Hope to Fall (Kinney Brothers Book 4)

by Kelsey Kingsley

  “I keep tellin’ her that and she doesn’t listen to me,” I said to the ten-year-old with a wink. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with her.”

  Sarah nodded. “She has to listen to me, Malachy.”

  “Oh?” I raised a brow. “And why’s that?”

  “I’ve known her longer,” Sarah replied pointedly.

  “Sound logic,” I said with a chuckle, and I raised my head to see Collin and Helen watching us. Smiling in the way they always did. Those smiles that said they knew more than I did, and I wanted to pull them aside and pick their brains for whatever unforeseen knowledge they possessed. Maybe it held more promise than I felt deep down underneath it all, where all I saw was the impending death of the good thing Emma and I had.

  The evening was filled with carnival games and a dinner of caramel apples, funnel cake and warm apple cider, which I insisted wasn’t nearly alcoholic enough. Meghan, Hailey and Sarah seemed to run the show, dictating where we’d all wander next, while Emma snapped pictures whenever she could.

  “What post are these pictures for?” Kinsey asked her, trying to get some insider information.

  Emma stuffed her camera back into her gigantic bag. “I thought I’d start to write more about real life things. Like, stuff I do with the girls, more candid pictures—that kind of thing.”

  Kinsey looked to Snow and Lindsey, and in unison, they just about melted into a puddled mess of affection. “Oh my God, I love that,” Kinsey gushed. “I tell Patrick all the time, we should be taking more pictures of the kids and documenting things more often. Everything goes by so fast.”

  That pair of green eyes met mine as Emma agreed, “Yeah. It really does.”

  When everybody’s attention was held by the girls getting their faces painted to look like cats and popstars, I sidled up to Emma and whispered, “More candid pictures, huh? Ya didn’t tell me about that.”

  “Maybe I was a little inspired to start seeing that everything in life is perfect and not just the pictures purposely made to look that way,” she replied in a low voice, turning to face me.

  “Oh, were ya, now? Who might’ve inspired ya to do that?” I asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling my mobile from my pocket.

  “Just some grumpy Irishman,” she said, standing on her toes and I leaned down to kiss her, while also snapping a picture. “But you really need to stop doing that,” she laughed. “They probably look terrible and that’s why you never let me look at them.”

  “I don’t let you see them, because they’re for me,” I replied, sliding the mobile back in its place.

  “For what, or do I not want to know?”

  “Just to have,” I leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. “The girls really seem to love Meghan.”

  “Yeah,” she said, turning to watch them as they all giggled together. “They love you too.”

  My mouth immediately went dry at the statement and my arm tightened around her. “They can’t know that after only a couple of weeks,” I insisted. But was I talking about her daughters, or someone else entirely? Who could say.

  She nodded slowly, seeking my gaze with hers. “Yeah, they can. Kids are very intuitive, you know. They know a good thing when they see it.”

  “Ya better be careful when ya say things like that,” I teased, swallowing against the raspy drought in my throat.

  “Oh?”

  “Aye,” I said with a nod. “It’s gonna hurt that much more when I gotta get back on a plane.”

  Her fingers dug into my sweatshirt. “That’s the plan,” she whispered, tipping her head to rest against my chest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE |

  HURRICANS & POWER OUTAGES

  MALACHY

  Helen took a sip of her coffee. “Malachy, ya didn’t have to go to so much trouble cookin’ all this,” she said, shaking her head over the spread.

  “Yes, I did. Ya’ve been puttin’ up with me for weeks now. I’m grateful for it.”

  She smiled appreciatively. “Well, it is nice to not have to cook for once, and this is delicious. You’re a much better cook than I am.”

  Collin snorted around a bite of bacon. “Ah, darlin’, nobody boils a potato to death quite like you.”

  She swatted playfully at his arm. “Oh, will ya lay off it? You’ve been eatin’ them for years now and ya’ve never complained before.”

