Page 165 of Trying Sophie

I took a deep breath and then exhaled, long and slow. “Excuse me everyone,” I called out over the din. “Excuse me!”

When no one quieted, Declan came to stand next to me. Whistling loudly, the sound piercing through the noise, he hollered out, “Oi!” Immediately the room fell silent.

I sent him a look of thanks and took a tiny step forward while at the same time, he and my grandparents took a few steps back, leaving me the center of attention.

“Everyone,” I began but faltered.

I’d had a whole speech mapped out, but suddenly the words I’d planned to say seemed stilted and formal. This wasn’t some presentation I was giving at a travel conference. These were, as my grandpa had said, people he and my grandma had known their whole lives. They were the faces of the people who’d be in my life forever now as well.

“First, I want to thank you all for how welcome you’ve made me feel these past couple of months. I know I’m a bit of an outsider—”

“You’re a Fitzgerald!” someone shouted from the back of the room which was greeted with murmurs of agreement.

“Thank you, and yes, I am.” I smiled and glanced around, making eye contact with as many people as I could manage in a few, quick seconds. “Which is why I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that I’m the new owner of Fitzgerald’s.”

When a collective gasp went up—this time in surprised delight—the crowd clapped and cheered and the next thing I knew, I was enveloped in a series of hugs and bestowed more kisses and back pats than I’d ever had before. Amidst all this, I sent a covert glance Declan’s way. Technically, I wasn’t the sole new owner but we’d decided to keep the loan he’d given me a secret from everyone, including my grandparents.

I’d been able to convince my Grandparents Newport to give me a sizable advance on my trust to cover the majority of the costs when I’d presented them with a business plan for a revamped pub that included turning the upstairs area into a series of guest rooms. My grandfather had surprised me when after our formal FaceTime meeting he’d called me back and told me how proud he was to see me turning into a business-minded young lady. With his stuffy, traditional ways, I’d always thought he believed a woman’s job was to support her husband’s endeavors, but to hear him now, he was more proud of me than he’d ever been before. He’d transferred the money into my bank account that very same night.

And Declan’s involvement? Well, after repeatedly telling him I wouldn’t accept a dime of his money, he’d loaned me €75,000—with interest (that was my stipulation for accepting). He hated I wouldn’t accept the cash as a gift—going so far as to tell me I should consider it payment for all the times my grandpa had stepped in and talked some sense into him—but any way you sliced it, I just wasn’t comfortable taking it with without a contract for repayment.

With the exception of a small shut down for two weeks in late January to take care of a kitchen update and other necessary repairs in the downstairs area, the pub would stay open while Cian’s uncle’s company would gut and remodel the upstairs into the new guest rooms. Once everything was done, I planned to host a party for the community to re-christen the space as Fitzgerald’s Inn and Pub.

And the absolute best part of this whole plan was that with the profit my Grandparents Fitzgerald made from selling to me, they’d already put down a deposit on a small, tidy cottage two kilometers up the road. My grandpa would get to stay a permanent fixture behind the beautiful copper bar he’d tended for decades, while my grandma, god love her, insisted on staying in the kitchen. I’d tried to get her to retire indefinitely but she’d explained she loved cooking for people and it gave her something to do with her time. In the end, we’d agreed she’d cook the lunch meal, but she was definitely going into semi-retirement.

In fact, I already had a new cook lined up for the evening meal who specialized in gastropub fare and I thought the combination of the traditional Irish pub food my grandma cooked during the day, paired with his high-end meals at night, would be a great update that would keep our regulars happy while driving new clientele. And yes, I was putting in the beer garden out back come summer, in hopes of luring the seaside day trippers who came down this way on the train.

Once everything was done to my liking, the plan was for my friend who worked at a paper in London to come for visit and write an article about the revitalized Ballycurra, espousing it as the lovely new weekend getaway. Between the new manor house hotel and golf course, the upscale restaurants in town, and a remodeled Fitzgerald’s, we had quite the adorable little destination on our hands. I might even be able to get my mom out for a visit.

“Come with me,” Declan whispered. “I want to give you your Christmas present.”

With the party in full swing, I didn’t think we’d be missed if we snuck away for a bit. “Yeah,” I said. “Upstairs?”

“Nope,” he smiled conspiratorially. “Just come with me,” he repeated, taking my hand and leading me to the coat rack by the door.

Shrugging me into my jacket, Declan reached around and pulled my hair out from under the collar. When I finished wrapping my scarf around my neck, he kissed my nose, opened the door, and ushered me outside, his palm resting against the flat of my back. The second we stepped over the threshold, I was assaulted by the cold, my breath turning into moist clouds as we raced to his Range Rover.

“Quick, turn on the heat!” I exclaimed, bouncing to try and get warm while I waited for the seat heater to kick in.

Declan flipped the ignition while I turned the knobs to full blast and we slid onto the road. A few minutes later we parked at the end of a dirt lane that led down to a hidden cove along the shore. The only lights visible were the softly glowing numbers on the dash.

I swiveled in my seat, pressing my back against the door, and smiled at Declan. “I believe you mentioned something about a present?”

Reaching around, he pulled a small, festive bag from behind his seat. “Before I give you your gift, I just want you to know this is the best Christmas ever. You’re the best gift ever.” His eyes held mine steadily. “And I’m so thankful you decided to take a chance on me Sophie.”

“Hush,” I said, leaning forward and planting my palm on his knee. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Eyes twinkling, he asked, “If you could travel back in time and tell Little Sophie Newport she was going to someday fall in love with Declan the Turd, what do you think she’d have said?”

His use of the nickname I’d given him back then brought a laugh to my lips. “How’d you know that’s what I used to call you?”

“Your grandda, who else?”

I sighed mock-exaggeratedly. “Colm Fitzgerald and his meddling ways.”

“I dunno,” he answered. “I think it worked out pretty well.”

I stared at him for a few beats, admiring his masculine beauty. Yes, he was gorgeous, but I also knew underneath that lovely exterior was a good heart that belonged to a good man.

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