Chapter 22
twenty-two
DAGR
Dagr couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed a dinner more. Instead of a perfectly cooked steak or fish filet with veg and potato sides, he slurped down a scorching portion of some bland, protein-packed watery soup and savored it.
Dessert had been his treat, having shared half of a blueberry protein bar with the woman sitting across the fire from him.
His dinner date was currently grinning around her puffed cheeks as she blew up her “princess” pillow. Done with the resuscitation, she pressed the rubber plunger back in its cradle and triumphantly held a standard-sized pillow up for his inspection.
“See? It even has a soft outside for ultimate comfort,” she said while running her fingers over the pillow’s textured material.
Bébhinn O’Faolain intrigued him. She was the whole package—intelligent, funny, adventurous, and though he would prefer not to admit the last, he would. She was stunning.
Not in the way some women were beautiful with perfectly-applied makeup, salon hairstyles, and tailored clothes.
Bébhinn was an all-natural beauty. She radiated health and passion.
The absolute best thing was that they were complete strangers, and he felt more comfortable around her than anyone except for his father.
“I appreciate the earlier offer of sharing that blowup toy, but I’ve done the calculations, and they show that even with your small head, once you add my big head, we definitely won’t fit.”
“We’ll fit,” she assured. “With my body wrapped around this side of the fire, and your body wrapped around the other, I’ll put the pillow lengthwise between our heads. We each get an end.”
He paused for a moment, realizing he hadn’t considered that layout. “Perhaps. To be decided.”
Her eyes lit with amusement, and she gave him a considering look. “You didn’t think I meant to sleep next to you, did you? Surely, Mr. Griffiths, we haven’t known each other long enough for the big spoon/little spoon step in our relationship.”
He felt the pale skin across his cheeks and ears heat even knowing she was only teasing him.
Clearing his throat, he busied himself with putting enough wood on the fire to last a few hours before answering.
“Very funny. Although this,” he waved a hand between them, “could go down as one of my longest relationships. Sooo,” he grinned, “you know.” He shrugged, taking great pleasure when he saw her cheeks pinken this time.
“You must be a great attorney. You’re brilliant at turning conversations around to suit you.” She lifted her eyebrows in mock censure.
“Speaking of, thanks to your brother’s interrogation, you know something about my life, but I don’t know anything about you. What do you do in Dublin?” Please say you’re a very young-looking divorcée.
“I’m a student at Trinity.”
Fuck my life.
“I’ve one year left for my History of Arts & Architecture degree. I already work part-time at my mother’s and aunts’ interior design studio. When I graduate, they plan on making me a partner.
“One of my best friends, Gray MacGregor, works for her mother’s company, O’Connor Hospitality. Gray and I plan on working many of the jobs together in the future since I’m more passionate about decorating commercial spaces over residential, and she’s brilliant at opening businesses.”
He was impressed with her passion as she spoke about her work. He knew the feeling of satisfaction that came with understanding your path in life. He had a lot of friends who went to university and fell into whatever job was eventually offered. They never appeared fulfilled.
“Sounds like you have it all figured out. You should be proud to be so young and driven. Now,” he started, removing most of his outer clothes since the cave was warm and he could use his layers as a pallet, “do you mind explaining your family…tree?”
She snorted in amusement while she mimicked his actions of getting ready to bed down for the night. “Ahh, you caught that, did you?”
She looked at him and rolled her eyes heavenward, blowing out a regretful breath, which only intrigued him more.
“Had I had a legal notepad and pen, I might have been able to keep track of the names and familiarities, but alas, I’m only a man, stuck in a cave with no paper or laptop in sight.”
“Fine, but you asked for it. Try not to interrupt,” she warned. At his nod, she continued. “Mom has two sisters. My mom’s name is Rowan, and her two older sisters are Raven and River. Older is quite a stretch as they are no more than nine to ten months apart.
“I won’t get into their parents’ lineage tonight except to say that my grandfather was a Byrne and Irish, and my grandmother was a Bond, Creek Native American from Oklahoma. They were both college professors in Oklahoma and died in a tornado years before I was born.
“Fast forward. My mom and aunts started an interior design business while still in college. They first had a brick-and-mortar shop in Oklahoma before moving permanently to Dublin and opening the shop they still have now. Triskelion Territory Designs. The reason for their move is an even longer and convoluted one, entailing my aunt Raven and her then-boyfriend breaking up. With me so far?”
“Yes, but damn if I’m not missing a computer right now.”
“Wait. It gets better,” she promised. “Enter the O’Faolains. Wealthy Oklahoma oil tycoons who decided to open an Irish pub in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in memory of the family’s patriarch, who’d passed years before, Jonathan O’Faolain.
