A Letter from Ireland – Juliet Gauvin #5
Her eyes widened, again her insides pulled together. “Wow, you do?” She shook her head. “I just drew that again. This afternoon.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Really?”
“Yeah. You showing up this morning—it unlocked something.”
Just then, a server brought them another round of Guinness.
She took a sip of the dark, rich beer, savoring it. “What brought you back to Dingle?” she asked.
He took a sip of his drink and then nodded slightly. “My mum. She got sick a few years ago. I moved back to take care of her.”
“I’m sorry,” her voice grew softer.
“It’s OK, she passed four years ago. It was peaceful in the end.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
He held onto her fingers for a few seconds before letting go. “I didn’t expect to stay, but . . .”
“But?”
He looked around the room for a moment, as if trying to find the right words.
“Once I’d stayed long enough to really see this place again, I didn’t want to leave.
I opened my own practice. Smaller projects.
More local work. It just felt right. I still consult on work in Dublin, but I’m mostly here now.
It’s home. What about you? How’s your family?
I know it’s been decades at this point, but I was sorry about your Gran. ”
Erin nodded, clasping her hands under her chin. “Thanks, my parents are fine, still back in California. As for Gran, your letters were a big help when it happened. I can’t believe she’s been gone almost twenty-four years.”
“Your gran was pure class,” he said. “The two years she lived next door to us were brilliant. She always had a smile on her face. I was sad when she moved back to California. And I s’ppose I knew it meant you wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.”
She bit her lip. “I always wanted to come back.” She placed her arms on the table in front of her.
He leaned forward and took her right wrist, rolling it so he could get a better look at the underside. “You got it!”
She followed his gaze to the tiny infinity symbol tattoo she’d gotten above her wrist bone.
“Yeah, when I was thirty.”
He smiled and released her arm. “You talked about getting it back when you were thirteen—never thought you actually would.”
“I can’t believe you remember,” she said quietly.
“I remember everything,” his voice was deep, sincere.
Her insides clenched together, and the blood began to pool lower in her abdomen.
His gaze intensified.
Her chest began rising and falling more quickly as her breathing became more shallow.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I’d come to visit you in LA like we talked about in our twenties?” His voice was low, like gravel.
She nodded. “You mean if you hadn’t gotten that starting job at your dream architectural firm in Dublin and I hadn’t gotten that summer job at the library in LA?”
He nodded.
“More often than I’d like to admit.” She went bright red.
He gave her a crooked, satisfied sort of smile. “I’m glad.”
They ordered another round of drinks, switching to whiskey as a fiddle began playing in the back room.
They stayed at the table for hours. The room slowly shifted around them—diners leaving, a new wave arriving, the ambient noise rising and falling like the tide.
The fiddle in the back room grew louder, more playful. Shane leaned back in his chair, his grin easy and wide. “Do you remember when we tried to learn the tin whistle?”
Erin winced. “I still have one—can’t play a single note—well, a decent one anyway.”
He laughed. “You insisted we were going to start a trad band. You gave us a name and everything.”
“Erin and the Ancient Souls,” she said proudly.
He nearly choked on his whiskey. “That’s it!”
They were both laughing now, heads tilted back.
It felt good.
Familiar.
Somewhere between the second and third round of whiskey, the conversation shifted.
He leaned in closer to her, elbows resting casually on the table. “So . . . anyone special back in LA?”
She mirrored his position and leaned in. Their faces were only a few inches apart. “No,” she said, openly. “No one serious. A couple things here and there, but . . . nothing that lasted. I guess I always knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t that.”
He nodded slowly. “Same.”
“No girlfriend?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve dated, but I guess I’ve never been great at doing things halfway. And I haven’t met anyone who made me want to go all in.”
She swallowed and looked down at the dark amber of her whiskey. “I know what you mean.”
There was a pause. The kind that stretched—but didn’t strain.
“I really am happy to see you,” he said, gently. “And not just in a this is nice kind of way. I didn’t know how much I missed you until you were standing in front of me.”
