Aidan looks up. His brows lift in surprise and then he laughs. The poker-playing (fill in the blank) laughs!
The other men look at me and the conversation dies. A little part of me dies, too, dies from the sheer humiliation of it all.
Oh, Miss Belle! I am sorry I didn’t heed your lessons.
Aidan leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and stares at me.
“There’s something I need to say to you,” I whisper, painfully aware I am creating a scene. “Can we step outside, please?”
“Outside?” He stops smiling. “Ya must be joking. I’m not going out there. It’s lashing.”
“When have you ever been afraid to get wet?”
He smooths the hair on top of his head.
“I just had me hair done.”
“Your hair?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He flashes me a big toothy grin. “I have a fight tomorrow and I like to be clean on when I step in the cage.”
The man sitting beside Aidan punches him in the shoulder and then the men are talking all at once.
“Can’t be lookin’ like a dope, boy.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“That’s no joke.”
“Gorgeous Gallagher.”
I ignore the other men and focus on Aidan.
“I am not leaving here until I speak to you.”
“Can’t it wait? I’m with the lads.”
His friends snicker.
“No,” I say. “It can’t.”
His friends start talking all at once again.
“Go on then, boy.”
“Let her speak.”
“She’s a ride, that one.”
“Go on, then,” Aidan says, grinning.
“Excuse me?”
“Ya said ya want to speak to me so start talking. I’m listening.”
“Here?”
“Sure.”
He has that look on his face, that arrogant Aidan Gallagher look. It’s the same expression he had when we were kids and he challenged me to race him from one end of the beach to the other and when he dared Sin to swim across the lake. It used to rile me up, but not tonight. Tonight, it makes my heart ache in a good way.
And just like that, staring at his toothy grin and twinkling blue eyes, I find the clarity and courage to say what I want to say to him, what I have wanted to say since we were kids.
“You don’t have to wait until I am between ponces. You wouldn’t have had to wait the first time, but you were too darn pig-headed to tell me how you really felt about me. So, I went home thinking I was one of your many girls.”
The lads hoot and holler. Aidan holds his hand up and they stop cheering.
“Go on.”
I take a deep breath.
“I love you. I know it must seem fast, but it’s not, not really. I have loved you since I was twelve and you kissed me on the rocks below Tásúildun.” The lads cheer and a prickly heat moves down my body. “I told myself I couldn’t love you because you weren’t the sort of guy my daddy expected me to marry. You weren’t . . .”
“Gaylord?”
“You know darn well his name is Grayson,” I say, gritting my teeth. “But, yes, you weren’t Grayson.”
Aidan’s friends look at him questioningly.
“A ponce she nearly married.”
“He was not a ponce,” I say, defensive.
“He drinks fruity cocktails.”
The lads practically explode with laughter. I wait until they’re done having their laugh.
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is”—I look down at my feet, at my flannel pajama bottoms pooling around the tops of my rain boots—“I love you.”
“Why do ya love me?”
I look at Aidan again and tears fill my eyes. Sweet Baby Jesus, this is not going the way I imagined it would. This is mortifying! I am a sad, sorry mess, sniffling like Scarlett saying goodbye to Miss Melly.
“I love you because you give me the safety to be my real self—even if that means singing ‘Where’s Me Jumper’ in the bathtub or wearing Doc Martens instead of designer heels. You see me for who I really am . . .”
“That’s it? Ya love me because I don’t care if ya sing in the bathtub or stomp around in combat boots? No other reason?”
“You’re honest and kind and funny . . .”
“And?” Aidan prompts.
The lads are riveted.
“. . . when I look at you, I hear that Taylor Swift song playing in my head.”
“Which Taylor Swift song?”
The lads answer before I do.
The one where she jumps around in a tutu?
. . . or the one where she’s mad as a box of frogs burning her fella’s clothes?
“Shut up,” Aidan says.
I can’t see the expression on his face through my tears, which is a blessing I suppose.
“‘Everything Has Changed,’” I say, blinking back the tears. “I hear ‘Everything Has Changed’ playing in my head when I am with you, because looking into your eyes is like coming home. You used to be my friend, a silly boy who dared me to do stupid things, but not anymore.”
Aidan is a big, broad-shouldered, blonde-headed blur that suddenly comes into focus. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him.
“I love ya, Tara Maxwell. Don’t you know I’ve always loved you, that you’ve always been my princess in the castle?”
He kisses me and the lads go wild.
