by KT Webb
“A few years ago, I’d been dating a guy that I liked but didn’t love. If he’d have dumped me, I’d have been just fine. In hindsight, I should have ended things, but it never felt like the right time. Then he proposed, and I didn’t say a word,” wide eyes are focused on me around the table, and Gannon has stopped pretending he isn’t listening. “He left me in the restaurant and took off. I found out the next day that he’d been seeing my sister in secret for almost six months. Maeve was my best friend, and she lied to my face for six months. I found out that Vince only proposed to me because he didn’t think Maeve was serious about him.”
“Wow,” Molly breathes out her shock.
“Yeah, my parents made me feel like I was the one being immature about the situation. The worst part is, I didn’t care about Vince enough to be heartbroken over what he did, but I couldn’t forgive Maeve,” I realize an errant tear has escaped my eye, betraying the hurt I still harbor deep inside. “Anyway, they’re still together as far as I know. My grandparents were the only ones who understood my pain. They still loved me and cared for me when I lost everyone else. That’s probably why grandpa left me the farm and B&B. He wanted to leave it to someone who had nothing to lose, someone who could come here and do what he never did.”
I can feel Gannon staring at me, so I look up and meet his gaze. The hurt and understanding I’ve always wanted to see from the people who loved me most is there in his expression. He gets it. Whoever broke him caused him to build up his walls and cut people off, just like I did. A moment of recognition passes between us, and I feel like we see each other in a way we’d not known before.
“Well, I don’t know your sister or this Vince, but I think I’m safe in saying this, feck ‘em,” Molly says as she holds her drink up.
“Feck ‘em!” The others murmur, mimicking Molly’s action before they all take a drink.
I can’t help but laugh at their simplistic view of the situation. The Irish don’t seem to have time for bullshit. They take things at face value and build their opinions off the facts. Not that I want them to hate my sister, but I feel better knowing they all see that her actions were wrong.
After another round of drinks, a few have to excuse themselves as it gets later; they have children to get home to and church to attend in the morning. I respect that they’re dedicated to their families. The small group that ends up leaving around ten o’clock surprises me with hugs and promises to see each other soon. Other than Roald and his wife, Mary, there are three of us left around the table; Molly, Patrick number one, and me.
“We can stay for a bit longer, it’d be good to discuss how you’re going to handle the situation with the estate,” Roald gets right to the heart of the matter.
“Blake, I don’t know how you plan to go about this, but I’d like to offer my assistance. I actually happen to be a Probate and Estate Attorney in Tullamore,” Patrick number one offers.
I’m floored by his offer. I was perfectly fine just knowing this group of people were part of my family and didn’t hate me for something my grandfather did half a century ago.
“I would love some guidance on this. Honestly, I don’t plan to make any changes to things that are operating smoothly. Can we get together sometime this week to discuss it?”
I’m suddenly more excited to tackle the inheritance than I had been previously. I know next to nothing about this type of thing, and having to handle it myself felt like a daunting task. There were too many variables, and quite frankly, too many opportunities for people to take advantage of the clueless American girl. In the end, I schedule to meet with Patrick number one on Tuesday morning. Gannon offers to drive me to the appointment. As the night comes to an end, I bid farewell to my new friends who happen to be family.
“Meet me at Peavoy’s tomorrow morning! They’ve got pastries and coffee in the morning,” Molly whispers as she pulls me in for a quick hug before walking out the door.
I’m left with the reassurance that things are starting to move in my favor. The people I met tonight are only a small sampling of the cousins I have throughout County Offaly. Then, of course, there are the parents of these cousins; my parent's generation. They might be a little more challenging to face. From what I gather, many of them work the farm or run the dairy. Until they meet me, they will undoubtedly be worried that I intend to take that away from them. I can only hope they give me the chance to show them that I’m not the person they fear I will be.
“That seemed to go well,” Gannon nudges me as he comes to stand beside me.
“I think so. Patrick number one is going to help me with the estate.”
Gannon raises an eyebrow in my direction, “Patrick number one?”
Oops. Apparently, I’d gotten so used to saying it in my head that I let it slip out of my mouth.
“Um, yeah. See, there were two Patrick’s here tonight, and I numbered them in my head, so I didn’t mix them up,” I try to shrug it off, but Gannon’s smile is full of mirth.
“Would it help if I told you only Patrick number two is a Molloy? Patrick number one was born to a Molloy who married a Baldwin. He and his father own and operate a law firm in Tullamore called, Baldwin & Baldwin.”
“That does help tremendously. I thought it was weird that they were all Molloy’s. I was starting to think there weren’t any girls born into the family until my generation!”
Gannon laughs at me again, “You should probably head back to the cottage and take another pain pill. It’s got to be past time for one. Would you like me to walk you home?”
