Page 26 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

“I’d be calling itclagairt,” Eoghan countered, scratching his chin. “Pelting rain is a better description for this mess. But Jamie’s right. We have a slew of words since we have every kind of rain known to man. Or woman.” He added the last with a glint in his pale blue eyes.

Greta ran over to Jamie. “What other kinds do you have?” she asked.

He tapped his mouth as if considering before saying, “There’s the sprinkle of rain that barely makes you blink, and the drizzle of rain, which makes you wonder about its duration, but it’s the misty rain that’s my favorite.”

When he sought Sophie’s gaze, her heartbeat slowed. The cobalt of his eyes struck her even more tonight, and she remembered why it was so favored among artists like herself—it wasn’t just the lightness or even its rarity of color.

It was extremely stable. Like the man himself.

“The misty rain makes all the magic in Ireland rise around you, since it’s usually accompanied by the sun. Where there had been a normal tree only moments before, suddenly the great oak or the ash is covered in a million little crystals. The pastures turn from green to golden, and on the fence lines, tiny stars seem to dance in a chorus.”

Sophie realized she was holding her breath. Goodness, he was poetic.

“Wow,” Greta breathed out. “That sounds so beautiful, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Oh, your Irish soul is showing, my boy,” Eoghan said, his voice rough. “Makes me think of Steve Spurgin’s song, ‘A Walk in the Irish Rain’ where he talks about the mist being like teardrops from angel wings. Do you know it, Jamie?”

He nodded, and when Eoghan began to sing, he joined in with a deep baritone. Greta sat on the floor and crossed her legs, her face enraptured as she watched and listened. Sophie understood. She couldn’t look away. His voice seemed to wrap around her, the resonant chords of the love song conjuring visions of them walking in a misty rain in fields of gold.

Sandrine came over and put her arm around her waist as the two men started to harmonize the chorus. Sophie had heard a lot of musicians perform in her life. She’d been married to a famous one, but somehow the purity of their a cappella rendition touched her in a way no other performance had. Everything faded to the rich texture of Jamie’s voice and the rare light of his eyes.

When they held the final note in concert, Jamie’s voice dipping to bass as Eoghan’s lifted to a sweet tenor, everything in the room seem to still.

When they finished, it was quiet for a moment before she and Greta and Sandrine all started to applaud. She even added a cab whistle as Greta stood up and started jumping and clapping, saying, “That wassowonderful!”

Jamie and Eoghan’s cheeks were flushed red, both men looking down at their shoes. Sandrine gave her a gentle squeeze before crossing over to Eoghan and kissing him on the cheeks.

Jamie found her gaze again and lifted a shoulder. “We Irish like our songs.”

She wanted to cross over to him and touch his face. Communicate how much his words and song had meant to her. How deeply touched she was.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and then Greta was asking him if he’d teach her the song he’d sung. When he declared he would, her heart gave a happy somersault. Already, she knew he was a man who kept his word, and that was even rarer than the cobalt of his eyes.

“Shall we go?” he finally asked.

She nodded slowly and finally found her feet, moving toward him in the confounded wellies.

He donned his sodden cap. “We might need to run for the car, what with you in that outfit. You won’t be used to the rain like the rest of us. Do you have a raincoat and hat?”

Greta ran over to the couch. “I’ve got them for you, Mama. Me and Sandrine got them out. Have fun with Mr. Fitzgerald.”

After tucking the cream waterproof slouchy hat on her head, she shrugged into her matching mid-thigh cream raincoat with Jamie’s assistance and belted it. Then she leaned down and kissed her daughter. “Have fun with Eoghan and Sandrine. I’ll kiss you good night when I get home and fill your room with starlight.”

“Good,” she said, leaning in for another kiss. “Bye, Mr. Fitzgerald. Thanks again for letting us stay in your house.”

“It’s my pleasure, Greta,” he told her before putting his hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”

Joy beamed within her, suffusing her entire body. “Let’s go.”

When he opened the door, the wind rocked her back on her heels. He shielded her with his body as he muscled it closed and then urged her with him through the pelting rain as they raced to the car. She had to squint as it ravaged her face. Her wellies stuck a little in the mud as she ran, making squishy sounds in the puddles on the grass. Jamie kept her close, matching her pace. At the car, he led her to the passenger side and helped her inside before heading around to his own seat.

She was wet through her pant legs past the bottom of her raincoat, the water sliding into the thick socks of her wellies. Wind rocked the car as Jamie opened the driver’s side door and slammed it shut.

He cupped her shoulder, his hands emitting a warmth she wanted to curl into, and she turned to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m soaked through,” she said, brushing the water running down her face, fearing for her mascara. “This is crazy.”

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