Page 62 of Surrender
Shamus raised his glass in a toast. “To found family,” he said.
Gwen’s smile was watery but real. “To found family.”
The conversation moved gently, mostly between Keefe and Shamus, giving Gwen space to breathe. But even when she wasn’t talking, she felt included. Wanted. Safe.
Shamus watched her and Keefe together and couldn’t help the way his thoughts drifted. There was something between those two, something rare. Like Connor and Darcie. A silent language. The kind of connection you didn’t need to explain because it simply was.
He smiled to himself.
Nan was going to adore Gwen.
Once she saw them together, saw how Keefe looked at her, Nan would fall in love with Gwen too. There was no doubt in his mind that she would defend the girl like she was her own—and God help anyone who dared speak against her.
Shamus passed Gwen the breadbasket and said gently, “Take your time, love. We’ve got plenty of it.”
Later, after plates had been cleared and the second round of drinks poured, the conversation dipped into quieter territory. The sunlight had shifted across the pub floor, casting long golden beams across the table. Gwen, feeling steadier now, leaned back in her chair, sipping her whiskey while Shamus told a story about Caireann’s obsession with blackberry jam.
It was warm and lovely and strange—being wrapped in memories that weren’t hers, tied by blood to a woman she’d never met but somehow resembled so closely it brought a man to tears.
Then, without meaning to, she asked the question that had been sitting on her chest like a stone.
“Why did Cian keep me a secret from you?”
The smile faded from Shamus’s face. He set down his glass and folded his hands together on the table.
“Cian had his reasons for everything he did,” he said, voice lower now. “He wasn’t always... understandable. And he didn’t trust easily. Not even the people who loved him most. He had his shadows, love. And he lived in them.”
She nodded slowly.
“But I’m here now,” Shamus added gently. “And so are you. That’s what matters. We’ve got time to make up for.”
“Shamus—”
He held up a hand and smiled. “Please. Call me uncle. If you want to. Only if you’re comfortable, lass.”
Gwen’s lips trembled as she blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling again. “Okay… Uncle.” The word hit her so hard, it wiped out whatever she had meant to say next.
He reached across and gave her hand a squeeze, his eyes warm and kind. “So,” he said with a lighter tone, “looks like you and Keefe are getting on nicely?”
Gwen let out a small laugh. That was one way to put it.
From the back of the pub, a voice interrupted—sharp, clear, and unmistakably Nan.
“What he means is: you jumped into bed with my nephew under false pretenses—and now you expect us to what? Forgive and forget?”
Gwen stiffened, turning toward the sound. In front of the kitchen door, Nan stood with her arms crossed, her gaze cool but not cruel.
“Aunt—” Keefe started, but Gwen touched his arm.
“No. It’s all right, Keefe.” She stood, squaring her shoulders, her voice calm but strong—which was no easy feat. Nan was small but utterly terrifying. “She’s right. But not entirely.”
She turned to face Nan fully. “Yes, I lied about my name. I was scared. I didn’t know who I could trust. I came here looking for answers, not love. And I never meant to fall for your nephew.” She looked to Keefe now, her heart in her throat. “But I did. I fell for him completely. And I didn’t sleep with him under false pretenses. I knew who I was. And I knew that I loved him.” Her voice faltered slightly. “With all my heart. And I couldn’t be more sorry for the way it happened. But I’m not sorry I found him.”
Nan’s lips pursed, and for a long moment, she said nothing.
Keefe stood beside Gwen now, his hand resting at the small of her back.
“Aunt Nan, we’re past that now,” he said gently but firmly. “Don’t be so hard on her.”
