Mirror, Mirror

by Robb, J. D.

  “And why wouldn’t he?” Cullen looked her up and down. “I’m sure there are any number of men in New York who’d be wanting to look out for the likes of you.”

  She nudged his shoulder. “I don’t think you mean that in the same way I do.”

  “Trust me.” He caught her hand. “If I were your neighbor, I’d be looking out for you, Sydney.”

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to continue holding her hand as they walked along, talking and laughing. She found herself telling him about the special fruit Mr. Colosanti always saved for her, and the way he offered her any leftover deli orders, especially when she’d arrived home too late to think about fixing dinner.

  “Does he charge you extra for the food?”

  “He wouldn’t think of doing such a thing.”

  “Well, I’ve heard that big-city businessmen often take their customers for all they can.”

  “Mr. Colosanti isn’t like that. He’s more like my uncle or grandfather than my landlord.”

  “I see.” He smoothly changed the subject. “It’s glad I am to be sharing this visit with you.”

  As they rounded a corner they breathed in the wonderful fragrance of freshly ground coffee that drifted on the breeze.

  “I promised you breakfast,” Cullen said. “And it doesn’t get any better than Riley’s. Will Riley’s brother, Frank, has a farm just outside of town, which guarantees that the eggs are fresh, as is the bread his wife bakes every morning.”

  Instead of going inside the small restaurant, Cullen indicated a pretty arrangement of tables and chairs in a small courtyard. The minute they were seated, a young girl hurried over carrying a tray containing cups and carafes, one of coffee and one of tea. After taking their orders, she disappeared inside, leaving them alone.

  “Good timing.” Cullen sipped his tea. “With the workers already at their offices, and lunch still hours away, we have the place to ourselves.”

  “It’s such a clean, pretty town.” Sydney looked around with interest. “And everyone so friendly and cheerful.”

  They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the sunlight, and laughed at the antics of a bird determined to snatch a few crumbs from beside Sydney’s chair. Hunger overcame fear and the bird stayed until every last crumb had been devoured.

  When the waitress brought their bill, Sydney snatched it off the table and set some money on it.

  Cullen shook his head. “Have you forgotten? I invited you to breakfast.”

  “But it’s my vacation. I came here fully prepared to pay my own way.”

  “And now you’re paying mine, too.”

  She laughed. “You had an egg and some toast. I don’t think it will break the bank. I’ll let you buy next time.”

  “Promise?” He laid a hand over hers.

  “Promise.” She looked up into his laughing eyes and felt the curl of heat all the way to her toes.

  If there were a photograph of charm in the dictionary, it would be a picture of Cullen at this moment, Sydney thought. He could melt her heart with nothing more than the touch of his hand and that wonderful, heart-tugging grin.

  If she weren’t careful she’d start to believe in silly fairy tales, and happily-ever-after endings. But in truth, everyone knew that vacation romances were like wisps of fog, evaporating into the air without a trace. Vacation romances lasted for a few days or weeks, and then ended in strained good-byes.

  “Well.” She got to her feet and reluctantly took leave of the little restaurant. “It’s been a lovely tour, Cullen.”

  He caught her hand. Squeezed. “The tour has only just begun. The best part is yet to come.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Now you’ll see the rest of Innismere,” Cullen said with a smile. “All three square miles of it.”

  “It may be small, but the streets are so clean.” Sydney studied the scene before her. It was a busy, bustling little town. Windows of shops sparkled. People smiled as they greeted one another.

  Cullen paused to pick up a torn brown paper bag that had blown across the sidewalk in the breeze.

  As he tucked it into his pocket, Sydney laughed. “Do you always pick up litter?”

  At her question he arched a brow. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Sydney thought about his remark as they continued along. No wonder the little town looked so clean. If everyone did as he did, there would be no litter. Not just in a small town like this, but everywhere.

  Such a simple thing, but she found herself admiring him for it.

  She looked up at the church on the hill, its ancient silver cross gleaming in the sunlight. To one side was a low building.

  Before she could ask a question, Cullen explained. “Classrooms.”

  “Ah. A school for the parishioners.”

  “Not at all. This school is available to all the children.” At Sydney’s look of surprise Cullen added, “Some years ago the church and the city fathers agreed that it would be a better use of money if the church would donate the school to the town. Before that, students who wanted a public-school education had to take a tram to nearby Kerryville. Now they can remain in their own town and simply walk to school.”

  “Their parents must be thrilled.”

  “Indeed. As are the teachers.”

  Sydney pointed. “What’s on the opposite side of the church, in that little fenced enclosure?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you.” Keeping her hand tucked in his, Cullen led the way up the hill. As he swung open a gate, Sydney could see that they were in a little cemetery. Rows and rows of old and new grave markers were neatly spaced in a lovely area beside the church, on a sliver of land that looked out to the water.

  Letting go of Cullen’s hand, Sydney moved eagerly among the gravestones, searching for her father’s family plot. When she found it, she dropped to her knees and stared hungrily at the names and dates of her father’s ancestors.

