“I do. But that really isn’t an option for me, Fi. You know that. Hence the whole heartbreak thing,” Grace said, sipping on her drink and staring out at the water. “It’s just going to take some time for me to get my feet under me and move on.”
“Or, you know, you don’t have to move on,” Fi suggested.
“You want me to go back to him?” Grace said, turning to look at Fi in surprise.
“I think that true love deserves a fighting chance,” Fi said evenly.
“I can’t fight with someone who walked out,” Grace pointed out.
“Yeah, about that,” Fi said, a flush creeping up her pretty features.
“What did you do?” Grace asked, rolling to sit up and glare at her friend.
“Well, you know how you told me to take your phone away?” Fi said and Grace felt her stomach go sick.
“You didn’t text him, Fi. That would be unforgiveable,” Grace hissed, feeling betrayed by her friend.
“Just listen… He called. And called. And called. And messaged. Repeatedly. So, finally I did a thing,” Fi shrugged, not looking as guilty as Grace thought she probably should.
“What did you do?” Grace bit out, doing her best to keep her temper in check around her best friend.
“Hello, Grace.”
Chapter 43
At the sound of Dylan’s voice, Grace sprang up and tried to run from the patio, but there was nowhere to go but over the cliffside and down into the sea. Furious with Fi, and unprepared to speak to Dylan, she stared out at the sea and willed herself to breathe.
One breath at a time.
When she finally turned, Fi had made herself scarce. Smart woman, Grace thought as she detailed all the ways she would make her friend suffer.
Her first thought, when she could finally bring herself to look at Dylan, was that he looked tired. And like he’d lost a little weight. Not that she cared, Grace reminded herself as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“I came back to the cottage. The next day,” Dylan said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “But you were already gone.”
“So? Did you think I’d be there to greet you with open arms?” Grace shrugged and looked away, so frustrated with herself for wanting to run to him and hug him.
“No, I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect you to be a coward, though,” Dylan said and Grace looked back at him, anger flashing through her.
“Coward? I’m not the one who walked,” Grace said, moving forward to poke her finger into his chest. “I’m not the one who wasn’t strong enough to stand for us. To give us a chance.”
“I know, Grace. I’m the coward. I couldn’t see what you saw. But know that I just needed some time to process,” Dylan said, his face miserable. “You’ve had ages to come to terms with magick, with destiny, with crazy dreams and past lives. I’ve had days. I know I screwed up, but can you cut me some slack? It’s a hell of a lot to process on the fly, let alone when you want to change your whole life for someone.”
“Change your whole life? What are you changing? Oh… the cultural center? I’m so sorry that you have to move it,” Grace griped at him. “I didn’t say you couldn’t build it. It’s not the end of the world to switch locations.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Dylan said, and pulled a package out of the messenger bag he wore. He held it out to her until she took it, looking warily from him to the folder.
“What is this?”
“Open it and see,” Dylan suggested.
Grace opened it and scanned the contents, her heart blooming with hope as she realized what he’d done.
“You’ve done the right thing,” Grace said, her voice cracking.
“Aye, the land is yours. I’ve signed it over to you. You’re right. It should stay in your family,” Dylan said.
“That’s… that’s incredibly kind of you,” Grace said, straightening her back, “And the right thing to do. I commend you for that.”
“Except I’ll be needing you to sign off on Clause Number 39,” Dylan said, nodding to the file.
“Clause… what? I’m sure this can be worked out another time,” Grace grumbled, frustrated and flustered at the prospect of having to read paperwork when the man she loved was throwing her emotions into a tailspin.
“No, it really can’t. I’ll need you to make a decision on that now,” Dylan said, his face set in hard lines. Annoyed, Grace bent her head to the paperwork and flipped through the pages until she found Clause Number 39.
“This long lease of land is transferred into the name of Ms. Grace O’Brien if she accepts the irrevocable right of a tenant to share the cottage located at Grace’s Cove,” Grace read, then whipped her head at up and glared at him. “A tenant? I don’t think so.”
“Read on,” Dylan suggested.
“The tenancy is solely granted to one Mr. Dylan Kelly…” Grace’s voice caught and she looked up from the paperwork, her mouth dropping open to find Dylan kneeling before her.
“What… what does this mean?” Grace gasped.
“And here I’m being called the dumb one all the time,” Dylan teased, and then looked up at her, his heart in his eyes. “Before you decide on accepting the clause, I have something else for you.”
Grace took the package he offered, which was much heavier than she expected from a man kneeling on the ground. Tucking the paperwork beneath her arm, she hastily unwrapped the paper from the package. When she saw what it was, tears flowed freely.
My heart for yours.
“You found the cottage,” Grace whispered, holding the chunk of stone they’d so painstakingly engraved all those years before.
“I found the cottage. And brought this to you to show you that I believe you, I believe in our love, and I was a fool to turn my back on it just because I didn’t understand or accept it yet. Will you accept me, Grace, my love? For all my faults and failings, will you take me as your lover, your husband, your love of all time? I’d be lost without you – I didn’t realize that I’m nothing without you until I met you once again in this lifetime. Now the pieces all fit together and I know with my every fiber of my being that you’re the one for me.”
