by Jo McNally
Bridget sighed. When Nana decided she wanted something, she wanted it right then. No sense in arguing.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” It was dark, with just a narrow swath of purple on the western hills where the sun had set. The parking lot lights were flickering on as she stepped outside. She decided to leave her car where it was. She could always move it after she gave Nana the sweater. She couldn’t figure out the request for anything pink, but maybe Nana just wanted to fit in with the other ladies.
She stopped abruptly halfway across the lot. What was that glow from behind the pub? Was that...smoke? She broke into a run, pulling her phone from her pocket as she did. She was just about to tap in the final “1” on 9-1-1 when she got to the gateway to what had been a barren, muddy expanse a few short days ago. Not anymore.
Flagstones had been laid over the large area. The tables and stools were set up, with candles flickering softly. A low stone wall in the center surrounded a fire pit, which was where the smoke was coming from. A fire blazed in the center. It was surrounded by a water-filled moat, where the flames danced in reflection. The outer ring of stone doubled as seating. There was a bar in the corner, next to the back wall of the pub, where...was that a mural? It was a scene of the Irish countryside, and Bridget’s open mouth curved into a smile. It was all exactly as she’d imagined it. It was perfect.
But how...?
The strings of light bulbs overhead came on, making her blink and jump at the same time. The lights made it easier to see the small stage area in the other corner, and a little wooden dance floor in front of it. That’s where Finn O’Hearn stood, hands in his pockets, head lowered, looking at her through heavy brows. He looked intentionally casual, but she had the feeling he was ready to bolt.
The shock of the patio had rendered her speechless, but she walked toward him, stopping near the fire pit.
“What...? How...?” She looked around, seeing more details with each glance. “I don’t understand what’s happening.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or what you’re doing here.”
His head moved up and down slowly, his jaw working back and forth. He shifted his weight. He was nervous. He should be.
“What’s happening is that you have a lot of people who love you and we came together this week to give you something you wanted. A beer garden.”
Her lungs screamed for air, but she couldn’t breathe. She stopped breathing at the word “we.” He’d counted himself among the people who loved her, and it...hurt in a sweet, scary way. There had to have been some planning for all of this to come together.
“Nana was in on this,” she said. “The trip to Boston was set up to get me out of town.”
His mouth twitched, then he nodded. “She’d already planned the trip, but Mike was going t’ drive her. And yes, in case you’re wondering, she set this in motion. Along with her book club buddies.”
Finn was standing there, looking bashful and scared and a little amused. He was talking to her as if he’d never ripped them apart. She hated that his presence gave her the tiniest flicker of hope. Her voice was colder than she’d intended.
“And how did you get involved?”
He didn’t flinch. He was staying steely calm, as if he’d expected her anger. That made sense—he had to know she wouldn’t want him here. But there was a tiny-but-insistent voice in the back of her mind calling her a liar. A tiny part of her heart thrilled to be in this space with him, even if they were ten feet apart.
“Your grandmother helped me see the...uh...error o’ my ways.” He raised his head to look her straight in the eyes. Her knees went weak and she had to hold the back of a nearby stool to steady herself. She’d never seen him looking so vulnerable. So earnest. He cleared his throat and took a small step toward her.
“I was an arse before. You were right to call me out for bein’ a coward, love. I...I really did think I was keeping you safe from me hurting you, but I was keeping myself safe, too.” He took another step. “I was so afraid of being wrong about us, about you...that I’d get my heart torn up again...but...” He stopped, his hands rising, then falling to his side. “I love you, Bridget McKinnon. And that love isn’t going away. I don’t want it to. I want us to...” He moved closer. She told herself to retreat, but her feet refused to move. “We started out all wrong, with all the lies and stories and hiding and...” A flame lit in his gaze, scorching her with its heat. “And it was a hell of a good time.”
A laugh bubbled up in her throat. He wasn’t wrong. They’d had a lot of fun together. They’d shared their histories. They’d shared their bodies. They’d shared their hearts. Until he rejected her. The laughter slid away.
“Finn, we had good times, but I could never stop wondering if it was...”
“An act?”
She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. She looked up at him. “I just realized I got mad at you for doubting, but the truth is...I had my doubts, too. The whole fake engagement thing...”
He was right in front of her now. “There is nothing fake about how I feel about you, Bridget McKinnon. I love you.” He reached out and took her hands in his, sending a tremor of desire racing through her. “I want us to start all over. Start clean. No more lies. No more acting. No more worrying about what’s happened in the past.”
“Start over?” Was she grasping at straws here? Or did he mean what she thought he meant?
“You want us...”
“I want us to build this relationship from the ground up, Bridg.” He chuckled, glancing around. “I’ve gotten my hands dirty for three days getting ready for this, and I’m not afraid to get them dirty again. We’ll go slow...build a foundation...a real one this time. And when I ask you to marry me this time around, it will be one hundred percent real. As solid as this rock wall...”
She let her laughter loose this time. “Enough with the building analogies, Finn. I get it.” She searched his face for any shadow of doubt. “Are you sure? The last time...it hurt. A lot.”
