Page 120 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
She believed him. Somewhere deep inside, she’d needed to hear that.
“And I’ll love you all my days,” he said, holding her gaze, “and I’m hoping you’ll do the honor of letting me.”
Her heart swelled in her chest, and her mind framed the truth. The light in his ultramarine eyes shone brightly, along with the love he spoke of. No, he wasn’t perfect. He was unexpected, in fact. And she loved him and trusted his word.
She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around him, her throat too thick to speak. He nestled her closely to him, the wind swirling around them both.
“I don’t want to be without you either,” she whispered against him.
The light falling on the land shifted, the grass turning her favorite shade of golden. She ran her hand up his back, marveling at the way things had changed for her.
She’d come to Ireland to find her voice and paint again, and she had.
She’d never imagined she’d find the most unexpected of Prince Charmings.
And she certainly hadn’t expected to fall in love with him beside a golden Irish field.
Here. Be. Good.That had been her first message, arriving in Ireland.
Sorcha had gotten that right, and she sent up a kind thought to thank her for her help.
The scent of oranges came moments later, and she smiled.
Chapter Forty-One
Fitzgerald’s Folly was no more.
Giving it to the village had made them embrace it, and Carrick was shocked and amazed to have volunteer after volunteer show up to help him finish the final touches.
Angie had given her thoughts on some easy changes to make it more suitable as an arts center, and his friends had assisted him on their days off and after working hours to implement them. The Lucky Charms had selected bright paint colors and painted the walls, along with other members of Angie’s painting classes.
But the most surprising development, perhaps, was Megan agreeing to follow through on her offer to teach ceramics. They’d opened the class up to see how many students might register, and twenty had signed up straightaway, some of his friends included. He’d installed a kiln with the help of the town electrician, as well as some more industrial sinks. The village had agreed to pay for the paving of the road and a makeshift parking lot.
Bets had planted roses while Donal had installed tropicals to beautify the surrounding area. Those two were coming along fine, Carrick thought.
On the day of the opening only a month later, the village packed the place. Carrick kissed Angie on the cheek as he made his way to the dais they’d set up. Everyone quieted.
“I’m not much of a speaker, but I wanted to thank you for coming to open the Sorcha Fitzgerald Community Arts Center. I know it will be a place for many an artist to learn and grow.”
When he spied Mary Kincaid in the crowd, he was sure the shock was visible on his face before he coughed to clear it. She hadn’t been seen in town since the announcement, but of course she’d come today. The village would be talking about this for years. She had to show her face, even if her nose was in the air like she didn’t smell the stink she’d caused. Some people lived their whole lives in bitterness. He was glad he’d decided on a different course for himself. He looked over to Angie as he continued.
“We’re lucky to have a well-known painter teaching here—Angie Newcastle—one I am happy to see stay here for the rest of her life. We’ve all come to love her. Me most of all.”
It felt right to be honoring the two women he loved. Everyone was smiling, and some were even wiping tears, his own mother included. He was glad they understood.
“I’d like to finish by reading a short poem by Sorcha, one I hope sets the tone for this center.” He started to recite.
The land calls us to her.
We strain to tell what she whispers.
But how can we fully share the mystery around us?
Then our friends come and give us a story,
And we hear the mystery through them.
Our words paint the picture.