  “Who says I’m complainin’?” he asked, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  I felt like I was intruding on their moment, and it seemed significant that I’d never once experienced that with my mother and father. Their displays of affection had been limited only to the bedroom, or at least that was what I assumed. How different would things have been if I’d been more exposed to this growing up? This constant showcase of love and devotion. Maybe I’d be less likely to resist it for myself.

  “Are ya seein’ Emma today?” Collin asked, pulling me from my wallowing.

  I shook my head. “She’s catchin’ up on some work.”

  “You two are gettin’ on well,” he mentioned casually, slathering some butter on a piece of toast.

  “I suppose,” I shrugged, knowing I was grossly downplaying the situation.

  Helen tipped her head with the raise of her brows. “Ya suppose? She looks at ya like you’re the world. Don’t ya see it? And those girls of hers … didn’t we tell ya you’re a natural?”

  My hands laid flat against the table and I sighed. Because I did see it. Because they did tell me. Because I’d stopped listening to reason the first night I spent at her house.

  “Where do ya see things goin’ with her?” she pried, bombarding me with yet another question.

  “Dunno,” I lied. I saw things going far. I saw things going everywhere. But whether they actually would, was another story.

  Collin took a bite of his toast and smiled. “Ya know, I was thinkin’ the two of us could spend some time together today, what do ya say? There’s a storm rollin’ in this weekend and I need to get the place secured. Wanna give me a hand?”

  I nodded, grateful for the change in topic and grateful for a distraction from the pleas of my heart.

  ❧

  It was a hurricane, Collin said. A category one that was due to slam the south shore of Connecticut Saturday evening into Sunday morning. I made a mental note of it, knowing Emma was going to be alone in her cottage once Jared had picked the girls up on Saturday morning. I rang her before getting started with the preparations.

  “Hey,” she answered sweetly, her voice making me smile the moment it came through the speaker.

  “Hello, m’darlin’,” I replied, kicking at the dirt with the toe of my shoe, “I’ve been told there’s a pretty wicked storm headin’ this way.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been watching the news. I’m dragging the girls outside later to help me when they get home from school.”

  “Aye. Need my assistance?” I offered, looking up to the sun. It was hard to imagine such an ugly thing was barreling toward us when the day was so beautiful. The calm before the storm, or so they say.

  “Um, no, I think we’ll be okay, but thank you for offering.”

  “Well, would ya like someone to protect ya when the wind’s start blowin’?” I teased, stuffing a hand into my pocket as I began to mindlessly wander the front yard.

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  I laughed. “Didn’t wanna invite meself over without permission.”

  She giggled. It was beginning to sound less like Padraig and simply more like her. “You never need to ask, Malachy. I always want you here.”

  My smile ached my cheeks as I saw Collin come out of the house. “Ah, I’d love to chat with ya some more, but Collin needs my help—”

  “Some father-son time, huh?”

  I grumbled at the titles we’d yet to say. “Sure. Anyway, I’ll call ya later?”

  “You better,” she said, and I hung up to help batten down the hatches, wondering if I’d ever get tired of all the smiling, and how much
I’d miss it when I was an ocean away.

  ❧

  After Jared came to pick up the girls from Emma’s, she hopped in her car to pick me up from Helen and Collin’s. She came to the door, knocking as a school girl might’ve, and when Helen answered the door, she said in a playful tone, “Hi Mrs. Kinney, can Malachy come out to play?”

  Helen laughed in that airy way she always seemed to, and stepped aside for Emma to come in. “He’s right in the kitchen, m’dear. Are ya prepared for the storm?”

  Emma nodded, coming into the kitchen. “About as ready as I’m going to be. I just hope I don’t lose power. I’m terrified of the dark.”

  “Oh, I know what ya mean,” Helen replied. “River Canyon is such a small town; we’re not exactly at the top of the priority list down at the electric company.”

  “Are you going to be okay here?” Emma asked, suddenly concerned. “There’s room at my place, if you and Collin want to come stay with us.”

  I looked up from the sandwiches I was making, hoping to catch her eye and selfishly convince her to take back the kind offer. After a week of our alone time being severely stunted, I was ready to have her all to myself.

