Chapter 8
8
Taylor
C iaron held my hand as we entered the doors of the tattoo parlour. The outside was painted black and there was a simple sign on the window— Get Inked . Inside, the walls were painted orange and green, and framed pictures of tattoo designs covered them. Interesting that he considered this his favourite place.
A lady with long black hair and ivory skin smiled at him from behind the counter. She glanced at me and cocked her head, then spoke to him in Irish.
He laughed. “You’ll need to speak English, Clair. Taylor isn’t fluent in Irish.”
She considered me like she was doing a faecal egg count in horse poo.
“She’s Australian,” Ciaron explained.
She nodded at me as her gaze turned back to Ciaron. “I’ll start again in English then. Don’t think you can just come in here and get an appointment. We don’t hold spots open for you.”
“Aye, but you’ll squeeze me in because you love me.” Ciaron gave her a dazzling smile. I knew it. The man had women all over this city.
“Don’t try that smiling bullshit with me. It might work on girls at the pub, but I’m not easy.”
My eyes widened. Easy. Was she calling me easy? “I haven’t been to the pub.”
“Sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean you.”
“I’m quite offended,” I said, a serious tone to my voice.
Her mouth dropped open.
“I didn’t put out the first night…I waited until this morning.” I stared her down, but then my smile escaped.
Clair let out a roar of laughter. “I can fit her in. Not you.”
“Clair, is that how you treat your favourite customer?”
“You’re only my favourite because you give me free beer.”
“I’m hurt by that,” Ciaron said, resting his hand on his chest.
“Truth hurts.”
I kissed him on the cheek. “You can have my spot.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s true love right there.” She looked at her book. “Oscar will be finished soon. He can fit you in as long as it’s nothing big you want.”
“Just a Claddagh on my wrist, with Taylor’s name.”
I nearly choked on the air.
“What?” Clair and I said in unison.
“I want a Claddagh with Taylor’s name.”
She wouldn’t stop staring at him. “You met her yesterday and you want to tattoo her name on your wrist?”
He shrugged. “I’m going to marry her, so it makes sense.”
Fuck, he was serious. I thought it was just a running joke. Never in my wildest dreams…well, maybe in some of my dreams. Who would think the man of my dreams would find me drifting in a kayak in the middle of Dublin? Ciaron was kind, attentive, funny, respectful, and who could forget his good looks…and his dick that could take me to my favourite place.
I gripped his hand tighter. “What’s a Claddagh?”
“It has a heart in its centre,” Ciaron said.
“For love,” Clair added.
“Two hands holding the heart on either side.”
“They represent friendship,” Clair said.
“And a crown sits on top of the heart.”
I glanced at Clair.
“Loyalty,” she said.
Ciaron turned and took my hands in his. He rested his forehead against mine. “It’s my vow to you that I will cherish and love you forever.”
My heart melted. And then my brain caught up. “We’ll be back soon,” I said to Clair. I led Ciaron out of the tattoo parlour and into a nearby alley. Standing in front of him, I looked him dead in the eye and said, “A tattoo is forever.”
“So is marriage.” His eye contact didn’t waver.
My heart thumped in my chest, an inner chant: do it do it stop being rational. “Yeah, OK, but we just met.” Rational won out. But hope and want were right behind it.
“Are you saying you don’t feel the same?” Ciaron searched my face.
What was I going to say? I wasn’t going to lie. My feelings for Ciaron were deep, deeper than I’d had for a man before. But maybe it was some kind of rescuer fantasy. No, I’d been enamoured with him before he’d rescued me.
But look at what happened with my parents. Dad had moved all the way to Australia and started a family. Then he left us. For no real reason except he lost interest or missed home or whatever.
Ciaron was still watching me patiently, quietly. I needed to talk this out with him. Marriages are about communication. When something was confusing or not working or hard or scary, it needed to be spoken about. No communication meant no marriage.
“I feel the same.”
Ciaron nodded. A small smile lifted his lips, as if to say he was satisfied with my answer, but he knew there needed to be more.
“How will this work? We live in two different countries.”
“I will move to Australia to live and work on the farm with you and your mother.”
“You will leave everything behind to come to the farm?”
“Your future is that farm. That means my future is that farm.”
We’d had many long conversations about the farm and how I would take over from Mum one day. If I were to get married, my marriage would take priority over that. It needed to. Could I do that? Absolutely. Mum had always put me first, and still had a successful business. She was a shining example of priorities.
“Being a horse breeder is hard work.” I wanted to be as upfront and honest as I could. “It’s not just a job, it’s a life, sometimes all-consuming.”
Ciaron nodded. “I know. You’ve told me. It will be our life.”
His voice was so steady, so sure. But what about his brothers? He loved them with all his heart. How was he going to move half a world away when he was worried about them after being away for one night? They needed him. He was the only father figure in their life.
And what if he got homesick like my father? I let out a huff. I didn’t want that man to cloud my judgement or have any influence on my future, but it was something I needed to think about.
“Will your brothers be OK?”
His eyes became glassy. He reached up and cupped my face. “The fact that you asked that, Taylor, proves to me that you are the one for me.” He sighed. “I’ve thought about this. It will work. I won’t abandon them even though I’m not physically here.”
He’d put thought into this. He was certain.
I needed to say the words, to let Ciaron know all my fears. “My father came all the way to Australia and then left us.”
“I am not your father.”
That was true. The only similarity between them was that they were Irish. Even when Ciaron spoke about his mother, he didn’t use ugly words like my father had done at dinner.
I leant into him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “Time to get your tattoo.”