Her throat tightened. She looked up and met his eyes. “Same.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “You know . . .” he paused, then leaned forward another degree, “I was keen on you, that whole summer.”
She stopped breathing.
“I know we were kids,” he added quickly, “but I remember thinking you were the best part of my day. I’d wake up already hoping we’d do something together. Even if it was just sitting in the grass, talking about how weird clouds are.”
She smiled slowly, feeling the flush in her cheeks, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I think I thought I didn’t have to,” he said. “You were leaving. And we had the letters. And . . . I don’t know. I was thirteen. But I thought about it a lot over the years.” He sighed. “If I’m being honest, I was keen on you the entire time we wrote each other.”
She looked down at her hands, then back at him. “Me too.” She suddenly felt very hot.
They let the silence settle between them, filled only by the music drifting in from the next room.
After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Can I walk you back?”
She smiled. “Well, I’m definitely not driving. Do you think my car will be OK?”
He waved a hand at her dismissively. “It’ll be fine. Did you park on the main street?”
She nodded. “Right in front of the gallery.”
“It’ll be grand, leave it where it is. I can collect it and drop it by tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
He nodded. “It isn’t any bother.”
She handed him the keys. “Thanks. How long is the walk back?”
“Not long,” his eyes glinted with mischief. “I know a shortcut.”
“Of course you do,” she laughed.
They settled the bill and walked out into the cool summer night.
The air was crisp and still, the sound of the pub faded behind them.
She extracted the jacket she’d placed in her tote bag and put it on.
They walked up the street, arms almost brushing against each other, until finally he closed the distance and grabbed her hand.
A shot of electricity moved through her.
He pulled her towards a small path through the trees, barely visible from the street. They walked hand in hand for a minute before the energy became too charged and she pulled away using a clearing in the trees and the stars as an excuse.
She looked up.
The sky was a velvety black and covered in sparkling stars. “God, I missed this sky.” They’d spent so many summer nights staring up together.
He glanced sideways at her. “It missed you.”
They walked silently, arms brushing against each other again and again, always dancing on the edge of more.
When the trees gave way and the cottage lights appeared ahead in the distance, they slowed.
Erin turned towards him. “Thanks for walking me.”
He nodded. “Always.”
They stood there for a moment. Closer than they needed to be.
His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up. “So . . .”
She tilted her head up. “So . . . ?”
Neither one moved.
There was something electric between them—something holding them in place.
Then, slowly, like magnets inching closer, they leaned in.
Their faces were only inches apart now. She could see the lighter flecks in his eyes, the exact place where green shifted to gold.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
And then, a breeze lifted from the lake.
Her hair blew forward, into his face. He flinched, surprised by the motion, then let out a low breathy laugh.
He caught her hair gently and tucked it behind her ear.
When their eyes met again, something had shifted.
The moment—whatever it had been building towards—had passed.
He stepped back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll drop your car off tomorrow.”
She nodded, her heart pounding. “Thanks.”
He smiled, slower now. “I’m really glad you’re here, Erin. I’d like to spend more time together, if that’s alright by you.”
“I’d like that,” she answered, her voice soft. She’d somehow managed to sound cool and calm, even though her thirteen-year-old self was screaming with glee inside.
They stood there for another few seconds, not quite ready to say goodbye.
She leaned forward and gave him a hug. They pressed their cheeks together, neither wanting to break the connection.
Until finally, she did.
She turned on her heel and walked towards the cottage. She looked back once and waved. He was still there, watching.
Her whole body was buzzing as she stepped through the French doors. She turned to look through the sheer curtain fixed to the doors. He was still standing there, at the edge of the woods, smiling.
A second later he turned and disappeared into the trees.
THE STORM
By mid-June, the days had taken on a rhythm.
The sun rose early and set late, casting golden light across Lough Rhiannon until nearly ten at night.
Erin painted like she hadn’t in years—ten nearly finished pieces now lived across the upstairs studio, leaning carefully against the walls or still drying on easels.
Her hands were always streaked with color, her body constantly hummed with the quiet satisfaction of creation.