Page 39 of After Indigo Irish Nights
She nodded slowly. But in the past, they’d been smaller things—when her brothers were up to “no good” on a Friday night, when the Patriots were going to win the Super Bowl, and when he’d sworn he’d known which lucky number to buy for his lottery ticket only to win a couple hundred dollars. This was like a wallop to the head. He’d sent her mother’s ring and told her to stay inmagicalIreland.
“When are you going to accept what’s in front of you? I mean, I probably shouldn’t have looked, but the kiss you and Declan shared yesterday could have started a fire in the woodstove. I know kisses. The ones you shared didn’t speak of a mere attraction.”
She crossed her trembling arms. “No?”
“Those, my dear Kathleen, are the kind of kisses that are only possible between two people meant for each other.” She gave a saucy wink, her green eyes alight. “Soulmates. Everything is conspiring to keep you in Ireland longer. Linc’s visit suggests it. Perhaps you should… What did he call it? Kick it around?”
With that, she vanished. Like she’d never been sitting beside Kathleen and pecking at her.
Kathleen gave in to the urge to give a healthy screech. One good thing about being in the middle of Ireland was that she had no neighbors. Boy, did it feel good. She did it again a couple of more times. Her heart rate steadied, and she took a deep breath.
The sun came out even though it was still raining, and it shone on the necklace, light dancing off the silver onto the ceiling. She cocked her ear as the faint notes of an Irish ballad played on the flute and violin whispered on the wind that shook the windows.
Where was the music coming from?
More gooseflesh rippled over her arms. Her parents and grandparents always talked about the magic of Ireland. They’d always claimed magic still lived inside all the O’Connors from their Irish blood. There were reminders of it all over her tough Irish neighborhood, many of them kitschy. Signs with dancing leprechauns and fairies. Bumper stickers withLuck of the IrishorKiss Me I’m Irish. T-shirts that said everything fromDon’t Piss Off The FairiestoPóg Mo Thóin. Welcome mats like the one at the home she’d grown up in, which had simply said,Fáilte.
And, yes, Claddagh rings to give your girl when you wanted to go steady or get married.
She kissed the ring before slipping the necklace over her head and adjusting the symbol to rest over her heart, where her mother had told her it belonged.
The silver felt warm against her skin, which seemed impossible since she’d only just put it there.
Growing up, even though she was a Boston girl born and bred, tough and pragmatic, she’d believed in magic. When Danny had told her that fairies watched over his pub, she’d bought it. All of them had wanted to believe in something, she guessed, coming up in the kind of rough place that was Southie, where little if any magic was found.
She closed her eyes as she gripped that ring. Her very foundation rocked with the realization that she didn’t want to stop believing in magic. She needed it. It had helped her become the woman she was. It had fueled the artist she was still becoming.
Why would she turn down the chance to create a pirate ship that could top out at fifty or seventy-five feet? She had come to Ireland to make her mark. A sculpture of the stature they were discussing would launch her well beyond her current five-year plan.
“I guess I’m going into the catapult then,” she said softly into the silence.
Opening her eyes, she gazed down at the ring. Her pop had tucked it into his sock drawer after her mom had died. Although he’d given her other treasured belongings from her mother—a plate she’d bought at Niagara Falls on their honeymoon and an afghan knitted by Kathleen’s great grandmother—he’d never parted with this ring.
Until now.
Her popknewsomething. She believed that. He’d sent the ring with the message he’d conveyed through Linc.
The scent of oranges surrounded her again, and she frowned.
“I was just getting to a good place with all this, Sorcha. Dammit, girl, you could live in Southie, you’re so in my face.”
Laughter was her response, and yes, it still freaked her out a little.
“I preferred the Irish music on the wind better.” Listen to the crazy coming out of her mouth.
Except itwasn’tcrazy and neither was she.
And Sorcha had been dead-on about her kiss with Declan. It hadn’t been the garden-variety kind.
Kathleen imagined the rest of her interactions with Declan would be anything but ordinary too. It had been like that from the moment she’d seen him.
She held the ring as she thought about what it would mean to stay.
Fighting the current was stupid, especially when the current was flowing in one direction. She’d best stop trying to paddle the other way.
What would Declan do if she told him she’d changed her mind?
CHAPTERNINE