Chapter Thirty
With everyone’s help—Aidan, Catriona, Mrs. McGregor, even Sin—I am able to deliver four hundred cups of Feckin’ Fiddle (Catriona was right about the name) to Michael and bake enough Boozy Bites to keep a festival full of music lovers happily buzzed.
Catriona was right. There is definitely a market for alcohol-infused baked goods in Ireland. After the music festival, the word spread from Donegal to Dublin, Cork to Coleraine. Cat’s friend Mary designed an eye-catching logo, which we are using on our various social media platforms and all printed material. Mary also designed a simple website with information about our baked goods, professional photographs, and a contact form.
It’s only been three weeks and already we have had dozens of requests for samples from pubs, cafes, and hotel restaurants. We are keeping it simple though, supplying Feckin’ Fiddle and Bánánach Bites to Michael’s pubs and a few cafes around Donegal until we have the money to expand the business. Sin has even offered to help with the loan paperwork. Life is pretty sweet—if you’ll pardon the obvious pun.
It’s like a big old box of sunny yellow Lemonheads. You know the hard candy that tastes sweet, but then suddenly turns sour?
Life is like a box Lemonheads.
Sweet, sour. Sweet, sour.
Today, my life is as sweet as a Lemonhead.
Tomorrow, I reckon my life might turn sour.
Tomorrow, I must choose between Aidan and Sin. Aunt Patricia’s solicitor is traveling all the way from London with paperwork for me to sign naming a co-owner of Tásúildun.
I am not gonna lie, y’all. I am torn.
Choosing Aidan as the castle’s co-owner means cheating Sin out of his family’s ancestral home. It also means losing an invaluable ally who could help me preserve our aunt’s legacy for future generations to appreciate.
On the other hand, choosing Sin might mean losing Aidan. My fierce Irish fighter might take my decision as a mortal blow to his pride.
It’s late when I finally climb into bed, mentally and physically exhausted from wrestling with my tough decision, and I still don’t have an answer. So, I do what any good Southern girl does when she is struggling to find an answer to a worrisome situation: I give it to Jesus.
Chapter Thirty-one
Text from Callie Middleton:
So, who are you choosing? Aidan or Sin?
Text from Emma Lee Maxwell:
A good matchmaker realizes that a man is like a Louis Vuitt
on Keepall bag. Some women will look at him and see gauche LV logos embossed on drab brown leather, but others will see an iconic, handcrafted travel bag. The trick is not to respect her response and refrain from influencing her to change her mind. Whatever you decide—drab brown leather duffle or iconic, handcrafted travel bag—I support you.
Text from Manderley Maxwell de Maloret:
Today is the big day, isn’t it? The day when you must decide who inherits Tásúildun: Rhys or Aidan. I know you have been fretting over the decision. Stop fretting, Tara darling. Aunt Patricia trusted you to make the right decision. I trust you, too, because you have a good, sweet heart.
Text from Emma Lee Maxwell:
Ooo! I don’t care if what I am about to say influences your decision . . . Pick Sin!
“Thank you all for coming today,” I say, folding my hands and placing them in my lap. “I don’t know what Aunt Patricia was thinking when she came up with the unusual stipulation to her will, but I do know she was wise and generous and I was blessed to have had her in my life. Just as I am now blessed to have each of you in my life.”
I take a deep, steadying breath and catch the scent of the lemon oil Mrs. McGregor used to polish the wood table earlier this morning. Aunt Patricia’s lawyer is seated at the opposite end of the table. Aidan and Catriona are on one side, Sin and Mrs. McGregor on the other.
I look at Aidan. His expression is somber but he nods encouragingly.
“As far back as I can remember, I ached to find a place where I belonged, truly belonged. I finally realized—not too long ago—that Tásúildun is where I belong, where I have always belonged. This castle means more to me than a lucrative money-making scheme”—I smile softly at Sin—“and I know it means more to you than that, too. I also know we will lose Tásúildun if we don’t devise a way to make it self-sufficient.”
I stop talking and look at Aidan, silently pleading with him not to hate me for what I am about to say. He nods again.
“It is my sole aim to preserve this castle. I believe the only way I will be able to achieve that aim is by maintaining it as a private residence.” I shift my gaze back to Sin, see the pain in his eyes. “However, keeping the castle as a home is just not financially feasible. I believe I have devised a scheme that might help us protect Tásúildun while allowing it to be a money-making business.”
Mrs. McGregor pats my knee.
