to prunes."

He carried her to the steps and helped her out on shaky legs. He wrapped a blanket around her before finding his own towel from a pile near the door. He was shaking by the time they both made it inside. The pool had been heated, but the cool night air was doing neither of them any favors.

"Come on," Molly urged, leading him upstairs. "Get in the shower. It'll warm you up."

He felt his teeth chattering as he stood next to her in the bathroom while the shower ran. Steam filled the room and the mirror in front of him slowly started to fog over, blocking his face from view. Warmth crept into his body when he stepped into the hot water. He began to regain feeling in his fingers and toes as the heat inched through each part of him.

When they had both showered, they wrapped themselves in thick blankets and settled on the floor in front of the fireplace and split a chocolate bar between them.

"If you weren't a musician, what do you think you'd be?" she asked. "Don't say Power Ranger."

He smiled. "I don't know. Maybe a writer, a poet or something like that. I enjoy poetry quite a bit, so maybe I'd do that."

Andrew gazed at her, taking int he way her skin glowed int he firelight. He wanted to take a photo to remember her exactly like that, a thing of beauty to keep forever. "Are you busy tomorrow?" he asked, not wanting their time together to stop. The few days since their camping trip had been more than enough time for him.

"I actually am," she said. "I'm taking the train up to Belfast for the weekend. I need to pack."

He blinked, trying to hide his disappointment. "Oh. That'll be fun. Have you never gone before?" he asked.

Molly shook her head. "Nope. I figured I should see more of Ireland than just Dublin and the cities around it."

"Oh ok. So you'll be back next week then?"

She nodded and opened her mouth to respond but a crash outside drew her attention. "What was that?" she asked.

His heart started racing as Molly stood. Another crash increased the urgency. Andrew stood, keeping the blanket wrapped around his waist. He looked out the window and saw several torches shining in the darkness near the main house. Another crash made him jump. He looked over and saw Molly already wearing her clothes from earlier.

"Molly - wait! Don't go out there alone," he hissed. "Fuck, where are my pants?!" he growled, shuffling through fabric on the ground on the patio.

He stumbled into his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head as he rushed after Molly. She was jogging down the path toward the main house barefoot and another crash filled the air.

"Molly, wait!" he whispered, grabbing her hand and pulling her to a stop. "What are you doing? Just call the police!"

"They're breaking into the house! I can't just wait around until the police show up!" Molly said, pulling her wrist away.

He saw she had a cricket bat in her free hand. "What the hell are you gonna do with that?!"

"What do you think?!" she said as she ran ahead.

He cursed under his breath and followed her. When he caught up to her, he saw four young men throwing rocks toward the main house. Darkness surrounded everything and his senses were on overdrive. All he could see was what the torches and the lights in the landscaping illuminated. The men were shouting in Romani.

"Stop!" Molly shouted.

The men stopped and spoke to each other before walking toward them.

"Stop, or I'll call the police!" she said again, firmer.

Andrew stood next to her, hoping he wouldn't need to do anything more. The men continued their advance and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The leader smirked as he walked around Andrew and Molly, speaking to the others in Romani.

And then Molly opened her mouth and responded to the man in perfect Romani. The expression on Andrew's face had to pale in comparison with the leader's face. Andrew barely had time to pick his jaw up off the ground before the two began conversing in rapid-fire. From Molly's tone and expression, he could tell she was pissed off. Not thirty seconds later, the men were running down the driveway as fast as their legs could carry them. They didn't even stop when one of them tripped and fell. As the last man disappeared, Andrew turned to her.

"What in the fuck just happened?" he asked, his heart still racing.

"Go inside," she said, walking toward the front gate.

"What? No! I'm not leaving you outside like this, with those assholes running around!" he said following her.

"I'm just locking the front gate and setting the alarm," she told him. She pulled the gate shut, locked it, and putting in the alarm code to arm it. "Come on," she said, pulling his hand back toward the guest house, walking rapidly.

"What just happened, Molly?" he asked again.

She sighed. "I told them to leave."

"You didn't just tell them to leave, Molly. You spoke Romani," he said slowly. "As far as I know, only Roma people learn and speak that language. So what the hell is going on?"

They reached the house and went inside. "Why don't you tell me what you think is going on," she said, closing the door after him.

"You spoke Romani," he started, his mind struggling to put the information he had in order. "But the only people that speak it are Roma - gypsies. Holy fuck, are you a gypsy?!" he asked, looking at her in shock.

She winced at gypsy. "Don't call me that."

"Shit, sorry. I didn't - I've never met any gy-Roma before so, I don't really know what you like to be called," he stammered.

She looked at him like he was stupid. "Call me Molly. Jesus Christ, I have a name," she said, tension filling her voice. "I'm Roma, but I don't see why it should matter."

"I - I just didn't know. You never told me," Andrew answered.