“Hugh was the head of the family and had two grown sons, Bran and Patrick. God, in His infinite wisdom or more likely His sense of humor, led the men to hire the sisters.
“Long story shortish, Bran fell in love with Raven. Patrick fell in love with River, and Hugh fell in love with my mom, Rowan. Bran and River had a son, Daniel. Patrick and River had a son a few months later, Jonathan, and Hugh, my father, and my mother, had me a few months after that, making me Bran and Patrick’s sister and niece, and them my brothers and uncles.
Daniel and Jonathan are my nephews and my first cousins.
Oh, and Mom is Bran and Patrick’s sister-in-law, and their stepmother.
“Dad bought a four-story stone relic next to Triskelion and had the whole thing remodeled. The bottom floor is a realistic pub and great room for hanging out and entertaining, with guest rooms in the back. The remaining floors are for the three couples, so they were never far from each other.
“Would you like even more convoluted information to blow your mind?”
“Christ, why not?”
“Okay. So, Dad bought the townhouse I live in with my three best friends. He also bought the historic brick townhouse attached to mine. Can you guess who lives there?”
“My guess is your cousins…or nephews rather.”
“Correct. Plus, Ciar Murphy. He is a few years older and the son of Ciaran Murphy. Ciaran and his brother Cormac own a successful pub in Dublin. Murphys. Ciaran, by the way, used to have a thing for Mom. Dad never stopped hating him,” she laughed.
“Your dad sounds like he was very protective of his family.”
“You have no idea. Anyway, my mom and aunts’ best friend is Josephine O’Connor MacGregor. She grew up in Oklahoma but has since permanently moved to Scotland with her husband, Thomas MacGregor. You’ll recall me mentioning my friend Gray earlier. Jo is her mom.
“Thomas has another daughter—whom he raised but isn’t the biological dad of—with his ex-wife, whom he was married to in name only because she fell pregnant in college and her folks are dickheads.
His ex-wife, Aileen, is now married to their daughter’s bio dad.
Margaret, or Mags, is that daughter and another one of my best friends and roommates.
“Aileen’s older brother, Coll, is also Thomas’ best friend. The three of them grew up together. Coll married Thomas’ little sister, Catriona. They have a daughter, Blair. She is also one of my closest friends and lives with me too.
“There you have it. The inner workings of my inner circle.”
He was a very successful attorney. Pouring over dusty tombs of complex law was light reading for him, but Bébhinn’s regurgitation of her family and friends’ connections had his head spinning.
“Wow. Seriously. Wow.”
“I did warn you. You’ve only yourself to blame.” She placed the pillow between them and was about to lie down. “I’ll call you next week and give you an oral exam. Good luck.”
“Your smug tone suggests you don’t think I’ll pass.”
“Mmm,” was her reply.
“I never put failure on the table as an option. Hand me your phone.” She unlocked it with a curious but amused look and handed it over. He unlocked his phone and handed it to her.
He went to her contacts and added his name and number, and because he was thorough, he added his email and birthday. He was pleased she was entering her information too.
“I’ll take one hour tonight before I go to sleep to recite everything you told me. It’s all I’ll need.”
“You think I won’t call?”
She had already lain on her side facing the fire, taking up an extra small portion of pillow. He lay down too, taking up more than half the space.
“If you’re even half so diligent as your late father and brothers, I would bet that you already know the day and time you’ll be placing the call.” He grinned when he heard her snort of amusement.
“We’ll see,” was all she gave.
“The snow has almost stopped. We can make an early start of it. I know the trails well. With the snowfall, it should take between eight and ten hours to reach Conwy. I had a service take my car to Conwy. I’ve been summoned to Carmarthenshire.
My father has managed to piss off one of the new park’s biggest donors, and he needs me to smooth things over. ”
She sighed deeply before answering. “Dads can be the worst,” she said wistfully.
“And the best.”
“That too.”
“You mentioned you have a lift from Conwy to transport you to your jeep, but you still must drive to the ferry. Let me radio my friend’s son and have them take your jeep to Conwy. It’s less than an hour to Holyhead ferry from there. Did you leave your keys at the ranger office?”
“I did, but for crying out loud, you don’t need to go to the trouble,” she insisted.
He picked up his sat phone, dialed Joey, and set it up before Bébhinn could protest further. “Done.”
“You’re bossy.”
“Something tells me you like bossy.” Her silence was answer enough, so he pushed his luck further. “Read the letter. Tonight was the night, and you aren’t a coward. Read it.”