Page 12 of An Irish Kiss
“I’m fine.You?”
“Can’t complain.Now, how is that family of yours?”
By this she knew he really wanted to know about Fiona.“Fiona’s still in Dublin.”
His chin dipped, his lips pressed together.
“I was sorry to hear about Sinead.”
He shrugged.“These things happen.”
“And how is the business going?”
Declan ran the most successful building company in this part of the county.He shared a little, then his phone rang and he made his excuses.
She hurried back to the bookshop, later than she would like.Was Aidan still here?She paused, checked her shirt for crumbs and stains, then entered to find Mary behind the counter.“Sorry I’m late.”
“Ah, never mind.You can take over from me here.”
“Of course.”She moved behind the register, straightening the stack of Quirkes and Connolly Bookshop-stamped paper bags on the far wall.“Did you sell some books to the Australian?”she asked, fishing.
“Aidan Quinn is his name, as I’m sure you know quite well.”Mary shot her a look.“He told me he was staying at the castle.”
She offered an apologetic smile.“I didn’t realise he was so curious about the local history.”
As if she’d said a magic word Mary’s eyes sparkled.“It’s so unusual to have a young man interested in such things.We had quite a good chat, and it turns out his great grandfather used to live nearby.”
Her stomach sank.“Really?”And here she’d been mouthing off about visitors with their long-lost relatives returning to claim Irish heritage…
“I sent him to have a look at the graves, but told him the best person to talk to about this was your mother, or even you.I’m surprised that he hasn’t spoken to you about it already.”
Her smile held a touch of grimace.One guess why that was.
“Anyway,” Mary continued, “I’ve invited him tonight to the Story Circle.I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Uh, sure.”The Story Circle was Mary’s brain-child, a way of gathering those with a passion for storytelling or local history to continue a beloved tradition.Often held in a local pub, they also sometimes gathered around the large wooden table here in the bookshop, a safe place to come and feed on a feast of literary greatness or local lore.“It’s good he can spend time with those who know about the history.”
“Are you not coming?”
“I hadn’t planned on it,” she confessed.
“Oh, come on.We’re meeting at O’Shea’s, and you know you enjoy their dessert menu.”
“Andyouknow I can’t admit to that,” Rory teased.Even though the chef at O’Shea’s had a way with apple crumble she wished the hotel chef knew.
Mary’s chuckle died.“But I didn’t want to steal Aidan from you at the hotel.”
“It’s fine.Steal away.”
“He’s gone back there now, but said he’d return for dinner.”
“Okay.”Why Mary thought Rory needed to know all this she didn’t know.
The next two hours passed oh so slowly.Part of her wished she could be so direct as to demand to know what Aidan had talked about.Part of her wished she could return home and speak to him herself.Perhaps apologise for making that dumb comment before.Because towns like hers, hotels like the Castle Griffin, needed tourists to visit, regardless of their motivations.And now she thought about it, it did sound a little judgemental of her.She certainly wouldn’t like it if people judged Irish folk for leaving the motherland and sailing across the seas in hopes of a brighter future, even though that’s what millions of her compatriots had done over the past two hundred years.So the fact some people still closely identified with their heritage should be celebrated, not just tolerated.
By the time she pulled up in the family carpark at the hotel she was determined to make things right.How arrogant she must’ve seemed.
The scent of a vanilla candle met her as she went inside the family’s door and up the stairs, found her mother, kissed her cheek.“How have things been here today?”
