by Ava Miles
She snorted. “Like hell you are. Stubborn is more like it. I was the one who hid in Alice’s room. Not my finest moment either.”
“I bunked down with a cat.” He gestured to the front of his shirt. “I have the evidence to prove it.”
“Yes, you are covered in white fur.” Her smile was subtle, but it filled him with hope. “It might be your best look yet. You won some points last night. I never expected you to lie across my doorstep. You didn’t even do that when I turned down your marriage proposal.”
His mouth parted. “Did you want me to?”
She looked away and stroked her neck. “I’m honest enough to admit I would have liked it if you’d fought for me more.” Something flashed in her eyes and she sought out his gaze. “Yes, dammit, I would have loved it if you’d slept in my doorway and told me you refused to take no for an answer. But I also don’t know if it would have changed my mind. I thought I was protecting you. That I was doing the right thing, going home when I thought my father needed me.”
Shit. That still hurt. Talking about her father would only stir a hornet’s nest, especially since Georges Maroun was trying to come between them again. “Let’s leave the past where it is. How about we return to me winning some points? What else can I do to fix this? Maybe I should rephrase that. What else can I do to help you trust me all the way?”
His breath was ragged as he finished that question, but so was hers. They stared at each other.
“Why didn’t you tell me my father had contacted you when we were dating?”
So much for leaving Georges out of things. His shoulder came up in defense before he said, “I took care of it. I know how upset he makes you. I didn’t want it to hurt you.”
“Is that all?” Her astute violet eyes were trained on him.
So they were going to poke the hornet’s nest after all. “No. Fine. I didn’t want to tell you what I thought of your father.”
“And?”
She wasn’t buying it. “I worried you might listen to him. About me. He has a hold on you, after all.”
“I’ve been working on that for a long time.” She sighed. “Our relationship is confusing. Clearly, I have a ways to go. But I’m not running when he calls. I don’t even trust him, and Quinn… That makes me sad too.”
He remembered what his parents had said to him at dinner, first his mother and then his father, and how it had affected him. “I suppose we all have confusing moments with our parents. I just don’t want him to come between us. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you in that moment. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Losing the company hurts.” I played right into his hands.
“I know it does.” She stepped closer and put her hand on his cheek. “Oh, Quinn. You’ve always been right for me. After I set aside most of my hurt, that truth remained. Of course, it hurt to realize that because I wasn’t sure you trusted me anymore.”
“I do trust you,” he said, putting his hand on her hip. “I’m sorry I struck out. I did it to my brothers too. Francesca, when I say I can be a complete asshole, I mean it. I promise to do better. I’ve hurt my entire family. That’s not how I want things to be. Shit, maybe I need therapy. It’s worked wonders for Connor.”
“Working on yourself always produces incredible results,” she said, stroking his face.
“I imagine you know someone who can help me,” he said, his mouth tipping up. “I’ll do it too. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore—or end up sleeping in a doorway with only a cat for a friend.”
She glanced around him. “Your friend seems to have disappeared. She must have realized you were past your crisis.”
“Are we?” He framed her face in his hands, letting her see all of his messy emotions. “Because I love you, and I want you, and I need you. I lived without you for fifteen years, and it was horrible. I don’t want to do that again. Ever.”
“Me either.” She pressed their foreheads together.
His feeling of failure, his grief for the family business, his worry for the future—they felt like tiny shards of metal stabbing him, but his heart and the love he had for her eased them out. As he held her, he felt lighter. The warmth in his chest overtook the hurt, and when she softened her body against him, he knew it was the same for her.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Don’t ever doubt it. No matter how stupid I might act sometimes.”
“If you’re really willing to work with a therapist, I bet those moments will become few and far between,” she said, chuckling and wiping the tears leaking down her face. “I love you too. Trust is a choice, and I promise to trust you.”
His entire body expanded with that one comment since he knew she wasn’t someone who made promises lightly. “I promise too, which is why I’m going to tell you that I talked to your father yesterday.”
