Page 52 of Aidan

I step outside. Sorcha notices me first. Her head jerks up and our eyes meet. Pure happiness radiates from them, but flashes of fear and worry accompany it. I hate that my leaving this morning caused that. She nudges Aisling who whips around. Her smile lights up her face and she rushes over and grabs my hand, nearly dragging me back to the table.

“Aidan, come look what we’re drawing. It’s a new fairy forest,” she squeals in excitement.

I let her pull me over so I can study the art Sorcha’s creating. Good Christ, she’s talented. It’s no wonder Aisling desperately wants her forest back in her room. I study the image in front of me and I can almost imagine I’m there, standing within the trees, smelling the air filled with the scent of flowers and dirt and nature. I can picture the fairies flitting from limb to limb, their iridescent wings sparkling in the black of night.

My eyes meet Sorcha’s. “It’s stunning. Although that is almost too pale of a word to use.”

A flush rises in her cheeks. “Thank you.”

I glance at Aisling and back to Sorcha. “Can we talk?”

She swallows. “Of course. Here, take these to your room, please”—she rises and gathers up all the paper in a neat stack and hands it to her sister—“and we’ll work on them again later, okay?”

“Bye, Aidan,” Aisling says before disappearing into the house.

Sorcha’s turns her gaze back to me. Her body is rigid as if she’s waiting for a blow.

“Will you take a drive with me into the city?”

She blinks, clearly surprised at the request and nods. “Let me send a quick text to the boys letting them know.”

Once she’s done that, she passes me on her way to the door. I take her hand and thread my fingers through hers. She startles, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, one side of her mouth curls up just slightly in a small half-smile. I’ll take it. We get to the car and I’m forced to release her, but the minute we’re both seated and driving back into Dublin, her hand is within mine.

I can sense her wanting to ask about this morning, but she doesn’t. The only sound is the song coming through the speakers. We ride in silence. Every so often, I squeeze her hand gently. Finally, we come to a stop on a quiet, but frequented-by-locals street in front of a small, two-story building bookended on one side by a bookstore and a popular bakery on the other.

Sorcha sends me a questioning glance when I turn the car off. I just grin and exit the car. Seconds later, her door closes and she rounds the front to stand next to me.

“What is this place?” she finally breaks the silence.

“You’ll see.” I can’t help tease her.

I reach into my pocket, insert the key in the door, and open it. Then I glance over my shoulder. “You coming?”

Sorcha strides forward and follows me inside. I walk over to one wall and flip on the light. The concrete floor is bare and a little dusty. The tall ceiling is fitted with black rafters and exposed black ductwork. White tubed light covers dangle at random intervals, each one bright and shining with brand new bulbs. The cavernous space echoes with Sorcha’s footsteps as she gawks from one side of the room to another, slowly pivoting in a circle and taking everything in.

Her chin tips down and she meets my gaze. “This place is lovely. But I’m not sure what we’re doing here.”

I close the distance between us and reach for her hand, using my thumb to open her palm where I drop the key in it. Sorcha’s head jerks up and confusion is written across her face.

“It’s yours. If you want it,” I tell her.

“Mine?”

“For your gallery.”

Her eyes widen and then fill with tears. “Oh, Aidan.”

“I’m sorry for leaving and being weird this morning. Especially after last night.” I cradle her jaw. “It was nothing to do with you. It was me and my need to let go of the past.”

Sorcha lays her hand over mine. “I was worried you regretted it.”

“Not at all. I just needed to take care of a few things.”

“Did you get them taken care of?” she asks.

I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “I’m working on it. But while I get my shit together, what do you think? Should we buy the place as a wedding gift to ourselves?”

Sorcha laughs. “To ourselves, huh?”

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