As much as I want him to walk me home, I see the expression on Pat’s face. Gannon left his best friend to clean up the mess from last night, I’d hate to have the same thing happen tonight. Besides, I’m a big girl, I can get myself back home. I politely decline and tell him I’ll probably see him tomorrow. Before I make it out the door, I realize something that causes me to turn around and ask Gannon for some help.
“Gannon? What’s a Peavoy?”
It turns out Peavoy’s is the little convenience shop just down the street from the Wolfhound. Molly is waiting patiently for me to arrive. As soon as I walk through the door, she nearly knocks me over with a hug.
“I’m so happy you’re not an arsehole,” she tells me cheerfully.
I can’t help but laugh at her forwardness. Molly is going to be a lot of fun. She’s already gotten us each a blueberry scone, there’s a steaming cup of tea sitting in front of her, and a coffee at my spot. I pop the lid on the travel cup to see she’s left a little room for me to add some cream and sugar. I’ve already determined that in order to get my coffee to the right level of sweetness, I have to use what the Irish call brown sugar. It’s nothing like brown sugar back home. I guess I would describe it as resembling those “in the raw” types of sugar more than I would compare it to the dense, packable brown sugar used for baking. Unfortunately, I haven’t received any of my packages containing the essentials I need to survive in Ireland without throat-punching people for expecting me to drink black coffee. I’ve checked the scheduled arrival date obsessively. I have to wait four more days for my coffeemaker and coffee pods to arrive, and just one day after that, I receive the ridiculous number of single-serve coffee creamer pods.
Until everything arrives, I must settle for sub-par coffee. It’s a tragedy, to say the least. Molly is telling me more about the dairy farm. Her father is the big kahuna there, so she’s got a lot of information that may help me in the future. I have no idea how to run a business. I’m going to need someone who knows the ropes and wants to work with me to keep Molloy Dairy operating. I’m hoping that he’ll be that person.
“So, tell me about you and Gannon,” Molly says, leaning forward in anticipation.
“What about us?”
“Ah, you admit there’s an ‘us’ to discuss?” Molly seems to be taking this as a triumph.
I shake my head, “No, I meant, what do you want me to tell you? I think we’re at the beginning of a great friendship.�
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Molly gives me a thumbs up and a wink, “Yeah, okay, we can go with that for now.”
I giggle and throw a sugar packet at her. “Seriously, he’s been great. I’m not going to lie, the man is sexy AF, but I don’t get the feeling he wants to be with me like that.”
“Well, I don’t think anyone has seen him this attentive to a woman since Madigan,” Molly takes a sip of her tea as though I should know what she’s talking about.
This feels like dangerous territory. If Gannon wants me to know about his past, he’ll tell me. I shouldn’t get the information secondhand. Still, I can’t help but want to know at least a little bit about whoever Madigan is. She must have been significant. Again, my mind returns to the whiskey bottle covered in dust. It can’t hurt to let Molly give me some of the necessary information, right?
“Who’s Madigan?”
Molly pales, “I’m sorry, I figured since you told us all about Vince last night, he’d probably tell you about Madigan. She was a vain bitch, in my opinion. Granted, she and Gannon are six years older than me, so we didn’t exactly hang out or anything.”
“Is she still around?” I hope she isn’t dead. There’s no way I can compete with a tragic lost love. Wait, do I want to compete? Maybe I do.
“No. Madigan Adams emigrated to England right after they graduated from college. It hit Gannon hard. I’m pretty sure he was drunk for a year straight after she left. It made it harder on him, knowing she left her family too. No one wanted her to leave, they expected her to stick around and start a family with Gannon.”
Wow. This Madigan must have really destroyed Gannon. No wonder he’s so closed off and afraid of getting too close. I make a mental note to continue to respect his space. If I push too hard, he might run for the hills.
“Adams? Is she Patrick’s sister?”
“Yes. It was Patrick who pulled Gannon out of his depression. Well, Patrick and Errol. They got Gannon started on the renovations for the Wolfhound. It really changed his life,” Molly grabs our garbage and throws it away.
I’m too busy mulling that information over to notice that Molly is ready to leave. I follow her lead, grabbing my coffee, and heading for the door. It’s raining outside, so I have no interest in going for a walk. Molly has to go to work soon, so she offers me a ride to the cottage. It’s only a few blocks away, but I don’t want to get soaked on the way. No need to add a cold to my list of ailments. As she puts the car in park to let me out, I can tell there’s something more on her mind.
“Blake? I can’t help but wonder if you were brought to him because you understand each other in a way no one else can. You’ve both been broken and found a way to pick up the pieces and move on.”
I don’t know what to say in response to that, so I nod my head and bid her farewell. As she drives away, I’m left wondering just how much of myself could be found in another person. Molly might be right. Maybe our broken pieces are meant to fit together to make us both whole.
From my meeting with Patrick Baldwin, I discover that his father has been managing the estate. Because of the transfer of ownership, they weren’t sure if I would prefer to work with my own attorney. I assured Patrick, who I now call Baldwin, that I wouldn’t dream of removing them from the account. If my grandfather trusted them to handle everything, then I would too. The business has been steady or increasing for a long time, and the investments have been made wisely by a financial advisor who has worked with Baldwin & Baldwin for many years.
