Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
The snow has finally stopped but the air is numbingly cold and a light white coverage dusts the rooftops. Dan walks on the roadside and I’m on the higher ground of the footpath so he doesn’t seem as towering.
‘Thanks for walking me home,’ I tell him. My heart is still fluttering at the closeness of his physical presence but I’m feeling more alive now than anything else.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he says in that husky, lilting voice of his as the orange glow from the lampposts casts down on us.
‘You know, I think I’ve always wanted to live in a small village but never realised it until I drove through Heartwell.
’ My curls blow wildly in the night breeze.
‘It must be from all the books I read as a kid, small village life . . . the Gilmore Girls TV show. It reminds me so much of Stars Hollow.’ I wrap my arms around myself.
‘I haven’t seen the show but we get that a lot. I love this little village,’ Dan concurs and we continue our walk through the square in companionable silence.
‘These trees, I mean, they must be hundreds of years old.’ I stop as we enter the village green. Snow-covered benches sit under the huge bare trees that are wrapped in twinkling fairy lights. ‘You rarely see trees of this stature in Manhattan,’ I lament.
‘Yew trees, they are known for their longevity, they can live for over a thousand years.’ Dan stands beside me. ‘Go on, I know you want to.’ He grins, showing me those perfect teeth.
‘Hug it?’ My eyes widen, as I just realise he’s actually read my mind.
There is something so safe about him, but I don’t know what it is? I’m normally a nervous wreck around strangers. If I’m in a cab on my own at night I pretend to talk on my phone the whole way home. I’m not this person who allows a, let’s face it, complete stranger to walk her home.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he says just before I wrap my arms around the ferocious tree, and cock one leg back. His laugher is music to my ears.
‘Did you get the Rolls-Royce fixed? Sorry, I never asked.’ I try to face the wind to control my hair, catching it back in my fist, as snowflakes begin to softly flutter down again.
‘New bumper, door needs a panel. Will be grand, won’t cost too much. Terry did some panel beating.’ Dan pulls a bright yellow woollen hat out from his wax jacket pocket. ‘Allow me?’ He stops and I nod as he steps inches from me and oh so gently pulls his hat down over my hair.
‘Better?’ he asks me.
‘Much,’ I say, slightly trembling and feeling like a teenage girl, so happy am I with this simple chivalrous gesture.
The night is silent. Castlemoon glows from the cliff-top above and illuminates our path.
Dan doesn’t talk too much and I like this; he doesn’t talk for the sake of talking.
More notably, it’s the most comfortable silence I’ve ever felt.
I could stay in this silence forever. We stroll on through the square, past the bandstand and towards Heartwell Hall.
My mind starts to settle. My heart still skips the odd beat but I’m becoming used to the effect Dan Delaney has on me.
‘What goes on in there?’ I ask him as we approach the hall.
‘Village business, the Heartwell Drama Society, community gatherings. We have a village meeting at the end of every month,’ he says, walking so close to me now his arm brushes off mine. The moonlight reflects off the snowy roof of the old hall.
‘I’d love to take a look inside before I go?’ Stopping I look up at the quaint old stone-built structure, weathered by time and covered in creeping ivy. Its tall, narrow windows are framed with wooden shutters.
‘We can do that. I’m not looking forward to the next meeting—’ Dan stops suddenly, that strange, sad look crosses his face again. His head drops.
‘Why?’ I gaze up at him. ‘Is it something to do with the castle?’ I say without really thinking.
‘Who’ve ya been gossiping with?’ His dark eyes narrow and I sense a sudden fraught atmosphere fall over us. He stuffs his hands into his pockets.
‘Em, well just . . .’
‘Don’t get involved in idle village gossip is all I’m saying.’ His tone is sharp and curt, and I hear a slight edge that conveys his annoyance with me.
A little shocked at his tone I walk on, then Dan puts a hand gently on my shoulder.
‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a hot head when it comes to Castlemoon. I speak before I think. I tend to mess up everything that’s good for me.’