“I propose we make a few, minor renovations that would allow us to turn the castle into a boutique bed and breakfast. I propose a super high-end establishment offering the finest amenities for discerning travelers—in-house holistically trained massage therapists, farm-to-table meals prepared by a chef, unique cultural activities off the tourist track. When we have raised the capital, I recommend we hire an architect and designer to renovate the old groundskeeper’s home to rent to wedding parties. Finally, I would like to turn the stables into an upscale restaurant complete with a large commercial kitchen that would allow us to offer cooking classes and bake Mrs. Cumiskey’s Boozy Bites.”
I pause to allow them time to consider my proposition and then I borrow a page from Sin’s book and hit them with my research.
“There are already two large castle hotels within driving distance. Why would we risk throwing our cap into an arena already dominated by larger, successful ventures? Catriona”—I look at my friend—“you said the most successful entrepreneurs capitalize on that which makes them unique, right?”
“Sure, I said that.”
“Tásúildun is unique because it is still very much a home. It’s historic and grand, but it is a home. The land is virgin, unspoiled. Do we really want to ruin it with helicopter pads and swimming pools? Do we really want to transform it into another generic castle hotel? In the future, when we are financially capable, we could close the bed and breakfast and concentrate on baking cookies and making cider. In the meantime, this plan allows for the preservation of the castle and land. It means Aunt Patricia’s staff would remain employed at the castle. It’s smaller scale, but more organic and far more exclusive. So, what do you think?”
Sin is the first to speak. “I think it sounds like an interesting plan. I will need to run the numbers, do some market comparison and analysis, but I like it, Tara. I really like it.”
“So do I, luv,” Mrs. McGregor says.
“It’s a grand plan, Tara,” Cat agrees. “Grand.”
Aidan doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with his unreadable, intimidating expression.
Aunt Patricia’s solicitor clears his throat.
“There’s just one thing, Miss Maxwell,” he says.
“Yes?”
“You haven’t told us who you have chosen.”
Sweet baby Jesus and the Apostles. This is it. This is the moment when I tell the world the answer to the biggest decision of my life.
“I choose”—I reach into my pocket, pull out a small leather ring box, and hand it to Aidan—“you Aidan Gallagher. I choose you to be my life long partner. If you’ll have me.”
He exhales and I suddenly realize that intense, intimidating expression was anxiety. I look away from Aidan, shifting my gaze across the table to Sin.
“And,” I say, sliding the stack of legal papers on the table over to him. “I choose you, Sin, to be my business partner and the co-owner of Tásúildun.”
Sin signs the paperwork. The solicitor shakes our hands and Sin walks him to his car. Mrs. McGregor gives me a hug and hurries off to put a kettle on the Aga. Catriona tells me I am a feckin’ genius, blows her brother a kiss, and follows Mrs. McGregor out the door, leaving me alone with Aidan.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest and stares down at me, his blue eyes twinkling.
“You did it, banphrionsa.”
“Did what?”
He bends down and kisses me, a soft, teasing kiss that makes me feel as dizzy as the first time he kissed me.
“You found a way to have your cake and eat it, too.”
“I don’t know,” I say, grinning. “Did I? You still haven’t given me an answer. Will you marry me, Aidan Gallagher?”
“What do you think?”
That old blanket of doubt, the one I thought I packed away, rolls out, threatens to smother me. I can’t move, can’t breathe.
“Go on with ya,” he says, laughing. “What do ya take me for, a feckin’ eejit? Of course I’ll marry ya.”
“Grand,” I say, losing myself in the depths of his sea blue eyes. “Just grand.”
RECIPE FROM TARA’S KITCHEN
Tara’s Bánánach Brew Bites
Ingredients
⅔ cup white sugar
2 large eggs
½ cup shortening
1 teaspoon ground
cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground
nutmeg
2 cups thinly sliced,
cider soaked apples
⅔ cup packed brown sugar
½ cup butter, softened
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon baking powder
3½ cups old-fashioned
rolled oats
1 cup all-purpose flour
Directions
1. Slice apples and soak in Bánánach Brew Cider for 24 hours.
2. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
3. Beat ingredients until well incorporated.
4. Drain apples and pat dry with paper towel.
5. Add apples to cookie batter.
6. Bake until lightly browned, 9 to 11 minutes.
Can’t get enough of the Maxwell sisters’ antics?
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DREAMING OF MANDERLEY
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You'll Always Have Tara Page 24