Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
T he morning sun peeked over the stone wall when Aisling heard the back gate creak. Céilí, who had taken up her new favorite spot near the herb garden, let out a suspicious bray that sounded more like an accusation than a greeting.
“Easy, girl,” Aisling muttered as she stepped out onto the porch, teacup in hand. “She’s not here to steal your thunder.”
The workers were inside, pounding away and putting up new walls in the kitchen. It was coming together, and she already knew she was going to love what they were doing.
Sure enough, Bríd appeared in a bright floral cardigan, her silver braid bouncing against her shoulder as she strode up the path like she had urgent news—and possibly baked goods.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Aisling said, settling into a rocker and sipping her tea. Part of her had been expecting this visit this morning. “You look like someone with scandal tucked in her pocket.”
Bríd didn’t bother to sit. She leaned against the railing, eyes wide, lips twitching. “So,” she said, dragging out the word. “I stopped by the butcher’s this morning. Meats and gossip, side by side, you know how it is.”
Aisling raised a brow. “Do I want to know?”
Bríd grinned. “Is it true?”
“That’s... vague.”
Bríd stepped forward like she couldn’t help herself. “You and Ronan. Together. At a restaurant. Sitting so close, people could barely see daylight between you. And then you went to the Battle of the Clans? With matching pints and smiling like two lovesick eejits?”
Aisling blinked. “Wow. Did you also get a photograph? Or perhaps a charcoal sketch?”
Bríd cackled and finally sat beside her. “I don’t need art, dear. I have imagination. And the entire town is talking. Apparently, the pub hasn’t had that much to whisper about since Nora Devlin ran off with the mailman in ’89.”
With a groan, Aisling covered her face. “We literally sat at a table and drank Guinness and played trivia.”
Aisling had known that last night was going to cause quite the ruckus, but for it to be discussed at the butcher’s was unreal.
“You toasted with your drinks. That makes it romantic.”
“Pretty sure it just made the beer foamy,” Aisling muttered.
Bríd nudged her knee with a knuckle. “So? Is it true? Is there... something happening?”
Aisling hesitated, staring into her teacup like it held answers. “He’s infuriating.”
Bríd’s grin widened.
“And clever.”
The older woman nodded sagely.
“And way too sure of himself.”
“So... yes,” Bríd said triumphantly.
Aisling sighed. “Fine. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like I planned any of this. One minute, I’m swearing I’ll never date again, and the next I’m letting a man kiss me because he insists on shutting me up in the pub, and next, I’m letting him kiss me because he insists on editing metaphors in the middle of a goat emergency.”
That last part wasn’t really true, but it could have been. Ronan was just stubborn enough.
Bríd let out a belly laugh. “Only you, love.”
“I swear, I’m cursed. My fiancé was an editor,” she said, suddenly.
“Oh, cursed is a strong word. I’d say... mildly enchanted. And maybe a wee bit smitten.”
Aisling rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Last night, she’d lain in bed and realized how much she enjoyed being with Ronan. Sparing with him and the kisses. Good Lord, they were hot enough to start a forest fire.
Bríd leaned back. “Your grandmother would’ve loved this.”
At the mention of her, Aisling stiffened slightly. “Actually... I found something yesterday. Hidden in the wall behind the kitchen. Maybe you know about it.”
Bríd straightened. “What sort of something?”
Without a word, Aisling stood, disappeared into the house, and returned with the small tin box and the letter, folded and worn at the edges. She handed them over like they were made of glass.
Bríd opened the box first. Inside, the ring glinted in the light, delicate, elegant, and unmistakably old. She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.
“Sweet Holy Mary,” she breathed. “Is that...”
“Yes.”
Bríd picked up the ring, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Your grandmother must have hidden this away.”
She set the ring down and unfolded the letter. Her lips moved as she read, her eyes scanning faster and faster until she reached the bottom.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “So it’s true. He did love her.”
Aisling nodded. “Patrick Wright. Professor. Columbia University. He left Dublin with plans to come back in two weeks. He must have mailed her that ring, but if Mom received it, she would have taken it to New York with her.”
“So your grandmother intervened. That’s how the ring found its way into the wall,” Bríd said.
“Yes,” Aisling said with a sigh. “At least, that’s what I think. When Patrick never arrived…”
“She couldn’t wait,” Bríd said softly, finishing the thought. “Your mother waited as long as she could. And when he didn’t return... she left for New York. Heartbroken and pregnant.”
“She probably thought he lied,” Aisling said. “Or changed his mind. Maybe even went back to his wife and pretended she never existed.”
“Your grandmother was so upset that she was pregnant by a married man,” Bríd said with a heavy sigh. “Your mother couldn’t stay here.”
“My grandmother couldn’t stand the shame. Her daughter was pregnant by a married man. A man who wasn’t free to marry her daughter.”
Bríd sighed and ran a hand over the letter like it might rewrite itself. “The letter says he’s coming back. What if something happened?”
Aisling shrugged. “I don’t know. I know this man. He’s a famous author who I tried to persuade to come to our publishing house. Yesterday, I sent him an email. I have to learn his side of the story.”
Bríd looked at her with misty eyes. “You deserve that truth, love. You really do.”
“I think my mother deserved it too,” Aisling said quietly. “But it’s too late for her.”
There was a long moment of silence between them, filled only by the sounds of birds in the trees and the distant thud of hammers inside the house.
Finally, Bríd exhaled. “Your mother... she was so full of light when she fell in love. I’ve never seen anyone so smitten. But when she came back here at the end of summer, just before she left for good, that light was gone. Snuffed out. And I never saw it return.”
“I think,” Aisling said, “she tried to pretend it never happened. But she never stopped loving him.”
Bríd looked down at the ring again. “And now it’s your turn. You’re chasing ghosts while real feelings are blooming right here.”
Aisling gave a shaky laugh. “Don’t make this about Ronan.”
“I didn’t. You did.”
“Bríd.”
The older woman reached over and patted her hand. “It’s okay to have more than one truth, darling. You can grieve the past and still hope for something new.”
“I’m scared.”
Bríd’s voice softened. “That means it matters.”
Aisling looked away, swallowing hard, remembering the last time she thought she found love. It hadn’t been that long ago. And it ended with her losing her job, her fiancé, and coming to Ireland.
“Besides,” Bríd added slyly, “if you and Ronan ever have a falling out, you can always unleash Céilí on his precious flowerbeds again.”
Aisling burst out laughing, the heaviness in her chest lifting, just a little.
“I’ll put that in my back pocket.”
“You should,” Bríd said, standing and brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. “And now, I have to get to the bakery before they sell out of cream scones. The ones with jam. I’ll save you one.”
Aisling stood too and hugged her. “Thanks for... everything. You help me understand my family in a way that no one can.”
Bríd squeezed her tightly. “You’ve got a big heart, girl. Don’t let fear shrink it. Your family fell on some hard times. You can make them right.”
“I’ll try.”
As Bríd walked down the lane, her braid swinging behind her, Aisling sat on the porch and looked at the ring once more.
Her past had been buried in the walls of this house. But maybe—just maybe—her future had already walked through the front door.
With flowers. And a manuscript.
And lips that could still make her knees weak.