Chapter 10
Sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft golden streaks, warming the room in a quiet, lazy glow.
Outside, birds sang and bees hummed, enjoying a morning that felt impossibly still—sacred in its simplicity.
Gwen stirred, tangled in the sheets and in Keefe, her cheek resting against the rise and fall of his chest.
For a moment, she just listened—to the steady rhythm of his heart, to the whisper of his breath—and let herself believe this was forever. That this moment, this man, could be hers beyond the golden hush of morning after a night that had changed everything.
“Good morning. You’re still here,” Keefe murmured, his voice thick with sleep as his hand traced slow, lazy circles on her bare back.
“Where else would I be?” Gwen whispered. She tilted her face up to kiss the center of his chest, then trailed soft kisses across his skin.
Even as she melted into his warmth, a hollow ache bloomed in her chest.
She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant to fall for someone—much less a man who felt more right, more like home, than anyone or any place she’d ever known.
And she hadn’t told him the truth.
Every perfect kiss, every whispered word they’d shared, was built on a lie. When she walked into that pub, she’d been someone else entirely. A woman with secrets. A woman who never planned to stay long enough for anything to matter.
Now she couldn’t imagine leaving. Couldn’t imagine losing him.
“You’re quiet,” Keefe said, lifting his head to study her face.
“Just tired,” she replied softly. “And enjoying the birdsong. In the city, all I ever hear is traffic.”
“Do you miss it? Dublin?”
Not in the least.
“I used to think Dublin was home,” she said, then glanced toward the window. “But now... I’m not so sure. I can’t imagine going back.”
Now was her opportunity to tell him the truth. But when it came to it, the words lodged in her throat. She would have to tell him. The longer she waited, the worse it would be.
Just a few more quiet moments.
She slid out from under the covers, padding softly across the room. Dressed in nothing but his oversized T-shirt that brushed the tops of her thighs, Gwen moved like a whisper—her hair mussed from sleep... and from him. Her bare legs still ached in the best possible way.
She paused at his dresser. Her gaze landed on a small silver frame nestled among a few scattered coins and a worn leather wallet. She picked it up and let out a quiet laugh.
Inside the frame was a black-and-white photo strip—the old-school kind you only got from a photo booth.
Four snapshots of two small children, both dark-haired and grinning like maniacs.
In the first, the girl was mid-shove and the boy looked indignant, caught mid-protest. In the second, they both appeared to be trying to sit on the same tiny stool.
Third frame: the boy—Keefe, unmistakably—was giving the girl bunny ears.
And in the final one, both of them had their fingers up behind each other’s heads, laughing like loons.
“Is this you and Sophie?” Gwen asked, her voice still husky from sleep.
Keefe’s voice drifted from the bed, low and lazy. “Yeah. Our parents took us to see Star Wars at the movie theater. We begged them to let us take a photo in the booth out front.”
She turned to glance at him, smiling.
He was lying shirtless under the quilt, hands folded behind his head, watching her with that half-lidded look that made her want to crawl right back in beside him.
“There was only one stool in the booth,” he continued, grinning at the memory.
“So, of course, we fought over it. Right before the first photo snapped, she elbowed me off. In the second one we’re both trying to sit on it at once.
In the third, I gave her bunny ears, and by the last one we were both doing it to each other. Look at those faces—pure chaos.”
Gwen chuckled, brushing her thumb over the glass. “You look so smug.”
“That’s because I was. Still am, probably.”
She set the frame down gently and looked around the room. The space was warm, lived-in, layered with dark wood and soft textures. A faded wool throw was draped over the armchair in the corner, a half-read book on the nightstand beside an empty glass. Everything about it felt real. Grounded. Safe.
“You have a lovely home,” she said quietly. “It’s beautiful. Comfortable.”
Keefe propped himself up on one elbow, eyes lingering on her like she was the best view in the room. “Thanks. It’s even lovelier now.”