Dylan held up yet another package, causing Grace to laugh and cry at the same time. She put the papers down, then lay the stone engraving on top of them, before accepting the box from him. When she opened it, Grace’s heart soared.
“It looks like the cove,” Grace whispered, meeting Dylan’s eyes. The ring, a brilliant blue sapphire with a perfect half-circle of diamonds set in a gold band, shimmered with life and love.
“So?” Dylan asked, hope in his eyes, “Will you accept Clause Number 39? It’s irrevocable, you know.”
“Aye, I do. Faults, stubbornness, and big heart and all,” Grace laughed, leaping into his arms.
“We’re forever bound, once more. My heart for yours…” Dylan whispered against her lips.
“Through all time,” Grace agreed.
Epilogue
“So you’re telling me you haven’t spilled a word of it?” Dylan asked, laughing as Grace dragged him down the street to the pub. It was a busy Saturday night a few days later, as they’d had trouble leaving a delighted Fi, who was already planning their wedding.
“I haven’t. And since Fi’s sworn to secrecy, it will be a surprise to all,” Grace said. She had only called ahead to let people know they would be back in town. They’d missed the second town meeting, but from the number of emails, phone calls, and text messages that had poured through both their phones, it was apparent that the village had agreed unanimously to approve the design and vision of the cultural center. To the surprise of all, Mr. Murphy had donated his house, which was located close to the harbor with a large yard and small outbuilding, for the center. He was pleased as punch to make something useful out of his childhood home, and Liam had sent an email explaining that it truly was the perfect spot for the center.
“If only we’d come to that conclusion before we’d gone through all the dr
ama and headaches,” Grace had griped, but Dylan had only laughed and pulled her back to bed.
“Then I wouldn’t have known what a headstrong and perfect match you are for me, my love,” Dylan said, kissing her breathless.
“From where I’m sitting, I’d be saying you’re the stubborn one,” Grace said, and laughed when he poked her in the ribs.
“We owe Mr. Murphy a drink,” Dylan decided, pulling the door open to a packed pub. Word had gotten out that they were back in town and everyone in the village wanted to see who was left standing after their battle for the ages.
Silence filled the room as all eyes turned to look at them, even the musicians playing a jaunty tune in the booth sliding the song to an abrupt stop.
“Well? Did you two figure things out then?” Cait asked, her hands on her hips.
“Aye, that we did,” Grace said and held up her hand to show the ring, which sparkled in the pub lights. A cheer went up and in seconds they were swarmed with well-wishers, both Grace and Dylan being roundly kissed and hugged.
“Wait, we have something to settle,” Liam called to Cait, and the pub went quiet again.
“I’m already on it, can’t you see, Liam?” Cait grumbled, flipping through a fat leatherbound book she’d pulled on to the bar. Pushing her hair from her eyes, she narrowed a look at Dylan.
“What day did you propose, young man?”
“Three days ago, now,” Dylan said.
Cait nodded and flipped through the pages, scanning her notes.
“And the winner of the bet on what day they’d get their heads out of their arses and fall for each other…” Cait smiled.
“You bet on us?” Grace said, hands on hips as she surveyed the crowd in outrage.
“Of course we did. You’re just mad you weren’t in on it,” Cait said.
“Who’s the winner, Cait?”
“That’d be our fine Mr. Murphy – the hero in this story, it seems,” Cait beamed. Mr. Murphy clapped, so delighted was he that he almost toppled off his little bar stool. “To the tune of one thousand thirty-nine euros.”
“Drinks on me!” Mr. Murphy cried, and the pub cheered in delight.
“Now, how could I not expect this in a town named after you?” Dylan laughed against her ear and Grace leaned into him, delighted to be back in his arms again, across all these centuries.
Fiona smiled from where she stood behind Cait, always a presence in their lives, content to see her family happy and well-cared for. Turning, she slipped into John’s waiting arms.
“A love for all times… much like ours, my pretty Fiona.”
“Aye, John, it is at that. My heart for yours.”
Author's Note
Ireland holds a special place in my heart – a land of dreamers and for dreamers. There’s nothing quite like cozying up next to a fire in a pub and listening to a session or having a cup of tea while the rain mists outside the window. I’ll forever be enchanted by her rocky shores and I hope you enjoy this series as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Sign up for information on new releases, freebies, and fun giveaways at my website
http://eepurl.com/1LAiz.
Thank you for taking part in my world, I hope that my stories bring you great joy.
Available now as an e-book, paperback or audiobook!!!
Available from Amazon
* * *
The following is an excerpt from
Wild Irish Dreamer
Book 8 in the Mystic Cove Series
Chapter 1
You almost lost him.
Fi awoke in a sweaty mess of sheets, her heart hammering in her chest, her mind stuck in the boggy ground between waking and sleep. Having shot upright at the voice that raged in her dream, she now plopped back to her pillows, gasping, and attempted to sift through the images that threatened to slip from her mind. It was the cove, she was sure of that, for no dreams ever spoke to her as vividly as the ones that came from the enchanted waters in the cove. The problem was, this wasn’t her first time – and likely not her last – having prophetic dreams involving her hometown.