"Why should I have told you?" she asked, anger rising. "We've been seeing each other for like, a month now. Its not like we're planning a future together. I don't have to tell you every damn detail of my life." She walked onto the patio and began clearing dishes. "Jesus Christ, Andrew, I'm allowed to have secrets, aren't I?" she demanded, slamming one of the plates down onto another. A wine glass fell off the table and shattered on the ground, sending glass and red wine across the patio. "Shit!" she cursed.

Andrew rushed over to the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel. "Here, let me," he said, kneeling on the ground.

"You don't have to-," she insisted.

"Yes, I do. Molly, its fine," he said, staying her hand. "Its fine," he repeated.

He saw tears fill her eyes and she whipped away from him, walking through the house quickly, leaving him on the patio alone. Part of him thought to go after her, but the voice of reason in his head told him to give her space. Something had seriously impacted her and he knew that pushing her then would only create more issues. She needed space and he was glad to give it to her.

Once he cleared up the broken glass, he did all the washing up, complete with the dishes from cooking. He folded the blankets on the back of the sofa and made sure everything on the patio was cleaned up before putting out the fire in the fireplace. By the time he was finished, he was halfway through Aretha Franklin's repertoire and Molly still hadn't emerged from her bedroom. Without any other tasks to see to, he bit the bullet and headed upstairs after shutting off the music.

When he opened the bedroom door, he found her laying on the bed, facing away from him. He closed the door and sat on the other side of the bed.

"Molly." She didn't look at him. "Are you okay?"

She didn't respond.

"I cleaned everything up downstairs," he told her. Her silence was unnerving. "I'm sorry if I overstepped," he whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Can we just go to sleep please?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he answered, turning off the light and climbing into bed.

As he settled under the blankets, he felt her fingers brush against his hand. Maybe you didn't fuck it up afterall, he thought.

***

Three days later, Andrew was at his parents' house having a jam session with his father. It had been too long since he'd just sat down and played with him. And with Molly gone for a few days, it seemed like the perfect time. He was in the middle of a light blues riff when his dad signaled that he needed a break.

"Get me a tea, will you?" John asked.

Andrew happily obliged, setting his guitar down and heading to the kitchen. He pulled the familiar Barry's can from the cupboard and began heating the water. He was so in his own thoughts that he didn't hear his dad speaking to him.

"What have you been up to lately?" his father asked again as he shuffled into the kitchen.

"Oh - ehm - nothing really. Writing mostly," he said.

"Spending time with Molly?" John asked suggestively, arching an eyebrow with a smirk.

Andrew sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dad, seriously? Come on." The last thing he wanted was to have any conversations about his sex life. "We're just friends."

"Andy, if I looked at all pf my female friends the way you looked at her that night, you'd have quite a few more siblings," John smiled.

Andrew ignored the comment. "She's fine, I guess. She's in Belfast for a couple days."

"Oh? That must be nice," John said. "She's a nice girl. Shame she won't be here for long."

Andrew sighed. He hated it when his parents got involved in his private life. They weren't exactly nosey, but he knew they had an interest. Molly was the first girl he'd introduced to them in years.

"Don't read too much into it," Andrew warned. He poured hot water into the cups.

"I'm not, I'm not," John chuckled, sitting at the table.

Andrew sat opposite him and started sipping his tea. The events from earlier in the week flashed through his mind, Molly's upset voice ringing in his ears. The morning after, he had returned home and tried to find out as much as he could about the Roma people, but Google's information had been surprisingly limited. His interest was still piqued but he didn't dare ask Molly anything. But he knew his dad had worked with several Roma musicians before he was born, so he hoped his father was more help than the internet had been.

"What do you know about the Roma?" he asked, putting his cup down.

"As in the Roma people?" John asked, sucking air in. "Not much. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. Molly and I had a run-in with them over at her place. It was really strange," he explained.

"What happened? Usually they stick to themselves," his father remarked.

Andrew shook his head. "They were throwing stuff at the main house and we came on them in the middle of it. Molly spoke to them for like, thirty seconds and then they were running like bats from Hell."

"That's odd," John said.

"No, what's even more odd is she spoke Romani to them," Andrew said.

"She's Roma then. That's interesting," the older man remarked, draining his cup.

"What do you mean?"

"She's getting a second degree. Finding a Roma woman in America with anything more than a high school degree. She's got not one, but almost two degrees," he explained. "So she either comes from an incredibly progressive Roma family or her family has disowned her."

"Disowned?" he asked.

John nodded. "The Roma are a fiercely proud people that value their traditions," he explained. "And after centuries of discrimination, they do their best to stick to them. Some are modernizing, but most still hold on to the old ways. One of them being that women typically don't go to university."

"She never told me about any of this. Matter of fact, she changed the subject and got really upset once I found out," Andrew said.

"If that's how she's acting then its a good sign that her family disowned her," John remarked. "Shunning from the Roma community usually means you're forbidden from talking to anyone in your own family."

Suddenly everything made sense; her desire to keep it a secret, her dislike of the subject, her extreme reaction when he figured it out, her dislike of discussing her past. Molly didn't want to talk about her past because her family had disowned her. Why would you bring that up to anyone?