  But there was no need, as Helen reached out to touch Emma’s elbow with a gentle hand. “That’s sweet of ya, Emma, but we’re going to be staying with my mother. I don’t wanna leave her alone in the thick of it.” She went quiet for a moment, and added, “Ryan is there, of course, but he can get a bit distracted, especially now with the baby.”

  “Well, just let me know if I need to come rescue you,” Emma replied before turning to me and eyeing the sandwiches I was slapping together. “And what, may I ask, are you doing?”

  “Ya never seen a sandwich before?”

  Her sigh was long and exhausted, and I chuckled. “I mean, why are you making them, and so many?”

  “Because,” I said, leaning down to kiss her forehead, “I thought we could have a picnic.”

  “A picnic?” Emma asked, wrapping an arm around my waist. “That’s a very romantic idea from a guy who doesn’t do relationships.”

  “Well, I’ve never had an indoor picnic before,” I reasoned, “and you’ve never taken pictures of one on your blog, so I thought it could be a new experience for the both of us.”

  “Wait.” She took a step back and away from me, her eyelids fluttering as her rosy lips parted to accompany her startled expression. “You’ve read my blog?”

  “Of course,” I said, incredulous. “Only for research, mind ya, but I did.”

  Helen tittered a slight laugh from the table behind us, and we turned in unison to look at her. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, smiling, her eyes directly on me. “But, it’s awfully nice of ya to take an interest in her website. Don’t ya think so, Emma?”

  “It’s, um … surprising,” she agreed, nodding gently.

  I shook my head with a prolonged grumble as I packed a bag of the sandwiches, snacks and drinks I’d picked up earlier from the local grocer, The Fisch Market. I then excused myself from the kitchen, to grab my things from my room, as well as a few of Padraig’s belongings. When I returned, I found Helen and Emma whispering and giggling in the way women so often do.

  “What’re ya talkin’ about now?” I asked with a scrutinizing glare, hoisting my bag of clothes over my shoulder.

  “Oh, I was just sayin’ that, while you’ve been here, you’ve spent more time with Emma than with any of us,” Helen mentioned, and had she been anybody else, I might’ve assumed she was genuinely insulted. But that wasn’t what it was; she was encouraging me. She was encouraging this.

  “Well, I’ll spend more time with ya after the weekend,” I said with a nod, and then I whistled into the living room to wake Padraig from his nap. “Be well, Helen. I’ll try to keep me mobile charged, in case ya need me over here.”

  She nodded, smiling warmly. “Ya have a good weekend,” she said, affectionately patting my arm. “Stay safe, sweet boy.”

  I smiled my way through the overpowering urge to give her a hug and to kiss her cheek. To show her the affection I’d shown my own mother. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready, if she was ready, or if either of us ever would be.

  ❧

  The wind was picking up. Emma stood at the window, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “I hope Jared made it to his parents’ place,” she said, lifting her thumb to chew at the nail.

  “Why don’t ya call him instead of worryin’ yourself sick over it?” I suggested, taking on the role as the voice of reason.

  “Because I don’t want to take time out of our night, with a phone call to my ex-husband,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder at me with an incredulous look.

  “So, ya’d rather take time out of our night to worry?” I asked with a simultaneous lift of an eyebrow and a corner of my mouth. ‘Go on, call him. Tell the girls I said hello.”

  She smiled gratefully and pulled her phone from her pocket, jabbing at the screen with her thumbs before pressing it to her ear and exiting the room.

  Left to myself, I shoved some of her furniture out of the way, chuckling about the predicted horror that would blanket her pretty features at the sight. I unfolded a blanket from the couch and laid it out over the floor before grabbing the bag of food I’d packed. Padraig looked on, his eyebrows bouncing and his tail wagging, and I shook my head at him.

  “Don’t ya be gettin’ any ideas in that big head of yours,” I warned him. “None of this is yours, understand?” He cocked his head and released a long, low whine, and I sighed in response. “Fine. I made ya a sandwich too, but you’re not gettin’ anythin’ else.”

