Page 24 of Shamrocks & Second Chances

I hesitate, caught off guard by the directness of his question. The town obviously wants us back together. The question is, do I?

Two days ago, I would have said absolutely not. I would have laughed at the idea of giving Seamus O’Connell another chance to break my heart. Now, after everything we’ve been through, after learning the truth about why he left and seeing the genuine regret in his eyes... I’m not so sure.

“I don’t know.” The words are difficult to say. “This is all happening so fast.”

He nods, not pushing. “The LoveLuck Festival kicks off tomorrow,” he says. “Maybe we should sleep on it? Give ourselves some time to process everything.”

He’s right. The LoveLuck Festival begins tomorrow, and the entire town will be gathered in the square. If our friends and neighbors really are behind this matchmaking scheme, they’ll be watching us closely, waiting to see if their plan worked. “Yeah,” I say, running a hand through my temporarily green hair. “We should take some time to think.”

Hecate makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. “Humans. Always overthinking everything.”

I shoot her a look. “Not helpful.”

Seamus picks up his chest, tucking it under one arm. “I should get this back to my room at the inn so I can transfer it to my pouch. Keep it safe.”

“Good idea,” I say, suddenly awkward. After the intimacy we shared last night and the revelations of the past two days, I’m not sure how to act around him anymore.

He pauses at the door, looking back at me. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad they did it. Even if you decide you want nothing to do with me after this, I’m grateful for the chance to explain myself and make things right between us.”

I swallow hard, not trusting myself to speak.

“I’ll see you at the festival tomorrow?” he asks, a note of hope in his voice.

I nod, finding my voice at last. “I’ll be there.”

His warm, genuine smile makes my heart skip a beat. “I’ll find you.”

As he leaves, the bell above the door jingling softly, I’m left standing in my café, wondering what tomorrow will bring. The festival is starting, and this matchmaking scheme isn’t over yet.

Chapter 8—Seamus

THE MORNING OF THELoveLuck Festival dawns with a shimmer of magic that hangs in the air like dew. I stand at the window of my room at the Moonlit Inn, watching as the town finishes transforming before my eyes. There have been smaller decorations since my rushed arrival two days ago, with shamrocks and green hearts, but now, the town is ready to fully reveal its celebratory mood.

Green and gold banners unfurl from lampposts as if invisible hands are setting them free. Shamrock-shaped lights blink into existence along the eaves of buildings. The cobblestones of Main Street gleam with a subtle golden sheen that wasn’t there yesterday.

I run my fingers through my wild red hair, attempting to tame it into something presentable. Two years away from Evershift Haven, and I’d almost forgotten how the town breathes with magic during festivals. Almost.

A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.

“Mr. O’Connell?” Etienne St. John’s voice carries through the wood. “There’s a package for you at the front desk.”

I open the door to find the vampire innkeeper looking dapper as always in a tailored suit, though today he’s added a green pocket square and a small shamrock pin. “Thanks, Etienne. I’ll be right down.”

He nods, a knowing smile on his lips. “The festival committee has outdone themselves this year. I suspect you’ll find it particularly meaningful.”

Before I can ask what he means, he glides away down the hallway, leaving me with questions and the faint scent of expensive cologne.

I dress quickly in dark trousers and a forest green shirt with silver Celtic embroidery along the collar—traditional enough to honor my heritage without looking like a leprechaun caricature. The humans have some strange ideas about my kind. Even some of the magical creatures expect a leprechaun to be about three-feet-tall, with a shaggy red beard, emerald top hat, and an obsession with rainbows. Only the pot of gold is somewhat close to reality.

Downstairs, Crystal St. John hands me a small package wrapped in emerald paper and tied with a gold ribbon.

“This arrived for you this morning,” she says, her pale vampire features animated with curiosity. “Secret admirer, perhaps?”

I examine the package. No card, no note. “Perhaps.”

“Will you open it now?” Crystal leans forward over the reception desk, not bothering to hide her interest.

I untie the ribbon and carefully unwrap the paper. Inside lies a small wooden box carved with intricate Celtic knots. When I lift the lid, my breath catches.

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