Page 88 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

“That’s what I said!” I agree heartily.

As we walk out to the truck, I realize I feel brighter. I feel lighter. I guess I have been holding back more than I realized.

But Amber is here now. It will be okay.

I should probably feel jealous about her. After all, she was married to one of the men I am currently with. They had a kid together. He was so in love with her, he asked her to be with him forever.

The fact that it didn’t work out doesn’t change the fact that it happened.

I admit that when I first met her, I was a little bit intimidated. Both by the history that she has with the guys and by the fact that she’s amazing. She is one of those women who can do everything, in heels, with her hair and makeup all perfect all the time. Nothing fazes her.

All the more reason to hate her.

But I just can’t do it. She’s likable. And she is a part of this family, so even if I didn’t like her, I would be stuck with her if I wanted to be part of the family.

Which, apparently, I do.

It is a typically Irish midmorning, when the clouds start to break up and the sun starts to shine through. Earlier it was misty and foggy. Now it’s turning out to be kind of a nice day. Amber leans forward, gazing through the windshield as I drive us back toward County Kerry.

“This looks just like Tennessee,” she smirks.

“Doesn’t it?” I marvel. “I mean, it’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah, if you weren’t driving on the wrong side of the road, I don’t know if I could tell the difference.”

She settles back in her seat and leans her forehead against her knuckles, staring out the window as the hills roll by. She must be exhausted from the trip.

“Alexis is going to be so excited to see you,” I smile. “I think she’s baking you a cake or something. She is really a good cook!”

“She cooks?” Amber answers, casting me a sidelong look.

For a moment I worry that I shouldn’t have let her near the stove. Is seven years old too early? Did I mess it up?

“Well, of course she does,” Amber answers herself. “Such a curious kid. I feel like I have missed so much in the last two months. Have I? Is she totally different? Is she a teenager yet?”

“Yeah, practically,” I snicker. “Just a really short one.”

“Figures,” Amber smiles.

“So, the general store is over there,” I indicate, pointing through the windshield. “You’re probably really tired, but do you mind if we stop? There is not another store for miles, but I could totally come back.”

“No! Don’t be silly. Let’s go do the shopping. I want to see what kind of weird Irish stuff is on the shelves.”

I smirk, remembering how surprised I was about the milk in boxes.

Happy to have organized my thoughts into a list, we walk up and down the aisles, filling the cart with general supplies. Lots of fruits and vegetables, of course, but also some packaged crackers and cakes that the guys like to snack on.

Amber and I fall into an easy rhythm. I feel a wince of pain when I realize it was never like this with Emily. Emily and I have a different sort of rhythm, one that we have practiced for the last fifteen years or so. But it isn’t easy like this. It is more about acknowledging that neither one of us is ever going to be completely at ease with the other. And that, in a way, is its own kind of peace.

“Well, their potato game is definitely on point,” Amber remarks, pursing her lips.

“Yeah, let’s get a giant bag. We can never have enough mashed potatoes.”

“I feel the same way,” she smiles.

See? Just a simple interaction, and it is so easy. Emily would have worked in some kind of critique of my carb intake or something. Maybe remind me of some embarrassing potato-related moment from our past.

Not Amber. She lives in the present.

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