Page 25 of Shamrocks & Second Chances

Inside, nestled on a bed of green velvet, is a gold pin in the shape of a four-leaf clover. Each leaf is inlaid with a different gemstone—emerald, diamond, ruby, and sapphire. It’s exquisite craftsmanship, the kind that would take even a master goldsmith like myself weeks to create.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

I lift it carefully, turning it over in my palm. The back bears a tiny inscription:For luck in love.

No signature, but I don’t need one. I recognize Bella’s handwriting anywhere.

“Thank you,” I say to Crystal, tucking the pin into my shirt. “I should get going. The festival waits for no leprechaun.”

Outside, Evershift Haven has transformed completely. The town square pulses with activity as vendors set up booths selling everything from enchanted shamrock cookies to luck-infused jewelry. A group of dryads weaves through the crowd, their leafy hair adorned with golden flowers, leaving trails of clover sprouts in their wake.

The Heart of Haven—the ancient oak tree at the center of the square—has outdone itself this year. Its branches stretch toward the sky, each one draped in shimmering gold and green lights that seem to dance even without a breeze. Tiny fairies flit among the branches, their wings translucent in direct sunlight.

I make my way through the growing crowd, nodding to familiar faces. Two years away hasn’t erased me from the town’s memory, it seems. Some greet me warmly, while others give me measuring looks, no doubt wondering if I’m back to break Bella’s heart again.

If only they knew how much I regret leaving in the first place.

The scent of fresh pastries draws me toward a familiar storefront. The Enchanted Espresso has been decorated for the occasion. Golden shamrocks dance across the windows, and a sign proclaims special LoveLuck drinks available today only.

Through the window, I catch sight of her. Bella moves behind the counter with practiced ease, green hair pulled back in a messy bun, and a few strands escape to frame her face. She wears a green apron over a white blouse, and there’s a smudge of flour on her cheek that makes my heart twist with affection.

I hesitate at the door, suddenly unsure. After everything that’s happened—the stolen gold, the town’s elaborate scheme to bring us back together, and the night we spent tangled in each other’s arms—where do we stand?

The door swings open before I can decide, and Zephyr nearly collides with me.

“Seamus. Perfect timing. Bella’s been wondering when you’d show up.” The air spirit grins, his translucent form shimmering with excitement. “She’ll never admit it though.”

“Is that right?” I adjust my collar, suddenly self-conscious.

“Go on in. She’s pretending to be too busy to look for you, but she’s checked the door at least twenty times this morning.” With a wink, he floats past me, carrying a tray of some frothy green concoction I assume he’s going to distribute among those gathering in the square.

I take a deep breath and step inside. Bella looks up as the bell above the door chimes, and for a moment, her professional smile falters, replaced by something softer and more genuine. Then she catches herself, and the mask slips back into place.

“Morning, Seamus. What can I get you?” She wipes her hands on her apron, all business.

I approach the counter, acutely aware of the other customers watching our interaction with poorly disguised interest. The town’s matchmaking scheme has apparently made us the main attraction.

“I’ll have whatever you recommend for LoveLuck Day,” I say, touching the pin at my collar. “And thank you for the gift. It’s beautiful.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t—”

“The craftsmanship is exquisite,” I say, watching her closely. “Almost as if it was made by someone who knows exactly what a goldsmith would appreciate.”

A blush creeps up her neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but since you’re here, you might as well try our LoveLuck Latte. It’s infused with a mild luck charm and topped with gold-dusted shamrock foam.”

“Sounds perfect.”

As she turns to prepare the drink, I notice she’s wearing earrings I made for her years ago, during our brief months together. They’re tiny gold cauldrons that steam when she’s thinking intensely. Right now, they’re practically billowing.

“Will you be at the festival all day?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

“The café closes at noon so everyone can enjoy the festivities.” She doesn’t look up from the espresso machine. “I’ll be around.”

“Any chance you’d want to enjoy some of those festivities together?”

Now she does look up, her dark eyes meeting mine. “Seamus...”

“Just as friends,” I add quickly, though the words taste false on my tongue. We’ve never been “just” anything. “Or as two people who recently recovered stolen gold together and deserve to celebrate.”

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