37. The One
THE ONE
MORGAN
The Celtic Goddess. He wants to take me to the Celtic Goddess.
Morgan knew enough about the exclusive resort and restaurant to know that it was way out of her comfort zone. What she found on the website confirmed it.
She scrolled through pictures of a gorgeous facility built right into the mountain. Story upon story of floor to ceiling glass. White marble. Gold accents. Five-star reviews from some of the biggest names in the culinary world.
Then she looked at the outfits she’d brought with her. She’d packed for an extended stay in the woods, not for dinner at the Celtic Goddess.
She went to find Donna.
Donna was in the kitchen, slicing fresh herbs with quick, surgical precision. Morgan leaned in the doorway and considered her approach.
“Hey Donna?”
“Mm.”
“If you needed a dress, where would you go around here?”
Donna spared her a glance without slowing her rhythm. “For?”
“Dinner at the Celtic Goddess.”
The knife paused. Just briefly. Then it resumed. “Harlow’s,” Donna said. “On Birch Street.”
“Okay.” Morgan wasn’t sure where Birch Street was, but a quick search would take care of that. It was the other stuff that wasn’t as easily answered. Like what she should look for once she got there.
Death scenes? She was all over those. Fashion? Not so much. That was her mother’s area of expertise, not hers, and she wasn’t about to call and ask. There’d be too many questions Morgan didn’t want to answer.
She stood there for a minute longer. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“For?”
“I don’t know. Color. Style. That sort of thing.”
Donna looked up, her expression its usual composed self, and Morgan realized she might not be asking the right person for fashion advice. Neurotoxins, yes. Haute couture, no.
“You know what?” Morgan said, backtracking. “I’m sure they have someone there.”
“Mm.”
The knock at the front door saved Morgan from sticking her foot any farther into her own mouth.
“I’ll get it,” Morgan offered, treading quickly away.
She opened the door to see Patrick’s cousin Riley standing there.
“Hi,” Riley said brightly.
“Hi.”
“Patrick said he’s taking you to the Celtic Goddess tonight. I thought I’d see if you wanted to do some shopping.”
Morgan blinked. “Actually, yes. I was just about to head into town.”
From the kitchen doorway, Donna appeared.
The two women regarded each other. Riley with open, friendly curiosity.
Donna with her usual composure. Then something shifted, briefly, at the corners of her expression.
Morgan tagged it as the same almost-amusement she’d glimpsed earlier, surfacing and retreating before it could be properly identified.
“Harlow’s,” Donna said. “Birch Street.”
Riley pointed at her. “My thoughts exactly.” She looked at Morgan. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
Harlow’s was a small dress shop, located not far from the bookstore Morgan had visited when she’d first arrived. It was simple and elegant and far more relaxed than she’d thought it would be.
The saleswoman greeted Riley with fondness and familiarity. “Riley! So good to see you. What are we looking for today?”
“Morgan needs a dress for dinner at the Celtic Goddess tonight.”
The woman appraised her. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Patrick,” Riley confided with barely concealed glee.
“Really,” the woman said, sharing a conspiratorial smile.
“Really.”
Morgan was assessed, measured in a way that didn’t involve an actual tape measure.
“Did you have something specific in mind?” the woman asked almost absently.
“Not really, no.”
The older woman beamed and led them to a room in the back furnished with comfortable chairs and a draped alcove. “Please, leave it to me.”
She left, and Morgan looked around awkwardly.
“Relax,” Riley said. “Fiona is the best. She has a gift for finding the perfect dress.”
In less time than Morgan thought possible, Fiona returned with an armful of choices in various styles, lengths, and colors.
“Go on,” Riley said, sinking into one of the chairs and pointing to the alcove.
Morgan accepted the dresses and slipped behind the curtains, thinking that so far, this was a lot less painful than she’d envisioned.
She tried on the burgundy dress with a draped neckline first.
“Too much,” the woman said.
“Right,” Riley agreed. “Try the navy one next.”
She tried the navy. It was fine.
“Come out and let me see,” Riley said.
Morgan came out. Riley looked at her, looked at the dress, shook her head. “No. We need something a little more…” She waved her hands. “Romantic.”
Morgan opened her mouth to protest but Fiona clapped her hands together, “I’ve got just the thing,” and disappeared again before Morgan could say anything.
She returned with green silk. Deep and warm, a shade that sat between forest and emerald. Morgan immediately fell in love with it.
It fit as if it had been made for her, cascading over her in subtle shimmery waves, accentuating all the right spots.
“Out,” Riley said.
She came out.
“That’s the one,” Riley said.
Morgan looked down at herself. “It’s—”
“The one,” Riley repeated firmly and looked at Fiona for confirmation. “Right?”
“Absolutely.”
“We’ll take it.”
The woman was already nodding. “Shoes?”
Riley was already guiding Morgan to another part of the boutique. “Oh yeah. We’re definitely getting the shoes.”
