Page 62 of A Very Irish Christmas
‘He said he wanted me to stay. That I could have Whimsy Cottage, or live at the manor. That he couldn’t imagine life here without me now.’
Even as I rehash the conversation, I am poking and picking at it – looking for ways I might have misinterpreted it.
‘I’m not really sure what he meant though. I might have got it wrong.’
June laughs, and wraps up the remains of her gyro.
‘Cassie, only you could do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Take what sounds like an actual real-life declaration of intent, of goddamnspark, and try to convince yourself you made it up. Why wouldn’t he feel like that about you?’
I think about what she’s said, and reply: ‘Yeah. You’re right. I really need to stop doing that. But it was kind of a surprise, and now I’m wondering if I was just swept away in some kind of Oxford-inspired hallucination. Or if he was just caught up in the moment, and right now he’s lying in bed thinking, shit, what did I just do…’
‘Right, yeah. Can I ask you something?’
‘No.’
‘Tough. Is Charles a rash man? Is he impulsive? Does he strike you as reckless?’
‘Ummm… well, no. Totally the opposite in fact.’
‘Well then, Captain Jackass, stop questioning it all – accept the fact that he’sintoyou! Did he kiss you?’
‘No. Not really. He, ah, he kissed the palm of my hand, very, very softly.’
I feel a blush developing as I tell her, as my body remembers the way his lips felt against my skin.
Her eyes go wide, and she sighs out loud.
‘My God,’ she says dreamily. ‘That’s even better. That’s so… sneakily hot!’
I nod, and she continues: ‘So, what are you feeling about all of this? Is it something you’re interested in – staying there?’
‘I don’t know, June! I’m all over the place. I hate the thought of leaving, and Charles is… well, he’s sparky, what can I say? But I’m also aware that this is just a vacation. That my real life is back home. Just seeing you sitting there in the park makes me want to get the next flight to JFK.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. And I’d be devastated if you didn’t come back, you know that – I’ve felt like my right arm’s been chopped off ever since you left! But honey, maybe this is something you need to consider – maybe it’s something you owe yourself?’
‘You think I should stay?’
‘I’m not saying that, no. I’m just saying think about it. Let it settle. Maybe see where things lead. You’ve got another week, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And you’ve got your trip to Ireland as well. I know you won’t admit this, but I have a sneaky feeling your hunky handyman might still be in the mix as well.’
‘No, no, Ryan is just a friend…’
Even as I say it, spluttering the words out with such fervour that Eejit raises his eyebrows at me, I know I might be protesting too much.
‘Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that! Look, there’s a lot going on. Just don’t reject anything out of hand, okay? And bear in mind that if you do end up as Lady Bancroft, I’ll be expecting tiaras and ballgowns even when you’re in McDonald’s!’
TWENTY-SIX
The city of Cork is blazing with Christmas lights. Everywhere I look, they cast a multi-coloured glow over the bustling streets. The energy of the place is palpable, crammed with people shopping, chatting and laughing, while street performers fill the late afternoon with music and song. Groups are spilling out of pubs, and the cafes and restaurants have steamed-up windows. The atmosphere is one of fun and potential, and even better, everyone talks like Nanna Nora. I’ve had to get used to yet another currency – the euro – but nothing’s perfect.
We arrived late last night, and Ryan and I parted ways at the airport. He saw me safely into a taxi, and within minutes I was checked in to my hotel. The city is shaped by its history and its geography, by the River Lee that runs through it in two separate channels, enclosing part of the town inside its meandering curve.