Sensing the storm still churning inside her, he reached out a hand.
Just a few more quiet moments. Then she would tell him everything.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she crossed the room back to the bed, her bare feet silent on the worn wood floor.
“You’re such a flirt,” she said, climbing in beside him.
He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. “Only with you.”
And just like that, the photo booth memory, the warm room, the softness of the morning—it all melted into the moment as they kissed, slow and smiling, beneath the rising sun.
“It’s actually my aunt’s house. She remarried, and when Soph and I moved back, she let us stay here while we got settled.”
“Your sister doesn’t live here anymore?”
“Nope. She just got married herself a few weeks ago. Moved in with her husband.”
The investigator’s report had made no mention of Sophie getting married. Gwen narrowed her eyes, filing the detail away. What else had the feckin’ eejit missed?
She looked out at the garden, a burst of color in full bloom. “Your garden is stunning.” Her voice was quiet. “You’re lucky, you know. To have a place like this... and family.”
Keefe’s gaze softened. “You don’t?”
“Not really.” Gwen kept her eyes on the garden. “My mom died when I was a baby and now that my dad is gone it’s just me. I never knew anyone else.”
“No aunts? Grandparents?”
She shook her head.
That sounded like a very lonely life. “What were holidays like for you growing up?”
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Holidays were usually just me. Sometimes I went home. Most times though, I stayed at my boarding school. My dad was a busy man.”
Keefe couldn’t imagine it—holidays in silence, no noisy kitchen, no squabbles, no laughter.
Just quiet halls and empty plates. He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him instinctively, resting in the warmth of his chest, the safety of his arms. She’d never known peace like this. Not ever.
It didn’t make sense. None of it did. People didn’t fall in love overnight. But what did she know about love?
Her father had given her everything money could buy—designer clothes, elite schooling, sleek townhouses and staff—but she could count on one hand how often he’d said he loved her.
Maybe that was the real reason she came looking for Darcie.
Cian had given his life to protect Darcie. That was the kind of love that couldn’t be bought or faked. That was real. And Gwen, though she hated to admit it, had always wondered: would her father have done the same for her?
Maybe. There had been one moment...
She’d nearly forgotten, which was strange, because it was one of the worst days of her life.
It was a garden party. A man had grabbed her—hard.
She screamed. Her father was there in seconds, tearing him off her with fire in his eyes.
That man, whoever he was, disappeared. Never to be seen again.
She’d always wondered if Cian had done something.
But what mattered more was what came after: her father bringing her tea and her favorite chocolates, sitting by her bed while she cried. It was the only time he’d ever really looked at her like a father.
“Ruby?”
Gwen blinked, drawn back. “Hm?”
“You disappeared on me for a second.”
“I was just remembering my father,” she said softly.
“He had a fancy home with a large garden. But everything was trimmed to perfection—every rose the same height, every hydrangea clipped just so, hedges so symmetrical it was almost unsettling. Not a single weed in sight. There were colors and scents, but somehow it all felt cold.” She glanced out again at the perfectly imperfect tangle of flowers.
“This,” she laid her hand over his heart, “this feels like home.”
Someday, she would tell him what happened in that cold garden. Not because she owed him the truth, but because she wanted him to have it. Because she wanted to be known—fully, honestly, and without walls.
But not now.
Now, she just wanted to be here. In the sunshine. In his arms.
Keefe lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “If you’re free today, I was thinking we could pack a picnic and head to Ballydonegan Beach. Ever been?”
“No,” she said, perking up. “I haven’t.”
“It’s a whole other magical world on the peninsula. Windswept cliffs, bright green pastures, the wild Atlantic—plus, I know a place that makes the best burger you’ve ever had.”
She grinned. “Sounds divine.”
“So that’s a yes?”
If he’d suggested robbing a bank, she’d have said yes, just to stay by his side. For once, she was going to say yes to something she wanted.
Yes, to him.
Yes, to this.