She jerked back. “You did?”
“He called your phone, and I’m not proud of this, but I was so angry, I picked it up.” Shit. In hindsight, he knew it hadn’t been his best moment. Would she forgive him for acting on impulse?
“What did he say?” she asked, her brow knitted.
He gave her a more detailed account than normal because he was trying to turn over a new leaf. The light that had returned to her violet eyes was gone by the time he finished, and he was sick at heart.
“Did he sound all right?” she asked.
“Meaning?”
She worried her mouth. “Did he sound well?”
Quinn thought back to their call. “He coughed a few times. It sounded like he had a cold.”
Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “A cold…”
“You think he’s sick?” he asked.
“He was in Italy for fashion week,” she told him.
His gut tightened, knowing where she was going with this. “You’re thinking he might have the virus. Francesca, I hate to say it, but if he had it, you’re the first person he’d tell. He’d hope you would go rushing back to him, right? Don’t overthink this.”
From the set of her shoulders, he knew she was doing just that. Again, he thought of the hold her father had over her. Would she rush back?
“You’re right,” she simply said.
He let it end there. She’d admitted her reactivity to her father was a work in progress, much like Quinn’s way of lashing out when he was angry, and they loved each other. They could work through anything together.
“Come on.” He rubbed her shoulders. “Let’s go back to our room. I want to show you how much I love you. Afterward, I need to make some more amends to my family. Any chance you and me might be able to find a karaoke machine to rent in Ireland?”
“Are you planning to sing Elton John’s ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’?” But her joke didn’t hide the worry darkening her eyes.
“Seems tailor-made for me, right?” He wanted to slay the dragon facing her down, that beast made of worry and helplessness, and he knew only one way to do it. He kissed her and led her back to their room.
Putting her pleasure first for hours, he held back, wanting her to understand how much she meant to him. Finally she pushed past his strength and they rode the waves of love together.
When they were holding each other, her arms tightened around him. The tension signaled a return of her worry. He wanted to reassure her, but how could he?
The world seemed to change hour by hour.
Chapter 27
The news only continued to worsen and, with it, Francesca’s fears about her father.
The World Health Organization had declared the outbreak a pandemic.
A state of emergency had been called in the United States, and each day, each hour, brought news of new lockdowns, the places precious to the people harboring in the Wild Irish Rose Inn.
San Francisco.
New York.
France.
Dare Valley.
Lebanon.
Ireland.
The list grew rapidly as global infections and deaths began to soar.
When Franc
esca finally reached out to her father, he scoffed at her concern. He had a cold from working too much—nothing more. Don’t spread scurrilous gossip like this, Francesca. You know better. Such news would have a catastrophic effect on the company’s financial health.
She wanted to be relieved, but she couldn’t dismiss a vague, lingering sense of unease. Her mother would have read her father’s coffee grounds to see, but that wasn’t possible for Francesca. Besides, a part of her would be terrified to look. What if she saw something terrible, like she had in Quinn’s cup, and couldn’t do anything to change it?
The Wild Irish Rose Inn became the Merriams’ whole world. During the day, she and Quinn worked with key family members on the bankruptcy and spin-off plans. Oil prices hit twenty dollars a barrel at the end of March, down more than fifty percent, and each day brought new, and worse, projections for the virus’ impact on the global economy.
As Quinn and she lay in bed after an evening of karaoke—Flynn had ordered a machine and emceed the event with forced cheerfulness—he turned on his side to her and said, “Anything else you want to do besides business? Because I think getting out might be a wise course.”
He’d tried to infuse some teasing into his tone, but she heard an undercurrent of sadness. Her mind whirring, she said, “I’ve always thought weaving cloth might be nice. I’ve told Becca I’d love to help her sometime.”