I have a much better grip on the estate and what is expected of me as the owner of the businesses run by my family. I never realized just how much money my grandfather had, not that he kept a large percentage of it to himself. Baldwin showed me how much grandpa actually kept and how much went to help his family in Ireland live comfortably.
I have a lot of paperwork to get done, dotted lines that need my signature, and meetings to attend. The next three weeks fly by in a blur. I spend as much time with Molly and Gannon as I can, which often means I’m hanging out at the pub until the middle of the night. The funny thing is, things have fallen into a comfortable cadence with Gannon. Our attraction to one another has taken a backseat to our desire to get to know one another. I keep thinking about what Molly told me. Gannon has definitely loosened up in the time since I met him. I’ve seen a completely different side of him over these past few weeks.
Now, as I sit in the Wolfhound, absently rubbing behind Sarge’s ears, I’m feeling more at ease than I ever have. If someone had told me that I had to move to a whole different country to feel like I belonged, I probably would have come to Ireland years ago.
“You need another drink?” Pat asks even though he’s already pouring the whiskey over the ice in my glass.
“What are you trying to get me drunk or something?” I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m under strict orders from the boss not to let you get drunk, but I like to push the limits.”
Molly giggles next to me, she’s had a few more drinks than I have, and she’s feeling it. Since I’m done taking all the pain medication, I feel better about getting a little tipsy. We’re celebrating tonight anyway; I got the brace off today. My hand is healed and I’m excited to get planning my trip to Galway with Gannon.
“Alright, ladies, I’m cutting you off,” Gannon laughs. “Can I walk you back to your cottage?”
He aimed the question at me, but I know he means to include Molly too. We already planned our girl's night out perfectly. First, drinks at the Wolfhound, then ice cream and romantic comedies until we slip into a sugar coma. Gannon knows our plans, and he’s being the responsible adult and stopping our drinking before it ruins the rest of our plans.
“Why yes, sir, you can walk us home,” Molly giggles.
“The dog stays, ma’am,” Gannon gives me a stern look.
“Okay, okay! Let’s go.”
Once we’re outside, Molly and I stumble and giggle along the road that leads to the B&B. Gannon does his best to support us both while giving us enough space to feel independent. By the time we get to my cottage, where Molly left her car, it’s all we can do to stop laughing long enough to get the door open. For some reason, Gannon is looking closely at the vehicle.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling my buzz wear off at the serious expression on his face.
“Molly, all your tires are flat,” Gannon says as he squats down to look closer. “More than that, someone’s slashed them.”
“What?” Molly and I gasp at the same time.
“Let’s get in the cottage. I’d like to walk through before I leave you guys alone. I think we all know there’s only one bastard who would have done this, and I don’t trust that he didn’t try anything else.”
Gannon instructs us to stay behind him as he opens the door and starts turning on lights. We follow him, clinging to one another. It doesn’t take him long to determine we’re alone in the cottage, but he still looks uncertain. If I'm honest with myself, even with my slight buzz, I’m a little worried too.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to join us for ice cream and movie night?” I try not to sound too hopeful.
Luckily, Molly doesn’t object to my suggestion. Instead, I see her nodding out of the corner of my eye. Gannon looks between the two of us with wide-eyed disbelief. Then, he leans closer to me and makes my night.
“I don’t suppose you have whipped cream for that ice cream,” he whispers.
Thank God for Gannon.
When I realized the tires had been slashed on Molly’s car, I knew who was responsible. One flat tire could have been a coincidence, but to have all tires flat sent my senses into overdrive. I might be crazy, but I could practically feel the presence of another person in and around the cottage. If Roald was mad enough, he might be lying in wait for the girls. Even after doing a walkthrough, I wasn’t comfortable leaving Blake and Molly alone with the possibility of harm hanging in the air. Luckily, Blake found a way to get me to stay.
The girls fell asleep ha
lfway through the second movie. I didn’t want to leave them alone even then, so I left them to cuddle on the couch, and I took the bed in Blake’s room. Words cannot express how difficult it was to sleep in a bed that smells like Blake. I can only imagine how I must have looked with the pillow pressed against my face as I inhaled deeply. When I drifted off to sleep, my dreams were nothing short of erotic. Every single moment was filled with visions of the beautiful Blake Molloy in various compromising positions.
Now that I’m in the kitchen, making breakfast, I can’t help but revisit some of those unbelievable scenes. Being able to kiss, touch, and hold Blake, however, and wherever I want is beyond appealing. We’ve definitely gotten flirtier, but I know none of those things are on the horizon. It doesn’t stop me from fantasizing. I’m in the process of frying up sausage when I hear someone stumble into the kitchen.
“What time is it?’ Blake mumbles as she staggers toward the coffee maker.
