Chapter 16 #4
I nod, smiling. “I liked the smell of baked things. Bread. Cinnamon. Sugar. Things that prove something soft can survive heat.”
His eyes sharpen. There’s something about that that gets to him.
“Aye. You can have that, if you want.”
“Do you have one here, in Ballyhock?”
“No.”
He starts listing the places they do have. His voice goes soft with familiarity; he knows every corner, every person behind every counter. It draws something from me.
“Aye, well, there’s a place called the Ice Cream Shoppe,” he starts. “Self-explanatory. And there’s coffee… let’s see. Let me tell you about Ballyhock.”
Time halts again, a little.
“I’m eager to get to the actual city,” I tell him.
“So we have a place called the Cottage Brew, right? Cozy coffee. Soda bread. Then there’s The Blimey Pub, which kinda speaks for itself. Do you like Guinness?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never had one.”
“Wait, what? You’ve never had a fucking Guinness?” he says, utterly baffled, like I’ve just confessed a mortal sin.
I laugh softly.
“We’ll fix that, love, we will.”
“My brothers didn’t really like me drinking,” I confess.
He laughs, shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “They practically wean us on Guinness in our bottles.”
I laugh as he continues.
“There’s ice cream there now. Gelato. We’re getting fancy, thanks to the Italians. D’Agostino owns the Italian shop. And there’s this place called The Cheeky Mackerel Coastal Eatery. But no bakery. Not yet.” He pauses.
“Do you want to open one?” he asks. “Like Anya.”
The mention of her hits strange… two worlds colliding.
I think about Anya’s bakery, the one that’s nearly caused war between rival factions, because location is everything.
“Do you want to open a bakery?” he repeats.
I hesitate. “I don’t know. Give me time, please.”
Because it feels like betrayal. Leaving my family. Marrying Seamus. Starting over with flour-dusted dreams and a storefront window.
I don’t say all that, just keep it tucked inside.
“You want me to open a bakery in the middle of a feud?”
He shrugs. It’s slow and deliberate.
“I’ve seen stranger things.” Then he leans back.
The light catches his jaw, the faint stubble there. He’s not smiling, not exactly, but his face is softer than I’ve ever seen. If I reached out, I think he’d welcome it.
“Did you ever want anything silly?” I ask.
He looks away, and his jaw tightens.
“Yeah,” he says. “Peace.”
That silences me. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s real.
So real.
“Let’s say we had children,” I continue, turning my gaze to the window. “Do you like kids, Seamus?”
“I’d like mine.”
There’s honesty there again, the kind you don’t argue with.
“You planning something, love?”
“I am.” But I don’t tell him what.
“If I had children, it’d be a union of two families, wouldn’t it?” I tease, rolling my eyes toward him. “It’s hypothetical. Humor me. What would you name a boy?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Never really thought about it. But I know a girl’s name.”
“Yeah?”
“Caitlin. After mam. Once you meet her, you’ll understand.”
“That’s beautiful.” I breathe the name. “Caitlin. You love her?”
“Of course I do. Anyone who meets her does.”
I look away then, suddenly nervous, like I’m breaking open in front of him.
“What’s the matter, Zoya?”
I don’t answer, not until he squeezes my knees, and not gently.
“Remember the rules,” he says softly. “Tell me the truth. What are you thinking, love?”
So I do. I tell him.
“What if your family doesn’t love me? What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t fit in? I’m different, you know.”
He turns to face me fully. His eyes hold mine, unwavering.
“Anybody who doesn’t love you,” he says, “is a goddamn fool.”
And I believe him.
Because it’s Seamus. Because he says it like it’s the most obvious truth in the world.
A long silence falls between us. It’s not awkward, but comfortable. Natural.
“I like this,” I whisper when he brushes his thumb across the top of my hand. His eyes flick to mine, then tilt toward the sea. He cants his head. “What’s ‘this’?” he murmurs. “The quiet? The talking? The solitude?”
I don’t answer. I just look out at the sea with him.
It’s endless and constant.
“I like this too,” he says, his voice quieter now. Thoughtful.
“I don’t want to be negative, darlin’, but I have to tell you. This quiet, it’s the calm before the storm.” His jaw tightens, and his breath catches like he already knows it too.
I nod.
“You know, I’ve got fears of my own,” he says after a long pause.
“Tell me.” The tea’s grown cold in my mug, and my belly growls with hunger.
“I want to keep you.”
He looks away. Then looks back.
“I know,” I tell him with a shrug. “But what’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know how to keep something safe unless I’m holding it so tight it might suffocate.”
I reach out and touch his hand.
“You don’t have to hold me so tight,” I whisper. “Choose me, Seamus, if you have to. Then let me choose you back.”
His fingers wrap tighter around mine, not a prison. And for the first time, he doesn’t try to answer with words. He just holds me.
“I need a shower,” he says finally. “Join me?”