Frankly, right now they were all grateful for any kind of distraction. Annie and Flynn’s girls were going stir-crazy, although everyone tried to entertain them beyond the usual pastimes of movie-watching and the visits to the rabbit shed and alpaca pasture. Assumpta had joined the global breadmaking craze and produced more perfectly crusty bread every day than they could eat at dinner, as if Aileen’s never-ending batches of scones weren’t enough. Alice and Hargreaves, more inseparable every day, continued to make chocolate desserts to pass the time, expanding the dinner menu with Chef Padraig’s approval. Flynn had installed Zoom on Uncle Arthur’s phone so he could keep in touch with his Dare Valley family.
Seeing Arthur after those calls was painful. The grooves around his mouth and eyes were harsher than ever, and even Amelia’s hugs couldn’t put an easy smile on his face.
Francesca was grateful for long walks around the inn and the extensive property, either alone with Quinn or with other members of his family. Becca had made her a dashing red pullover, and she donned it on a sunny Wednesday in preparation for the surprise outing she’d planned for her and Quinn. They needed a break to lift their spirits.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked as she pulled him out of the inn.
If she told him, he’d likely bolt. This kind of fun wouldn’t make Quinn’s top hundred list, but something told her it was exactly what he needed. When they reached the rabbit shed, she heard sweet giggling, and her heart immediately lifted. Annie had said Flynn was taking the girls up there to give her some time alone.
What was it about children laughing that raised the spirits so? Alice had taken to watching baby videos along with a few of the others for a heart boost, as she liked to call it, and Francesca understood the appeal.
“We’re stopping here,” she told Quinn, who looked sexy if not a bit haggard in an Irish sweater from Becca’s shop paired with rust-colored slacks.
He peered inside the shed. “The girls are here with Flynn, playing with baby rabbits.”
The three girls were in a huddle on the ground, giggling as they cuddled baby rabbits, a floppy-eared white one tucked under Amelia’s chin. Flynn was sitting with his own lapful of rabbits, laughing right along with the girls.
“Listen,” Francesca said. The infectious sound had already pulled a smile from her, and her heart felt lighter. She squeezed Quinn’s hand, and sure enough, his mouth tipped up.
“All right, it’s cute. I’ve gone all mushy, as Uncle Arthur says. Now what?”
Oh, she almost socked him like Clara did with Arthur. “We’re going to join them.”
He rolled his eyes. “You expect me to hold a bunch of baby rabbits? I can tell you what I’d rather do. Kiss every inch of you in our room.”
“Afterward,” she said, putting her hands on his face. “Quinn, we both need a boost. Give it a chance.”
He kissed her slowly in response. “I’m only going to allow this indignity,” he said as his mouth hovered over hers, “because I need practice with this kind of thing for our kids.”
“I love that idea.” She gave him a long kiss, her heart melting at the image he’d created in her mind.
“Are you two going to keep kissing or join us?” Flynn called out. “We have plenty of rabbits for everyone. Come on, Quinn. I’ve got Flopsie right here for you.”
Quinn uttered a groan but grabbed Francesca’s hand and strode into the shed. “Flopsie! Flynn, I need a more manly rabbit than that.”
Amelia giggled. “Don’t be silly, Uncle Quinn. Rabbits aren’t manly. They’re sweet and fuzzy. Right, Flynn?”
“Exactly so, sweetheart,” Flynn replied, patting the ground next to him for his brother. “They’re soft and cuddly. Like Uncle Quinn here.”
Laughter spurted out of Iris and Eloise, and Francesca had to bite her lip as Quinn leveled Flynn a glance before arranging himself on the ground next to his brother. “I am so soft and cuddly. Ask Francesca.”
“He really is,” she agreed out of loyalty as she sat beside him. Amelia immediately leaned over and handed her a fluffy baby rabbit. “Goodness!” she said as the animal nuzzled her. “What’s your name?”
“Mr. O’Shea said it’s Noodles,” Amelia said, her blond hair peeking out from under a green woolen cap, another of Becca’s creations. Each of the girls wore one. “Don’t know why. Maybe he likes noodles like I do.”