Although I’m still a bit blindsided by his outburst, his apology, this time, is genuine. I see it in his eyes.
‘Of course, it’s okay. It was my fault for prying, I won’t ask again,’ I declare but immediately I’m curious to know more about him and his involvement with the castle.
Dan runs his hand across his stubble, then the start of a smile creeps along his lips as he pulls my hat down further to cover my cold ears. His handsome face lights up.
‘Cute. Take four?’ he asks, holding his palms together under his chin.
‘I’d say this is take five!’ I tell him with a dramatic but playful roll of my eyes.
‘Can I offer you a nightcap as a peace offering?’
‘I really should get back, I’ve a ton of work,’ I say but very half-heartedly.
‘My bark is worse than my bite. I-I can be a stress-head, I know. Don’t hate me, please?’
‘I don’t . . .’ I look around. It’s late, the village is all but asleep.
‘So say yes then?’ he pushes.
‘To a nightcap? But where?’ I wonder.
‘Inside. In Heartwell Hall, follow me.’
I follow Dan around the back of the hall and he lifts a small iron statue of a dog at the back door and lifts up a key. He opens the back door and I step in behind him.
‘It’s pitch black,’ I hiss.
‘You’re safe with me, don’t worry . . .’
‘I wasn’t worrying until you said that! Hurry up!’ But I’m joking, and even in the darkness of this hall, I still feel more than safe with this stranger. Sometimes it’s just a person’s aura, I think, because I really can’t explain it.
‘Hang on. You’ve no patience, Maggie Grace.’
He fumbles for a minute, then a small light glows as he steps out holding a lantern.
‘And then there was light.’ I laugh as I look all around.
It’s a typical hall you’d expect to see in a small town.
It’s spacious, featuring wooden beams that stretch across the ceiling, has a distinct musty smell that hints at its age and history, which I find quite appealing.
Rows of long wooden benches are on either side and a small stage area at the top.
I follow Dan as he heads up to the front of the hall, properly feeling the fact we are all alone now.
‘It’s a set. I don’t want to turn on the house lights.
If you’d like to sit down, I’ll be back.
’ He points to a small two-seater couch, with a table in front and a sheepskin rug on the stage.
‘All left over set from the local drama society. I fell asleep during it, I was jet lagged, so don’t ask me to review it.
’ He unzips his wax jacket, wrangles himself out of it revealing that tight white T-shirt underneath. He quickly tucks it into his jeans.
As I sink into the soft couch, I get the smell of spices, like someone made mulled wine in here earlier. It’s cloves, maybe? Dan returns with a bottle and two water glasses.
‘No wine glasses.’ He holds them up.
‘Where did you get that?’ I laugh.
‘We had a mulled wine party on Tuesday night. Jimmy Murphy Senior makes it every year. If I remember correctly, and it is a bit hazy, Kate got up and did the Riverdance, Clare was shifting that weird lad Damien to annoy Jack, Aisling sang “Oh, Little Town Of Bethlehem”, very off key, and Aaron was on the ground laughing and Mary’s sons wrestled.
Normal enough village Christmas madness.
It’s strong stuff, so just a few sips is advisable.
’ Dan unscrews the top and as he pours us two glasses I think of how much fun that night sounds, how I’d love to be part of that.
The community don’t need anything but themselves to live a great life here on the stunning Wild Atlantic Way.
‘Cheers.’ We clink, then he eases himself into the very small space beside me. His strong arm squashed into mine, his bulging thigh touching mine. For the first time, I realise he must like me. Why else are we here? I take a huge gulp. It goes against my breath and I cough. Dan pats my back.
‘S-sorry.’ I hold my hand up, my eyes watering as I pull off his hat. ‘Strong!’ I add. I hiccup, wipe my eyes and when I look back at him, he’s staring at me with a smirk and curiosity in his brown eyes.
‘I’m not much of a drinker, an odd glass of wine here and there. You’d probably call me a lightweight,’ I say.