He cupped her face in his hands, and she leaned forward, clutching his shirt. She’d missed his touch so damned much. His breath was warm on her face, but not as warm as the rumble in his voice.
“I swear by all that’s holy, by St. Patrick himself, that I will never hurt you again, love. I’m not saying I won’t screw up once in a while, but I don’t ever want to cause you pain.” He touched his lips to hers. “Don’t you see? Hurting you hurts me. Our hearts are one heart, Bridget. You’re as much a part of me as the air I breathe, and I swear that touching you like this...it’s the first real breath I’ve taken in weeks. You’re my...my life. My everything. I love you...”
“Finn?” She arched her brow at him, sliding her hands up his back under his shirt.
“Yeah?” His nose brushed hers.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He chuckled, sliding his arms around her and pulling her tight.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The kiss went on for a long time. She had no idea how long, but...long enough for her family to file out onto the patio and surround them by the time she pulled her head back. They hooted and hollered and yelled suggestions for what might come next. She and Finn just laughed and kissed again, earning more applause.
As he trailed more kisses down her neck, he whispered against her skin.
“Your family is crazy.”
She turned her head and winked.
“If my heart is your heart, my family is yours, too.”
He groaned, but she saw the laughter in his eyes.
“That’s a package deal I can handle. As long as I have you, I can handle them. Hell, as long as I have you, I can handle anything.”
They kissed again, and she heard champagne being opened. The first night on the patio. The first night of their lives together.
For real, this time.
EPILOGUE
September
“I THINK YOUR mother is determined to force me into buying an entirely new wardrobe with all her cooking.” Bridget looked out over the dark gray Atlantic Ocean and grinned back at Finn. “We’ll have to do one of these hikes every day just to work off the breakfasts alone. And that trifle your sister made for dessert last night. I swear I’ve never eaten so much food!”
His dark hair ruffled in the wind, matching the motion of the waves far below them. They were headed up the Cliff Walk path above the small town of Kilkee on the western coast of Ireland. Low, steely clouds scuttled across the sky, threatening the one thing she’d learned was a constant in Ireland—more rain. But the sky directly overhead was blue, and the sunlight turned the foam on the waves snow white against the dark water.
He followed her gaze to where the waves crashed against the rocky cliff.
“I tried t’ warn ya.” His accent had thickened over the past five days with his family in his homeland. “The O’Hearns are big on hospitality. And here that means food.”
He wasn’t kidding. Two days ago they’d taken the “family tour” throughout the countryside of counties Kildare and Laois, which, for some reason, was pronounced Leash. Bridget had given up guessing pronunciations here. All the traffic signs had English and Irish versions of words, and the Irish words looked nothing like the English ones. She may as well have tried learning to speak Vulcan.
They’d spent Tuesday driving from cottage to farm to homes where the front door opened right onto narrow streets in tiny towns. She’d met a dozen or more of Finn’s aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins-twice-removed, and friends that were considered relatives. Everyone welcomed them with food and drink.
First up was Bridie O’Hearn. Bridie was a wizened old woman living alone on a small farm at the end of a narrow lane. At first glance, it didn’t look as though she had two pence to rub together, but she’d served shots of whiskey as soon as they walked in, then served a feast for lunch. Soup, roast pork, potatoes, homemade bread and a cake for dessert that had to be ten inches tall.
There had been more food at the farm they went to next, along with a sip of poteen, the Irish version of moonshine. Bridget’s lips had burned for an hour afterward. Then scones with butter at the next place, with Guinness. And the last stop on the way back to Sallins, near Dublin, was when Bridget had tried to refuse any more. She thought she’d burst if she ate or drank anything else, but the hostess kept pulling out bottles of booze and soda, determined to find something that Bridget would accept. That’s when she realized she was offending the woman by refusing.
Finn caught up to her as they neared the top of the walk, sliding his arm around her waist. She leaned into him, soaking up his warmth, since the sun had decided to duck behind the clouds again and the wind was fierce. She looked up with a grin.
“I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving me at your aunt’s house the other night. I gave up and chose brandy because I figured it would be a smaller portion, but then she handed me that soup bowl of a glass...”
“And I came to the rescue by splittin’ ’twith you.” He nodded. “Aunt Mary is old school—never let a guest leave t’irsty or hungry.”
She laughed, reaching up to capture a lock of hair that whipped her in the face. “She never has to worry about that. Holy cow, the wind is intense up here!”
“So’s the view. Turn around, love.”
She did, and took in a sharp breath. They were a hundred and fifty feet above the pounding surf. A sharp cliff dropped to the foaming water crashing against it. The contrast of dark rock and white foam was a work of nature’s finest art. The tarmac walking path was a safe distance away from the edge, but Finn was leading her closer to the edge.
“Okay. This is close enough, thanks.” She dug in her heels. “What is it about the Irish that they don’t put safety rails anywhere?”
Finn snorted. “I think we’ve always figured if a person is foolish enough to fall off a cliff, that’s on them. Why ruin the view for everyone else with some nasty fence?”
“Well, it is quite a view, Finn. It’s incredible, and I’ve never even heard of Kilkee before.”