“Rabbits don’t eat noodles, silly,” Eloise said, petting a gray bunny.
“Maybe they want to,” Amelia said and fell back laughing like only a little kid could. Iris took the opportunity to put her three rabbits on Amelia’s tummy. A black one jumped off, and another’s pink nose twitched, moving its whiskers.
“I think we should ask Aileen to make some delicious noodle soup so we can test your theory,” Francesca said. “What do you think? Would Noodles eat it with a spoon or fork?”
The twins laughed, but Amelia giggled until her face was dark pink. “Rabbits can’t use silverware, silly.”
Francesca looked at Quinn, who was finally smiling and, sure enough, stroking the baby rabbit he held against his stomach. “They do in Alice and Wonderland.”
“That’s a storybook,” Amelia cried. “It’s pretend!”
“Is it?” Francesca shared a conspiratorial look with an amused Flynn before miming a piece of flatware and offering it to Noodles. The rabbit peered at her finger before hopping forward to investigate. “See. Maybe she’s a friend of the White Rabbit. He used silverware.”
“Nah,” Amelia said, lowering herself close to the rabbit’s little face. “That’s silly.”
“Yes, it is,” Iris said. “Francesca, you need to meet Teacup. He’s the sweetest.”
She took the furry brown rabbit with a smile, grateful the girls were so willing to include them. “Teacup, eh? What kind of tea does he drink?”
“Strawberry tea!” Amelia called out. “Mrs. O’Shea let me have some, and it’s delicious.”
Flynn made a slurping sound and pretended he was drinking a cup of tea. “I rather think he prefers Earl Grey,” he said in a British accent. “Quinn, what do you think?”
He pursed his lips, fighting a smile, before saying, “Troublesome Brothers Tea. It’s made from the bones of younger brothers who disobey orders on a pirate ship.”
Amelia’s eyes widened. “That’s really scary, Uncle Quinn. But I like the part about the pirate ship. What’s it called?”
His blink was momentary, and then he said in a reasonably good pirate impersonation, “It’s called the Jolly Princess, and it only takes nice girls like you and your sisters on its voyages.”
“I like the name of that ship,” Amelia said. “Where is it going?”
Quinn gave Francesca a pleading look, but she nodded at him encouragingly. This was the man who read Rumi and other poems to her, after all. He let so few people see the creative side of his soul. His ears turned red in embarrassment as he paused, but Flynn’s nudge to his side dislodged an answer: “To Mermaid Isle. It’s only three leagues from Becca’s Inn, by the north cliffs of the sea. But you can only see the mermaids when the sun is setting. Otherwise, they’re in the water, looking for treasure.”
And so, Quinn Merriam ended up telling a pretty decent tale about pirates and mermaids to three little girls cuddling baby rabbits. Francesca fell a bit more in love with him, something she hadn’t imagined possible. That future she’d envisioned for them, still so hazy in some ways, was crystal clear when it came to him and the family they would form together. She could see him sitting beside a pair of twin beds, spinning a story like this one. Or perhaps telling their children about the day he’d held a baby rabbit on his chest.
When they put the rabbits away, Flynn smacked his brother on the back. “Hey! You did great with the girls. Love does the most amazing things to people. First Con, and now you. Keep it up. I like this side of you.”
Quinn gently shoved his brother in the chest. “Back at you. Mr. Fashion. You have rabbit fur all over your designer sweater.”
Flynn laughed. “This is a designer sweatshirt from a label in Denmark you wouldn’t know, and it’s washable. We all make changes out of love. Right, girls?”
“Right!” all three of them shouted.
“Come on,” Flynn said, getting into a runner’s crouch. “I’ll race you back to the inn. Everyone gets ice cream.”
The older girls took off, and Flynn scooped up Amelia, who giggled as he jogged after them. She waved to them over Flynn’s shoulder. “Bye!”