by Nan Dixon
“If we move chairs up from the courtyard, we can wait a month or two,” Bess suggested.
Abby nodded.
Dolley and Abby added to Bess’s punch list, but Carleton House looked ready to take on guests.
They were pulling on their coats before Dolley got the courage to say, “My lease is up the middle of next month.”
“They aren’t turning your place into condos, are they?” Bess asked.
“No.” She buttoned her jacket, not wanting to look in her sisters’ eyes. It was embarrassing to ask to move home when she’d been on her own for years. “Since I’m only bidding projects for Jackson, what Liam’s paying me just isn’t enough to cover the gap. I’m wondering...can I crash in the carriage house for a few months?” The words rushed out. “It would just be while I’m working with Liam. Maybe for February and March. And April, too.”
Abby and Bess stepped in front of her. She looked into their faces, fearing she’d see disappointment.
“Of course you’ll use the carriage house.” Abby grabbed her hand. “I love the idea.”
“The apartment’s clean.” Bess nodded. “And Daniel and I will help you move.”
“Can you be packed by move-in day, the twentieth?” Abby asked.
“I figured I’d move next month.” Dolley shoved back a curl.
“We’ve got the opening, my wedding and then St Patrick’s Day.” Abby took in a deep breath. “It would be better to move everything on the same day.”
“I guess.” Dolley rubbed her forehead. She might not sleep between then and now, but she could make it happen.
Abby wrapped an arm around her. “It’s perfect timing. With you living in the carriage house, you’ll be right next to all the action. I can work you like a dog.”
“There’s something to look forward to.” But now that she’d asked, she liked the idea of being back at Fitzgerald House. “I’ll start packing.”
* * *
A KNOCK ECHOED through the darkroom. Liam hung the last picture before opening the door. “Hallo.”
“Hi.” Dolley peered in. “I’m not ruining anything by letting light in, am I?”
“No.” He held the door open, forcing her to brush next to him. Her warm scent tickled his nose.
Working in the darkroom would accomplish two things, developing Dolley’s skills and putting her in close proximity.
But being in a small space with her might be frustrating—at least for him. Less than a week into his campaign to have her kiss him and his frustration level was spiking out of control.
She took a deep breath but wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t been here in...years.”
“Don’t like the smell?” For him, it was like coming home.
“It reminds me of metal cleaner.” Dolley shed her coat, hanging it on top of his. She walked over to the drying pictures. “What are you working on?”
“Bonaventure shots.”
She moved around the ones he’d already developed. “I don’t remember taking you to this statue.”
“I’ve returned a couple of times.” Every few days, the cemetery drew him back.
“What would you like me to do?” she asked.
“Would you take a test strip of the picture in the enlarger?”
“Sure, but it’s been a while.” She looked over the setup. “Is this the filter you want me to use?”
“Yes.” He set a timer and stepped back to watch her. “Let’s try five second increments.”
Her actions were precise as she waited for the bing of the timer. Then she moved the cardboard down so there were five different exposure times. “Done.”
“Go ahead and develop it.” He moved away from the water baths.
“This is the part I liked.” She slipped the blank paper into the developer bath. “What solution ratio are you using?”
They talked about the pros and cons of different chemicals.
“You did your homework before coming here,” he said.
“Of course.” Her smile flashed in the low red light. “I would hate to fail any pop quiz you throw at me.”
“Now I’m going to have to come up with one.” He peered over her shoulder as the picture began to form. “This is where the magic happens.”
“Oh, it’s Corrine.” She moved the picture to the next bath and then the next. “How many times have you been back to Bonaventure?”
“Four or five.” He was researching a project out there, but he would tell her about it later.
“I didn’t know.”
After running the picture through the final water bath, they stared at the finished product.
“Were you going for regret?” she asked.
“You nailed it.” They were so in sync, why wouldn’t Dolley want to take their...connection to the next level?
“What’s your recommendation?” He knew the exposure he wanted to try.
She leaned over the counter. “You want the most contrast, right?”
“Yes.” He set his hand on the counter, not hemming her in, but invading her space a little.
Tapping the picture, she sidestepped away from him. “Somewhere between fifteen and twenty seconds.”
“Why?”
“At fifteen seconds, we’re able to see the details of her face—see the shadow here?” She pointed to an area behind the statue. “But at twenty seconds, we lose those shadows.”
“Good. We need to burn in this area.” This time he got close because he needed to demonstrate where the burn should occur.
“I was never good at dodging and burning.” She looked over her shoulder at him. Her lips almost brushed his chin.
They both froze. Her eyes dilated. Was that the lighting or desire?
Dolley’s breath whispered across his face. Just a few more centimeters to heaven.