  Cullen stood a little away, allowing her some privacy.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll never be able to remember all these names and dates.”

  He pulled some papers from his pocket and produced a pencil. “Hold this over the engravings, scribble with the pencil, and you’ll have a perfect replica.”

  She did as he suggested, and held the papers up, reading the names and dates of birth and death as clearly as if they’d been photographed.

  “Oh, Cullen. What a fine idea. I’d have never thought of this.”

  He made a grand bow. “Happy to be of service. Now you have the names of your ancestors, and their dates of birth and death.”

  Her eyes brightened as she got to her feet and tucked the papers in her pocket. “Tell me about the river below.”

  “’Tis the river Glass.”

  She nodded. “My father used to tell me stories about it. How he loved sitting along the banks of that very river and sketching all the lovely sights that caught his eye.”

  “And now you’re here and you can do the same, if you’ve a mind to.”

  She hung her head as a wave of sadness washed over her. “I’d always hoped to do it with my da beside me.”

  He put a hand beneath her chin, lifting her face to his. “You said yourself his picture holds him close. Who’s to say he won’t be right there with you as you sketch?”

  He could see her mood beginning to lighten once more.

  “Come on.” He caught her hand, swinging it as they turned back toward the town. “I believe I promised you some of Mary Francis Kelly’s barmbrack.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “And I’m known to one and all as a man of my word.”

  Long before they reached the heart of town Cullen had her laughing at the silly stories he told her about his antics as a child.

  “It sounds as though you were a handful for your parents.”

  “They were up to the challenge. I’m told my own father was a wee bit wild, until my mother tamed him.” He looked at their joined hands. “How about you? Did you ev
er drive your parents to despair? Or were you always the perfect child?”

  “Perfect?” That had Sydney laughing and shaking her head. “According to Margot, I’m a perfect failure.”

  “Who is Margot?”

  “My stepmother. My mother died when I was five, and my father told me he was overwhelmed with grief and guilt, thinking he’d never be able to do all the things a mother should do. When he met Margot, she had twin daughters who were older than I, and he was convinced that by marrying Margot, I would be surrounded by, not one, but three substitute mothers.”

  “That sounds like the perfect solution to a motherless child.”

  Sydney shrugged. “You know what they say. Man makes plans while the universe laughs.”

  He arched a brow. “Trouble in paradise?”

  She struggled to shake off the sad mood that always seemed to grip her when she thought about her relationship with her stepmother. “Something like that.” She took in a deep breath. “Bridget McCarthy told me that she’s your godmother.”

  “That she is. She claims she put a hand on my wee head in church and vowed to see me safely through this world. I’ll tell you this. She’s worked tirelessly to keep that vow.”

  “It must be wonderful to have someone so devoted to you.”

  “It’s grand. She was a dear friend of my parents, and I’ve always considered her a second mother.” Cullen looked up. “Ah, here we are.”

  Seeing the sign outside the bakery, they paused before stepping inside.

  The room smelled of bread baking, and the wonderful fragrance of cookies and cakes.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” Before they could say a word, Mrs. Kelly reached across the counter. On a small crystal plate were two slices of what appeared to be some sort of fruitcake.

  Cullen shot her a wicked grin. “I haven’t said what I wanted yet.”

  “No need,” she said with a laugh. “It’s always the barmbrack for you, Cullen.”

  “So it is. Mrs. Kelly, I’d like you to meet a visitor to our town. Sydney, this is Mary Francis Kelly.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Kelly. Cullen’s been teasing me all day with promises of your excellent baking.”

  “That’s so like our Cullen. ’Tis lovely to meet you, Sydney. Welcome to Innismere.”

  Sydney accepted a small slice of cake from the plate and, as she bit into it, couldn’t stop her sigh of pure pleasure. “Oh, this is delicious. It absolutely melts in my mouth.”

  “Thank you. I needn’t ask Cullen what he thinks. He samples one every time he stops in.”

  “I don’t think one slice will be enough today, Mrs. Kelly. You’d better give us three or four, at least. And two cups of your special herbal tea in those carryout cups.”

  When she’d filled a pretty little handled bag with two lidded cups of tea and several slices of barmbrack, Cullen accepted the bag. Before he could reach into his pocket, Mrs. Kelly stopped him. “Not a penny, Cullen. Now be on your way, the two of you.”

  She turned to Sydney. “I hope you’ll come back often while you’re a guest in our town.”

  As Cullen held the door, Sydney called over her shoulder, “You can count on it, Mrs. Kelly.”

  Cullen caught Sydney’s hand and led her toward a small park overlooking the river. Seated on an old stone bench, they sipped steaming tea and nibbled their cake, tossing the crumbs to the birds that darted about their feet.

  “Do you come here often, Cullen?”

  “Every chance I have. Whenever I’m in town, I find myself drawn to the park and the river.”

  “My father had such fond memories of this town.”

  “Did he tell you why he left?”

  Sydney shrugged. “He used to tell me that as much as he loved it here, he was driven to seek fame and fortune in America.”