‘I rarely drink myself. A pint of Guinness now and then. Don’t believe all you hear about us Irish being drunk all the time . . . we wish!’
‘Oh no, no I don’t mean that!’ I feel my face redden, but then I see he’s teasing me again. His gaze is attentive, lingering on my face. I can see the slight variations in colour on his thick stubble, the way the hairs intermingle.
‘I don’t normally pursue a woman who is taken but in your case—’ He glances away now.
‘I’m not taken,’ I almost shout. I gulp again, cough again.
‘But your Claddagh ring?’ His lilting voice is low but filled with hope.
‘No! Oh no, I just got it from my landlady, a Christmas gift. I don’t have it the right way round, I’m . . . single. I have been for a long time, my choice.’ I look away, laugh softly and flip my hair over my shoulder coquettishly.
‘Well now, that’s the best news I’ve had in quite a while.’ He clinks my glass again.
‘Is it?’ I turn to face him, the mulled wine instantly warming my belly, relaxing me. We are eye to eye.
‘I hope so because I think you’re fascinating, Maggie.’ Those big brown eyes of his are wide and utterly desirable.
It’s how he says the word, with such meaning and desire. I have never thought of myself as fascinating. I take another gulp of the spicy wine.
‘Thank you, I think you’re . . . interesting too,’ I tell him, silently kicking myself for such an unromantic reply, but I know this can’t go anywhere. I’ve promised myself I will never let a man hurt me ever again. His shoulders bounce up as he laughs at me.
‘Ack, I’m not that interesting but I am interested in you.’ Then, he reaches and gently removes something from my hair. The act is so intimate I freeze for a moment.
‘Woodchip.’ He holds it up and I can see his breath quicken and his nostrils flare a little as they work overtime.
‘I see that,’ I manage.
‘I’ve met you at a very bad time.’ Again, that dark look crosses his perfect face.
‘Why?’ I almost whisper.
‘I, ah, I don’t want to ruin this moment.’ He shakes his head.
‘We’re having a moment?’ I ask as I try to get my brain to engage with my concerns here.
‘We sure are. I’ll tell you another time.’ His face moves closer to me. His cologne flirts with my nostrils.
‘Okay.’ I wipe the damp palm of my free hand on my coat.
‘I’m a complicated man,’ he says, turning the tumbler between his strong hands with his prominent knuckles and confident grip. His fingers are long and sun-kissed with faint scars that I assume come from hard work.
‘That’s okay, this is a very complicated situation,’ I admit.
‘I find it very hard to trust people,’ he says carefully.
‘Me too. Who was Denise?’ I have to ask.
He leans back a little, his dark eyes flick from left to right. He sips his mulled wine.
‘Kate was saying how you dodged a bullet.’ I fill in the blanks.
‘I did. We were engaged but it wasn’t me she was after, it was . . . can we have this conversation another time?’ Dan leans back in closer to me, his expression calm and reassuring.
‘Sure.’ I feel weightless. I feel like there is no one else in the world except him and me.
‘Can I kiss you?’ His voice is a soft whisper hung on desire.
‘Yes.’ I barely get the word out but I nod.
‘You’re so beautiful, Maggie. So, so beautiful. The minute I set my eyes on you I was under your spell.’ His words are filled with longing. ‘I haven’t fancied a woman like this in so long. You are something special.’
I can’t speak. Then he leans in. He brushes his lips off mine, oh so softly at first and I gasp a little. His touch so gentle, so hot. He moves back.
‘S-sorry.’ His eyes stay connected with mine.
‘I just need to look at you again.’ He takes me all in, then his lips find mine once more, harder this time.
Passion erupts inside me as I taste him.
Never have I experienced anything like this before.
It’s a connection that’s unexplainable and suddenly the hall lights whirr on above us, and the whole room is illuminated like a sun blast. I pull away.
‘I have to go! I have to file my article tonight.’ I jump up, suddenly terrified of having my heart broken again.