The diner was right across the square, and when Riley suggested lunch, Morgan didn’t hesitate. They slid into a corner booth, put their bags under the table, and placed their orders.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, feeling something she wasn’t used to feeling. Not many women worked at the ME’s office, and the ones that did weren’t particularly friendly. She tried to imagine any of them suggesting a shopping trip and failed.
“You’re very welcome,” Riley said with a genuine smile.
“Not just for today,” Morgan said. “For the work you did on the case too. Patrick told me who you are. The call rotation was the piece that made everything else make sense.”
Riley waved a hand. “It’s what I do. And honestly, once I knew what to look for it wasn’t that hard.” She stopped. “You know what? That’s not true. It was painstaking. But it was worth it.”
Painstaking detailed research was something Morgan appreciated. “Still. Thank you.”
Riley looked at her steadily across the table. “Patrick would have found a way to do it with or without me. He wasn’t going to let it go.”
Morgan turned her water glass. This was a perfect opportunity to find out more about him. “You two are close.”
“We grew up together,” Riley said. “We’re the same age, though he constantly reminds me that he’s older by a few months,” she said with a smile and a roll of her eyes.
“Our dads run the pub, so not only did we go to school together, we spent the after time together too. I know him better than he knows himself most of the time, and he’d say the same about me. ” She tilted her head. “Why?”
“I’m just trying to understand,” Morgan said. Which was true, and also not the whole truth.
“Understand what? Why I’m here?”
Morgan nodded, hoping it didn’t come across as offensive.
“Well, first and foremost, I’m here because I want to be,” Riley said with sincerity. “Not only do I like you, you’re one of the few women outside my family that I can talk to without wanting to rub a cheese grater over my face.”
Morgan’s lips quirked.
“You’re nice, you’re smart, and…” Riley leaned forward and lowered her voice, “I couldn’t pass up the possibility of picking GraveDigger’s brain, now could I?” She sat back. “But mostly, I’m here because I’ve never seen Patrick like this over anyone.”
Morgan looked at her. “Like what?”
Riley’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Like someone who’s found the thing he didn’t know he was looking for and is now trying very hard not to scare it away.”
Morgan didn’t know what to say to that.
“There’s something you should probably know,” Riley continued, lowering her voice and leaning forward.
“About Callaghan men specifically.” She waited until she had Morgan’s full attention.
“They believe—well, we all believe, really, it’s not just the men—that there’s one person out there for us.
The right person. Not in a na?ve, fairytale way, just…
the person the rest of your life makes more sense with.
We call them a croie. It’s Irish for heart. ”
The server arrived with their platters. Morgan busied herself with unwrapping her silverware and putting the napkin in her lap while she processed that.
“Does he think that’s me?” Morgan asked quietly, afraid of the answer.
Yes, she felt differently around Patrick than she’d ever felt around anyone, but they barely knew each other.
The sex had been amazing, but physical compatibility wasn’t the same thing as the soul deep connection Riley was hinting at.
Riley looked at her. Not with pity, not with the bright enthusiasm Morgan had been braced for, but with something quieter and more serious.
“I think,” Riley said, “that’s something only you and he can answer. But if you feel different when you’re around him and are questioning it, wondering if you’re imagining things—” she shook her head. “You’re not.”
Morgan looked at her plate, no longer sure that she was hungry.
“What’s the Celtic Goddess like?” she asked, because she needed to talk about something more tangible than soul mates.
“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Riley said, with a smile that said she knew exactly what Morgan was doing. “The food is extraordinary. The atmosphere is perfect. You’ll have a wonderful time.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Morgan said.
“Tremendously,” Riley agreed, and reached for her iced tea.
Frank was in his chair with Shadow and the newspaper when she got back. He looked up when she came through the door with the Harlow’s bag in one hand and the shoebox in the other. Riley had given her a great deal to think about over dress shopping and lunch, and it probably showed on her face.
He said nothing.
“I needed a new dress,” Morgan explained. “Patrick asked me to dinner.”
“Ah,” said Frank, and returned to his paper.
No questions. No comments. Once again, she was thankful her grandfather was exactly the way he was.
Morgan showered. She did her hair with more attention than she’d given it since arriving in Pine Ridge.
She put on the green dress and looked in the mirror and thought about what Riley had said.
Then she made herself stop, because if she kept thinking about it, she’d spend the next hour convincing herself it wasn’t true in order to protect herself from the possibility that it was.
How had Riley described it? The person the rest of your life makes more sense with.
Could Patrick be that person for her? Could she be that person for him?
She went downstairs at ten to seven.
Frank looked up from his book. Shadow opened one eye. Frank looked at her for a long moment, saying so much without actually saying anything.
Then finally, “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t wait up.”
“Never do,” he said, which they both knew wasn’t true.
She was still carrying that warmth when the headlights swept across the front window.
She took a deep breath. Then she picked up her wrap, opened the door, and went to meet him.