  “They’re fine,” Emma announced, coming back into the room, and as I expected, her face fell in horrified disbelief at the position of her furniture. “Oh, God, okay, it’s fine. This is okay,” she muttered, coaching herself through deep breaths.

  “We can move it back when we’re done,” I assured her with a chuckle, and she nodded.

  “I know, I know. I’m working on it. Baby steps, you know.”

  I nodded, standing up to press my hands to her shoulders. “I know, and I’m proud of ya,” and I pressed a kiss to her forehead before walking past her toward the kitchen. “Padraig, come. I don’t trust ya alone in there.”

  The lummox trotted obediently in behind me.

  “What are you looking for?” Emma asked, stopping me before I could begin opening cupboards.

  “I need glasses.”

  “Any kind?” She walked past me and toward a glass-fronted china cabinet. “All of my fancy glassware is in here.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t need anythin’ classy for what I’m doin’,” I said with a chuckle.

  “Do I want to know?” She opened a cupboard door to reveal a shelf of glasses in varying sizes.

  “Nah, probably not,” I said, pulling two larger cups down. Her gulp was audible. “Go fetch me that bag in the other room, m’darlin’.”

  She scurried away as I popped the two glasses into the freezer. When she returned, I took the bag from her, kissing her at the tip of her nose before setting to work at the counter. I instructed her to grab me a handful of eggs, a bowl, pitcher and whisk.

  “Matcha or balloon?” she asked, reaching into a drawer and pulling out both.

  One side of my mouth lifted into a smile of endearment as I looked at the whisks in her hands and at her. “Of course, ya’d have both,” I said affectionately, as I reached for the wire balloon whisk. “This one’ll do just fine.”

  “You just never know when you’ll need a matcha whisk,” she reasoned with a shrug, putting it back in the drawer.

  “No, I guess ya don’t,” I said, breaking the eggs and separating the yolk from the white.

  Emma groaned from beside me, and I looked to her with question. “God, you’re so smooth. I always end up with a little bit of yolk in there, but you … Jesus, that was good.”

  I laughed, handing the bowl of yolks to her. “If that impresses ya, ya should see
the way I peel a potato.”

  “Well, that’s not very impressive at all,” she rolled her eyes, taking the bowl. “The Irish are potato whisperers.”

  “Potato whisperers?” My laugh surprised me—boisterous and consuming.

  “All you have to do is look at a potato and say, “Peel yerself,’ and—”

  I choked on another chuckle. “Why did ya make me sound Scottish?”

  “Oh, now you’re getting picky,” she groaned, turning to pull some things from her cupboards as I whisked the egg whites in a pitcher.

  “What’re ya doin’?” I asked, as she set up a Kitchenaid mixer on the counter beside me.

  “You handed me yolks, so I’m baking a cake for dessert.”

  I smiled at her as the wind howled outside the cottage, watching as she prepared the batter with the deftness of a professional. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, even as I combined my ingredients of hard apple cider, cinnamon, nutmeg and caramel apple vodka. But, it wasn’t until I grabbed the glasses from the freezer and drizzled them with caramel sauce, that she stopped her bustling, and began to watch me.

  “Oh my God, what are you doing with that?” she asked, her eyes wide. Her tongue, licking her lips.

  “Makin’ the perfect drink for an autumn night,” I told her, pouring the cocktail in over the caramel. I handed her one of the glasses. “Here, try that.”

  “God, vodka and hard cider. Malachy, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” she said, smiling as she brought the glass to her lips. I watched with anticipation as she took a sip, and listened with satisfaction as she groaned. “Jesus Christ, that tastes like fall in a glass.”

  “Ah, ya flatter me too much, but I appreciate it,” I laughed, grabbing my own and taking more than just a dainty sip. I sighed serenely at the delicious warmth pouring down my throat. “Feckin’ hell, that’s good. Now, come on and finish up. We have dinner to eat, and this guy over here is gonna get rabid if we don’t hurry.” I gestured toward the whining Padraig, lying in a corner of the kitchen.