A harsh gust of wind sent fine mist up from the crashing waves below, and Finn pulled her closer. She gladly wrapped her arms around his waist as he answered.
“Oi, everyone knows the great Cliffs of Moher, but you saw yesterday how crowded that can be.” They knew they were in trouble when they saw four tour buses parked at the information center. The cliffs were hundreds of feet higher than this one, but there were people everywhere. Finn had seemed disappointed when she didn’t want to stay there longer, but he couldn’t argue that the crowds were annoying. Today they were alone, other than an older couple they’d passed sitting on a park bench halfway down the path, and a lonely golfer braving the wind at the neighboring course.
“I got the feeling you wanted to stay there longer yesterday,” she replied. “Is that a favorite spot of yours?”
An odd smile played at his lips, as if he was doing his best to squelch it and was having a tough time at it.
“All o’ Ireland is proud of the Cliffs of Moher, but I actually prefer these smaller spots. But you had to see at least some of the tourist traps here. If not, you’d just be sittin’ at Mum’s kitchen sampling everyt’ing.”
She rubbed her waist with her hand. “No! I mean, that sounds awesome, but my God, I can’t eat any more than I already have. But I do need to pry a few more recipes from her and your sister. That trifle last night...” She sighed. “That whole meal felt like a celebration dinner or something.”
He laughed. “It was a celebration. Of you. Being here.” He kissed her forehead. “They adore you, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why they keep throwing dinners for me. But last night was different...” Now that she’d said it out loud, she realized it was true. Last night had been strange. They’d driven home to find the dining table covered with an exquisite lace tablecloth she suspected only saw use on Easter and Christmas. Candles flickered in a candelabra, reflecting off the Waterford crystal at the place settings. She pulled back to look at him. “And what was up with all the whispering in the kitchen? Your sister seemed pissed at you.”
His jaw worked back and forth, and he finally started to laugh.
“You caught that, eh? Come ’ere, love.” He led her to a stone bench set back a little ways from the cliff’s edge. He sat, then tugged her down into his lap. She squealed in surprise, but he just shook his head to silence her. “Sit still, or I’ll be embarrassing me-self with a tent pole in my pants.” She settled in and wrapped her arms around his neck. She loved him so much, and told him so. His emerald eyes went dark with emotion.
“I love you, too, Bridg. That’s what last night was all about. You see, something was supposed to happen at the Cliffs of Moher yesterday, but there so many feckin’ people crawling around...” He shook his head, closing his eyes with a chagrined smile. “I had plans, Bridget. As usual, you upended them.”
The sun burst out from behind a cloud, bathing them in a bright, warm glow that seemed to extend in a small circle around the top of the cliff. Finn looked up, squinting, then lifted one shoulder as his eyes met hers again.
“I guess this is how it was supposed to happen all along, then. Just us on a cliff o’er the sea, sittin’ in the rare Irish sun.” He shifted her in his lap as he reached into his pocket and fished out something small and square. A box. A jeweler’s box. It was dark green, and she saw the words Dublin, Ireland in gold lettering under a logo she didn’t recognize.
“Finn...” She breathed his name, trying to slow her racing heart. Was this really happening?
“I’d intended to drop to my knee outside O’Brien’s Tower yesterday, but there were those busloads of kids and tourists crawlin’ all over it. Then you said you were ready to go, and...” His smile deepened. “I was in serious trouble with me ma and sis last night a
fter I’d texted them to say it didn’t happen. But I’m not waitin’ any longer. And I’m not kneeling on this feckin’ rock, either.” He shifted again, so they were face-to-face, her arms resting on his shoulders. He held up the box, and flipped it open.
“Bridget McKinnon, of the wild McKinnon clan in Rendezvous Falls, will you accept the love of a poor Irish professor with a questionable clan of his own?” His teasing smile softened, his eyes serious now. “Will you marry me, Bridget?”
She looked down at the intricate gold band of Celtic knots and a small, yet perfect, diamond in a low setting that would be practical in the kitchen. Finn’s lips brushed her cheek, his words barely a whisper. “It’s Maura’s diamond, love. We agreed it wasn’t a good idea to use her ring a second time, but she insisted I use the stone to have a new one made. So it’s still your Nana’s diamond. And you still haven’t said yes...”
The sun made a rainbow of colors flare up in the diamond, matching the flame flaring in her heart. Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat, but she nodded emphatically, swallowing hard.
“Yes, Finn. Yes, of course I’ll marry you. And your family.”
He barked out a loud laugh.
“Oi, we both come as a package deal, don’t we? The best package ever.”
He kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing fervor. It wasn’t until he started tipping her back that she remembered the ring was still in the open box in her hand. She pushed against him with her free hand, and he must have realized why, because he sat her up quickly. They both stared at the box, where the ring was sparkling safely.
“Let’s get this on my finger,” she suggested with a laugh, “before it rolls off the cliff.”
He looked down at the frothing surf and shook his head. “I’ve heard rumors of lads jumping off these cliffs at high tide, but even for you, love...no.” He slid the ring securely onto her finger, and they both admired it in silence for a moment.
