Page 6 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

He wasn’t ready to say it, but he was rather glad to know she was watching out for all of them, himself included. But he knew her, warts and all, and the stubborn and determined woman she’d been had become a tenacious and bullheaded ghost, God help him.

“Sophie is beautiful,” he told Sorcha, “more than any photo can capture, and her little girl is as dear as they come.”

“You have the right of it,” Sorcha said, “but knowing you as I do, I expect you’re thinking about taking this courtship as slow as a donkey cart. Don’t.”

Take his time he would, so he said nothing as he navigated the narrow streets through Foxford before turning onto the N26.

“You still drive like an old woman,” Sorcha chimed in as rain started to patter on the window shield.

He hit the wipers and decided not to rise to the bait. “She will love me for the patient man I am.”

Sorcha played with the folds of her white dress, the very one she’d died in. Seeing her in her ethereal form still made him seasick, he realized, when he looked at her whole. He jerked his gaze back to the road.

“Indeed she will, but there are surprises and challenging times coming, Jamie. She and Greta both will need you to stand up with them. To support them and protect them when needed. To listen to them.”

“Those are traits I’m well known for.”

She hummed in acquiescence before saying, “It’s the romancing you’ll need help with, and that’s why starting off with the wholelet me be your friendplay isn’t going to work here. Sophie is a woman with deep passions, and you’ve already awakened them. Or didn’t you notice how she looked at you in the airport? The fairies couldn’t have flown through the air it was so thick with desire.”

“Don’t be an eejit,” he told Sorcha, though he couldn’t help but feel gratified.

“Her heart was affected, and yours was pounding in your chest,” she said in that knowing tone he knew all too well. “Jamie, you must make her know you want her. Straightaway. Otherwise, she might think you only want to be her friend. You’ll confuse her if you look at her one way and then offer to pick up anything she needs at the SuperValu instead of asking her to dinner.”

He scoffed. “It was Tesco I was thinking of, and I think you underestimate the power of friendship between a man and a woman. I hear you women say all the time how you want us to help around the house more and do the little things.”

“But we also want you to take us out to dinner, kiss us passionately, reveal your very soul to us, and make love to us until dawn.” She gestured to the air. “Why is this so difficult to comprehend, I ask myself! Women understand this.”

“Well, men don’t,” he grumbled. “All you Irish women do is complain about how terrible we are. Hanging out at the pub too much with our friends and leaving our clutter around the house.”

“Don’t forget about dragging muck through the house with your boots,” Sorcha added.

He took a breath. “My point exactly! So we try and do things to make you happy. Like the shopping. And then you go and dump cold soup on us. Or at least that’s what you used to do with Carrick. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“For not texting me that he didn’t plan to be home for supper because he had a pint with you lot!” She gave a little shriek. “Oh, it’s a shower of dumb eejits, the whole lot of you. But God knows, I love you to death. And beyond death, as you can see,” she said, gesturing to her shimmering frame.

His stomach curdled. “You enjoy making my hair stand on end.”

“I’ve teased you since you were a boy. Why would I stop now? So, let’s circle back to your plan. Youwillask Sophie out as soon as possible. That means days, Jamie, not weeks. You understand me?”

He could feel his back going up. “You sound like my mum.”

“I love your mum. Tell her hello.”

“I will not! I am not telling a soul about Sophie until things are further along. Otherwise, I’ll have a shower of dumb eejits poking their noses into my affairs and giving me advice on romancing when I’m already getting plenty from you.”

“But I know better,” she said with a laugh. “All right. Be a donkey if you want. But keep your eyes open, Jamie. Things are about to get bumpy.”

She disappeared, her orange scent lingering. He rolled his window down, which did nothing to disperse it. How she managed to have a scent from beyond the veil he would never know, but Irish folklore was filled with fantastic happenings.

He turned his mind to what she’d told him. She’d made some sensible points, but he still had to do it his own way with Sophie. He could all but feel himself growing tongue-tied at the thought of asking her out. She was so beautiful. He could look at her forever and never say a word.

But if he didn’t speak to her, she definitely wouldn’t go out with him. Maybe Sorcha was right.

When they crested into Caisleán a short while later, Kathleen slowed down, likely to show Sophie and Greta the sights. He knew them all well, from the Brazen Donkey to the butcher store, the Last Chop.

As a kid, he’d used books as a gateway to bigger cities and other worlds, ones he’d only dreamed about traveling to. He’d always thought he would leave Caisleán for someplace bigger—Dublin maybe or even London—but a teaching position had opened up, and so he’d stayed. Besides, he loved his family and his friends. His very nature was rooted here, and like getting out of his seat at the pub to approach a woman, he hadn’t been able to rip himself away from his comfort.

He still read books for the worlds they opened to him. Sophie hadseenthat greater world, and he couldn’t wait to hear about her travels. Then there was her art. It was like her: somehow both delicate and powerful. He was eager to learn more about her.

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