  “It drove so many of our fine citizens to leave their beloved homeland. And did he find what he was seeking?”

  Sydney looked away. “I think, after my mother died, he lost that drive to succeed. He took solace in his work, and I know that he loved being with me as much as I loved being with him. But nothing was the same after her death. It was as though he was simply marking time until he could be with her again.”

  Cullen took her hand, his thumb running lightly over her wrist. “Theirs must have been a great love.”

  “It was. Though I’ve forgotten so much about my mother, I can still see the way she glowed when my father walked in the door. And I can hear the catch in his voice when he called her his special angel.”

  Cullen picked up the last slice of cake and held it to her mouth. “Take the first bite. We’ll share.”

  She did as he asked, and watched as he popped the rest in his mouth.

  “I guess this means it’s time to head back to the inn. I’m sure Bridget and Sean will be wondering if you’re ever coming back.”

  “I hope they’re not worried.”

  “They know you’re safe with me.”

  Something in the way he said it had Sydney glancing up at his face. He merely smiled down at her before taking her hand and leading her back along the curving sidewalk, regaling her with tales of his teen years in town.

  At the door to the inn, Cullen paused. “I wish I could join you for dinner here tonight. Bridget’s pot roast is the finest in town. But I have an appointment.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve given me an entire day. And for that I thank you. But I’m sure you have better things to do. It’s time you got back to your busy life.”

  His grin was quick. “My busy life can wait. I can’t think of a better way to spend my time than with you, Sydney.”

  Before she had time to realize what he was planning on doing, he lowered his head and brushed her mouth with his. It was the merest touch of lips to lips, and yet she felt the heat of it all the way to her toes.

  Caught off guard, her eyes went wide as she clutched his waist.

  His eyes remained steady on hers as his arms came around her and he drew her closer, covering her mouth in a kiss so hot, so hungry, she felt all her breath backing up in her throat. A sizzle of pure energy rippled through her, heating her blood, speeding up her heartbeat until it was throbbing at her temples.

  As she returned his kiss, she had the strangest sensation. As though she’d found home in this man’s arms. A haven in his kiss.

  Very slowly he lifted his head and stared down at her with a probing, almost fierce look in his eyes.

  With her head still swimming, she heard the deep timbre of his voice. “Spend tomorrow with me.”

  “You have a life . . .”

  He touched a finger to her lips to still her protest. At once she felt another quick rush of heat and stepped back, lifting her face to his.

  “How about a picnic on the banks of the river Glass? You can bring along your paints and canvas, and you can sit and sketch, just as your father did.”

  “Oh, Cullen. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

  “Good.” He lifted a hand to brush a strand of her hair from her eyes. At that simple touch, his eyes narrowed on her, and she felt certain he was going to kiss her again.

  She wanted him to. Wanted that tingle of warmth, that feeling of belonging in his arms.

  Instead he took a step back. “Tomorrow then. I’ll be here around ten.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  She watched him walk away, wondering at the way her heart was thundering.

  How would she ever be able to wait until ten o’clock to see him again?

  How had she lived so long without a warm, vital, exciting companion such as this?

  Fanciful, she thought, with a hand to her heart. Hadn’t she always been too much of a dreamer?

  Now she was seeing way too much in a man who was simply being generous to a visitor to his town.

  Still, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Ah, there you are. Good morning, Sydney.” Bridget McCarth
y, wearing a fresh red and white polka-dotted dress and her ever-present pearls at her throat, greeted Sydney as she descended the stairs. “There’s breakfast in the dining room.”

  “Thank you, Bridget.” Sydney followed the wonderful fragrance of coffee to a sunny room, where the table was set with fine crystal and lace, and a sideboard displayed bacon, omelets, toast, and an assortment of jams.

  As Sydney filled her plate, Bridget called, “With the weather so fresh, feel free to take your meal out to the courtyard if you’d like. We’ve a lovely old table and chairs set up amidst the gardens.”

  Sydney couldn’t resist the offer, and found herself sitting on a cushioned chair, breathing in the wonderful perfume of flowers as she enjoyed steaming coffee and a breakfast fit for a queen. A cheese and spinach omelet, with strips of thick, crisp bacon, and cinnamon toast slathered with strawberry preserves. It all seemed so rich and decadent, considering her usual breakfast consisted of an apple or occasionally a slice of toast with peanut butter, eaten on the run.

  As a fountain splashed nearby, she sat back. What if she had resisted the urge to follow her heart and come to her father’s home? What if she’d done as Margot suggested and used the money for something practical? She would have never known such a beautiful, magical place as this existed. She would have missed this amazing adventure.

  Amazing? It was priceless. And there was no denying that Cullen added to the magic. Without him she would have never stepped into Mary Francis Kelly’s bakery and sampled her marvelous barmbrack. Without Cullen she may have missed the tiny church cemetery where her ancestors were buried.

  And today . . . Her heart skipped a beat at the promise of a picnic along the banks of the river Glass. That tantalizing thought had kept her awake for hours last night. Or had it been something . . . or someone . . . else that had robbed her of sleep?