Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
A isling leaned against the stone of the castle’s front porch, arms crossed, heart thrumming harder than she cared to admit.
Ninety-one days since she inherited this place. Ninety-one days of hammering, sawing, shouting, dust, goats in heat, Gallagher feuds, rogue kisses, heartbreak, betrayal, revelations—and somehow, some kind of healing.
The castle was finished. And it wasn’t just a house anymore.
It was home.
Never would she have thought of recreating this place and keeping it, but now she knew she could never part with the castle. It was home. It was family. It was her heritage.
There would be no returning to the States. This was where she would stay. In a town filled with gossips, but she didn’t care. It was home.
Tonight, the pub would host another reading night, and she had a chapter ready—a chapter that had nothing to do with heartbreak, betrayal, or goats. A chapter about second chances.
She was ready to show Mountshannon that Aisling O’Byrne wasn’t just surviving. She was standing taller than ever.
Throwing on her favorite jeans and a new green sweater that made her feel more Irish than a pint of Guinness, she headed toward The Last Drop.
The pub buzzed even louder than usual, almost vibrating with something bigger than simple drink and song. When Aisling stepped through the door, a wave of cheers broke over her.
“Aisling!” Paddy shouted, raising his glass.
Someone else whistled.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. Let them gossip. Let them talk. She’d earned it.
She spotted Ronan immediately.
He sat at the corner table, a sheaf of pages clutched in his big, callused hands, his dark hair mussed like he’d spent the day tugging on it. He wore a blue shirt that made his eyes ridiculously blue, and when he looked up and caught her staring, a slow, devastating grin curled his lips.
She glared at him. Hard.
We’re not done yet, Gallagher.
She made a show of sitting at the bar, far away from him. Far enough to make her point, but close enough to smell him every time the breeze from the open door shifted.
Paddy leaned over the bar. “You going to break any more hearts tonight, girl?”
“Not unless someone asks stupid questions,” she said sweetly.
Paddy grinned. “Good to have you back.”
She sipped her whiskey and waited for her turn.
Paddy clapped his hands for attention. “Right! Reading night! First up, the pride of Mountshannon herself—Miss Aisling O’Byrne!”
The room hooted and whistled.
She climbed the tiny stage, took a deep breath, and read her chapter—this one about strength, stubbornness, rebuilding something old and broken into something beautiful. About not settling. About demanding more—from life, from love.
When she finished, the crowd erupted in applause, stamping their feet and slapping tables. Even Ronan clapped, though she could see the mischief dancing in his eyes.
She bowed dramatically and made her way back to the bar.
Paddy winked. “You killed it.”
“Good,” she said, throwing back the rest of her whiskey. “Now I can enjoy watching Ronan Gallagher crash and burn.”
Paddy just chuckled. “Don’t be too sure, girl.”
She narrowed her eyes. Suspicious.
Paddy called Ronan’s name, and the pub quieted immediately.
He stood slowly, holding that single sheaf of papers. When he reached the stage, he didn't read right away. Instead, he stared at her.
Right at her.
The room disappeared.
Only him.
“Tonight,” he said, voice strong, “I’m not reading about fictional heroes or misty fields. I’m reading something real.”
The crowd murmured.
Aisling’s stomach flipped over itself.
He read a story about a stubborn woman with fire in her blood, who walked into his life and knocked down every wall he’d ever built. A woman who hated him on sight, fought him with everything she had, and slowly stole his heart anyway.
He spoke of the battle between pride and love, between old wounds and new beginnings.
And when he reached the final line, his voice softened, rich with something so raw it made her want to weep:
“I loved her before I even realized it. I loved her when she hated me. I love her still. And I'll love her every stubborn, maddening, beautiful day to come."
The pub exploded.
Cheers, whistles, pounding fists on tables.
Aisling sat frozen for a beat, then surged to her feet and stormed toward him.
When she reached him, she didn’t say a word.
She grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him down, and kissed him hard.
The pub howled like a winning football match.
She tore her mouth away just long enough to growl, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"I love you, too, Ronan Gallagher. But I had to wait ninety-one days to make damn sure you weren’t going to steal my bloody castle.”
The laughter roared even louder.
Ronan dropped his paper and reached into his pocket—and got down on one knee.
The room went dead silent.
All the air seemed to leave the pub at once.
He looked up at her, eyes fierce, tender, a little wild.
“Aisling O’Byrne,” he said, voice shaking just a little, “marry me. Make me the happiest, most cursed man in all of County Clare. Marry me—not because of some stupid piece of paper, not because of the past—but because you’re my future. Because I’m bloody miserable without you.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Tears stung her eyes.
She knelt down in front of him, cupped his scruffy, stubborn face in her hands, and said:
"Yes. On one condition."
He grinned, fierce and reckless. "Anything."
"We keep the lands separate. No merging castles. No combining goats."
The pub burst into another wave of laughter.
Ronan’s grin widened. “Done. Hell, you can have my land if you’ll just marry me.”
Her throat tightened. She leaned in and whispered:
“I don’t want your land, Gallagher. I want your heart. And it’s mine now."
He crushed his mouth to hers again, and this time, there was no anger. No old wounds. Only promise. Only the future.
The pub around them melted away. The shouts, the cheers, the stomping feet—all faded until it was just her and Ronan and a future she hadn't dared dream about.
Until now.