Page 33 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

“Esme can show you, if you’d like,” Jamie said, “as she’s sitting right in front of you.”

“Come on,” Esme said, her brown ponytail bobbing as she took Greta’s hand with the authority of an eldest child and started leading her away.

Greta glanced over her shoulder one last time. Sophie’s heart clutched as she gave her daughter an encouraging smile and blew her a kiss. Her little girl’s mouth lifted, and then she was keeping pace with the other student. Their classmates trailed in after them. She and Jamie stood alone.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, turning his head to meet her eyes. “But I’ll look after her. I promise.”

She wanted to lay her hand on his arm, but this wasn’t the place. “I know you will, and I’m grateful. I should let you go. It’s your first day of school too.”

“It’s chaos and heaven all at once,” he said with a charming wink, “but we manage to have a little fun. A field trip helps. Good way to ease them back in and break up the day. Today we’re going to Kade Donovan’s pony therapy farm to learn more about why riding horses can be so good for you.”

“Oh, Greta will love that.” She played with her coat sleeve. “As will the other children.”

“Are you going to introduce me to our new parent and Caisleán’s newest artist?” called out a low female voice.

Sophie turned and felt her smile fade as she watched the older woman walk over, her carriage stiff, her brown eyes pinched. While Sophie had never met her, she knew instantly the woman didn’t like her.

“Sophie, this is the school’s principal, Margaret Doyle,” Jamie said as the woman rigidly shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She wondered how many parents felt a sense of dread as they met school administration. Or was she the only one who’d gotten such a reluctant greeting? “Greta is so happy to be here and have Jamie for a teacher.”

Her eyes narrowed in a shrewd, pointed gaze. “Our school might not be what you attended but we’re proud of it.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Jamie,” she said, turning to him with her taut carriage. “Make sure to welcome the other parents like you have Ms. Giombetti.”

He was frowning, but he nodded. “Of course. Today’s a big day for everyone, what with them putting their children back into our care.”

Her haughty headshake rubbed Sophie the wrong way, and she was relieved when the principal walked over to the parents she’d implied Jamie was ignoring because of her.

“That was a little odd,” he said softly so only she could hear. “Maybe she was intimidated by you or something.”

Or something…

“Well, have a great first day. And thanks again for the other night.”

“I was going to call you and ask if you’d like to go out again, but I didn’t have your cell, and I wanted to get it from you personally. Maybe you can write it down and pass it to me when you come to collect Greta?”

She suddenly was aware of the eyes on them. “Of course. See you, Jamie.”

After stealing one more glance in Greta’s direction, she made herself turn around. Her daughter was out of sight anyway, and she and Jamie needed a better place to talk about their next date.

Thinking about what they might do and where they might go lifted her spirits as she headed to the arts center for her first day. She’d wondered yesterday when he would ask. She and Greta had spent the day pleasantly, sightseeing with Sandrine and Eoghan to Downpatrick Head. The wind had rocked her as she’d beheld the stack of massive rocks sitting on the tempestuous sea racked by blue-green white-tipped waves. The roar of the ocean had echoed in her ears, daring her to ignore its power.

She’d opened her arms and embraced it. In that moment, she’d acknowledged to herself that she was already falling in love—with Jamie, with this place. She was going to make magic in glass here, and perhaps after her Celtic Tree installation, she would do something with the ocean. Its waves would work perfectly in glass.

The Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Center rested on a breathtaking verdant Irish hill surrounded by pastures of sheep. Unfortunately, none had positive words written on their sides. Eoghan had shown them a new flock of sheep yesterday who had lovely words spray-painted on their sides, likeLoveandDreams. He’d told them they were love poems to the farmer’s new wife, the hairdresser in town, inspired by Carrick, who’d once spray-painted his deceased wife’s poetry onto his sheep. Those kinds of stories made her happy to be in their new home.

And like Greta, today was her first day in her new world.

When she pulled to a stop in the parking lot, she checked her phone for messages and winced when she saw one from her mother.

Sophie, darling. How are you and Greta faring? The wilds of Ireland must be positively rustic compared to Provence. I’m working myself up for a visit but all that rain… Tell Linc he’d better take care of my family. And do send photos of your new studio. I want to see where you’ll be creating all your magic, darling. Ciao.

Twodarlingsin one text and the threat of a visit. She pressed her forefinger to the bridge of her nose. Like hell she’d send her mother any photos. Nothing would be good enough. Certainly not the corrugated metal shed she’d be working in. She tucked her phone in her work bag and exited the car, scanning the property. A trio of sheds were arranged around the back side, one of them still being finished by a lean construction crew led by Liam O’Hanlon, who waved and called out a greeting.

That sent up a squeal from another shed, and Ellie Buchanan raced out of it.

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