Page 18 of After Indigo Irish Nights
“Dammit,” she said out loud.
Kissing someone was one thing. Holding hands implied a relationship.
They werenotgoing to have a relationship.
While it was sweet of her friend and Brady and even Liam to invite her to stay with them at Summercrest, there was no way she’d take them up on it. She’d told Ellie as much when they’d gone to the pub’s bathroom after that weird exchange. If she and Declandidget it on, they needed to keep things separate, including separate residences.
After the disastrous end to her six-year relationship with Axl two years ago, she’d kept things light with men. While she was wiser now than she’d been at twenty, when she and Axl first got together, she still didn’t want to take another deep dive. Her two divorced brothers agreed with her.
Love was good when it was good, but when it went bad, there was little worse. Only losing her mother to cancer so young had been worse.
She didn’t do bad or worse anymore—if she could avoid it.
Enjoyment. Pleasure. Respect. Those she could do.
After last night, she still wasn’t sure what Declan wanted. But he was clearly interested insomething. She’d think about that later though. Right now, she needed coffee.
She ripped open the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and followed Ellie’s directions. The plunger was harder to work than she thought, and in her force, some of the hot liquid gushed out of the pot. But she didn’t care. The smell of roasted beans and caramel and vanilla filled her senses, and soon she had a cup poured and was searching for the sugar and the cream. The local cream had a thick top on it, almost like ice cream, which Kathleen imagined meant it was closer to the cow than the kind she had in Boston.
Closing her eyes, she savored the taste of her doctored coffee, only for homesickness to smack her in the face. She told herself it was natural, but the feeling was almost painful. On a morning like this back in Boston, she’d text her brothers to see which of them were up and about, and they’d make a coffee run and hang out.
She walked into the next room, the silence a new sound to her. The tiny parlor didn’t inspire much comfort. She found her phone on the small dining room table in the corner with its cushioned benches.
She had a ‘how’re ya doing’ text from Robbie, along with the craziest request.Take pictures of your doors.
She shot back a snarky reply.You develop a door fetish?
Three dots showed he was typing. It was the middle of the night back home, but she wasn’t surprised he’d added her to his emergency list—the numbers allowed to contact him even if his phone was on silent mode. Oh, jeez. She wouldn’t text him again his time in the middle of the night.No fetish. I want to see your locks.
She should have known. Still, she was going to tease him.Ellie says everyone leaves their doors unlocked here.
His response was immediate and typical:No.
God, she loved that moron.
Then another text:Don’t make me track down an Irish locksmith.
He would do it too, likely through Ellie. That was her life. Her brothers pestered her. She snarked back. Usually they got their way because they were being protective. That was their version of love, Pop always told her. She needed to accept it. After all, hadn’t she been born as the only girl in a family of tough guys? She couldn’t disagree.
Instead, she rose and took photos of her doors.
Robbie replied he was satisfied with her locks for now and going back to bed. When he sent a heart emoji and told her Pop missed her, she got a little teary-eyed. Pop wasn’t a texter. They’d agreed she’d talk with the entire family every other Sunday, after family dinner at the house. Everyone religiously showed up, even in a blizzard armed with snow shovels. Those were great days, actually, with snowball fights and roughhousing and Irish coffees to stave off the cold.
God, she was getting maudlin. She was in Ireland! She’d had the time of her life last night. Today, Ellie and Brady were going to take her sightseeing around Westport, a big local tourist draw, and more interesting to her, the former pirate stronghold where Grace O’Malley had reigned. More inspiration for her work.
It was after nine, and with no text yet from Ellie, Kathleen imagined her friend was sleeping in or enjoying a morning romp with her fiancé, as she should.
She stole over to the front window, noting the pouring rain. The wind was a lively force, making the ivy-ridden tree branches undulate like a belly dancer. Green was everywhere, mixed with the gunmetal gray sky. Weirdest of all, there wasn’t a soul in sight. No cars honking. No person jawing at someone for double-parking on the street.
Last night, she’d been so tired she’d practically fallen face-first into bed after taking off her clothes. She hadn’t noticed the quiet. This morning, the sense of remoteness was a pointed reminder that she’d come to a different world.
City girl that she was, she was eager to explore it. She would manage the homesickness.
Her ears cocked as a car pulled to a stop in front of her cottage. She took a few steps toward the window. Declan emerged.
She almost spilled her coffee.
He had on his leather bomber jacket, and while the rain fell on him, he didn’t run. No, he stalked to her front door and pounded instead.