It was her bloodline that had enchanted the waters there, after all.
It was probably just another dumb tourist who refused to listen to the advice of the locals. Fi sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, willing her breathing to calm down. Every year, someone was seriously injured at the cove. Despite the posted warnings, despite the local people educating visitors about the vicious undertow, someone always insisted on trying to venture down the steep trail to the deceptively tranquil beach in the cove. They quickly learned their mistake, they always did, but sometimes at a steep price.
The cove was magickal, as was her blood, a gift which Fi often did her best to suppress. It wasn’t that she detested what had been passed down to her through her bloodline – it was more that Fi just wanted to do everything on her own. She’d been like that since she came screaming from her mother’s womb, ready to take on the world, and nobody could tell her differently. Sometimes the gifts of magick that had been passed down from the great Grace O’Malley herself came in useful for Fi, but for the most part, she tried to ignore them; it was vitally important to her that she conquer the world without any extra help.
The dreams, though – those were another story.
“Who am I losing?” Fi demanded out loud, closing her eyes and willing herself to see. Of course, the one time she did want her gifts to work, all she could get was vague snatches of the cove and someone in incredible pain. Worried it could be someone close, Fi checked the time and picked up her phone.
“Aye, and to what do I owe this pleasure? Me own wayward daughter, running about the world with not a moment to call her mum.”
Fi grinned at Cait’s words through the phone, having just spoken with her two days ago.
“I’m positively a stranger these days, I am. ’Tis a right shame I bring to the family,” Fi agreed.
“Your father is convinced you’ve become a groupie to a band and have gone to drugs now.”
“A groupie? That’s insulting. I’d start me own band, that’s the truth of it,” Fi scoffed, offended that her father would think she’d just blindly follow some deadbeat musicians around the world.
“Ah, so it’s just the drugs then,” Cait said.
“Naturally. But I just sell them. It’s how I fund this fancy lifestyle of mine. But I don’t use. Never get high on your own supply, as they say,” Fi said, stretching her legs out and letting her mum’s voice soothe her pounding heart.
“’Tis the smartest way. It’s why I’ve only a nip or two of the whiskey when I’m working,” Cait agreed.
“Is… everything okay?” Fi asked, closing her eyes so she could read her mother’s voice.
“I believe it to be. Have you had a dream then?”
“Aye, about the cove. Maybe have someone give it a check and make sure another tourist hasn’t ended up down there?”
“Shane, your daughter says check the cove. Have a call over there, will ye?”
“Tell her to come home.”
“She’ll come when she’s ready.”
“Tell him I’ll be home for Grace’s hen party soon,” Fi promised.
“Oh, right. Have you ideas for it then?”
“I do…”
Fi spent the next half hour chatting comfortably with her mum while the anxiety drifted from her neck and shoulders. All seemed to be well at the cove, so Fi shrugged it off as an odd dream and left it at that. No need to search for more troubles – she already had enough on her plate. Speaking of which, she needed to finish her project for today so she could spend the rest of the day shopping for supplies for Grace’s party. But first, coffee.
In the time since she’d been living on the Amalfi Coast, Fi had learned to love strong coffee like her Italian neighbors, though she preferred to linger over it on her small terrace overlooking the water if the weather was nice instead of taking it like a shot at the counter of the coffee shop below. Try as she
might, Fi had never mastered the art of waking quickly, and she’d learned to build time into her mornings to ease into the day and wake her brain up. Fi now took this routine to sit by her window where she could read the paper – yes, the actual paper – and savor her morning espresso.
As a translator specializing in Italian, Spanish, and French, Fi thought it necessary to immerse herself where she worked. Hence the Italian paper, which she read every morning, front to back. It helped to loosen her mind and get her thinking in Italian, after which she could sit down to whatever contract she was translating and work with confidence.
Today, though, her brain struggled to focus. Inexplicably, she was drawn back to the memory of a man whose image periodically drifted through her mind. Liam Mulder. She wondered where he was these days.
She hadn’t been long out of university when she’d first met him. Fi thought back, closing her eyes and tipping her face up to the sun that struggled to shine through the clouds.
She’d been green, eager for work, and ready to take on the world. Sean Burke, Margaret’s husband and kin to Fi, had hired her to translate a contract for his shipping company up in Dublin. Fi still remembered her first day: Dressed in a smart black suit and wearing sky-high red heels, she’d walked into the meeting and realized just how egregiously overdressed she was. Scattered around the table were a slew of men in denim pants and button-down shirts, sleeves casually rolled to their elbows. Immediately recognizing her dismay, Sean had welcomed her and put her at ease, a warning look in his eyes for the others. Only Liam had smiled widely at her, including her in on the joke she’d made of herself. She’d immediately taken to him.
Through their negotiations – Sean was acquiring two new ships from an Italian shipping company – Fi had found herself laughing and chatting with Liam. There was something about the careless confidence he’d exuded that had pulled Fi in.
Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7 Page 18