He drank in her scent, her expressive face. Waiting. For Dolley.
“Liam?” Her voice broke the spell.
“Yes?”
She closed her eyes. Her shoulders hunched to her ears. “I...I can’t.”
“You can’t what?” He shook his head. Was she as out of balance as he was?
“Us.” She bit her lip.
“You could.” He shook his head. “You won’t.”
She nodded. “Won’t.”
“What are you afraid of?” he whispered. He longed to touch her soft cheek and run his fingers through her messy curls, but he didn’t.
“That we won’t work out.”
“How can we know if we don’t try?” His hands slapped against the counter.
She jerked. “You...you live in Ireland.”
“That’s just where I store my things.”
“What?” She scooted to the opposite side of the room.
“I love Savannah. I love your family.” The idea of moving to Savannah took hold and rooted inside him and bloomed. “Why don’t we see what happens?”
“I...but...” She shook her head. Her shoulders sagged. “Trust me. We wouldn’t work out.”
“Trust you?” He backed away, rejected again. “Grand.”
He turned to the enlarger, when he really wanted to shake her. “Let me walk you through this.”
Locked in a small room for two hours with Dolley hadn’t been his smartest idea. It was going to be a long, frustrating night.
* * *
LIAM FOCUSED THE camera on the letter in front of him. It was water-stained, and the handwriting was faded but legible. It was from Seamus, Michael’s son, and had been sent to James’s son, also named Michael. The American Michael was the first generation FitzGerald to be born on American soil. They’d still capitalized the G in the surname.
He’d hung the family tree Ian had given him in the attic. It was
the only way he and Dolley kept track of the duplicate names. There were too many Seamuses and Michaels.
He started to run his hand through his hair but stopped. He wore gloves to protect the aging paper.
They’d made a dent in figuring out the correspondence dates. Hard, because water damage had destroyed the edges of the letters and blurred the writing.
“Find anything new?” Dolley’s question had him jerking straight up.
“I think it’s a letter to James’s son from a cousin in Ireland.” He held it up.
She leaned over his shoulder, her scent wrapping around him. He inhaled. His vow to keep his hands off her made him ache.
“The handwriting is lovely.” She tugged on gloves.
He handed the letter to her, relieved when she moved away.
She scanned the page. “Must be the start of the famine. He mentions that families and young people are starting to leave.”
He nodded. “I can’t make out the year, but I believe you’re right.”
She smiled at him. Then noticed the camera. “You took pictures?”
“I might use the letters in the film. It’s real people talking about the problems in Ireland.” He pointed to the pile of items he’d planned to capture.
“Do you want me to take the photos?” she asked.
“That would be helpful.”
They worked side by side. Other than his desire to wrap his arms around her and lay his lips on that pink mouth, they had a good rhythm.
Once she put the camera away, they sat. Dolley carefully worked two stuck pieces of paper apart. Her curls bobbed as she read the first one. She caught her lower lips between her teeth.
Was she a sadist? Didn’t she know he wanted to bite that lip?
Her concentration was a thing of beauty. It was why she was such a good photographer. She waited for the picture to unfold. It was something he hadn’t had to teach her. Something he constantly had to remind himself of.
She set the letter in the early 1900s pile.
He should stop watching her and get back to his own material.
She flipped to the signature page and then back to the first page. A smile erupted like fireworks. “I found one.”
She looked at him, and her eyes flashed a little greener. Her breasts rose a little faster with each breath.
“Found one what?” He couldn’t think beyond wanting her eyes to sparkle that bright for him.
“A letter written in 1831 from Patrick FitzGerald.” She held up the letter, and it trembled in her hand. “It’s what you’re looking for. He’s James’s father, right?”
He grinned, excitement bubbling inside. “Righto.”
“He’s my great-however many times grandfather?” She bounced in her chair.
“Five times.” He pointed at the tree.
“Hang on.” Dolley pushed out of her seat and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t I think of this before? Family Bible!”
She dashed out of the room.
He sighed. Dolley leaving the room was like the sun had set and taken all the energy with her. He picked up the letter.
Dearest son,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your letters telling of finding lodging and the design of Savannah were read and enjoyed by all. And the glad tidings that your ship and shipment of cotton and indigo arrived safely in London is good news indeed. The Captain stopped in Kilkee to drop letters and created a stir when his boat entered the harbor. It is...
A water stain blurred most words after that, but it gave him a chill. These words were written almost two hundred years ago.
“Here it is.” Dolley burst up the stairs, bringing back the sunshine.
She flipped to the page where a lengthy list of births and deaths had been recorded.
“Is this a FitzGerald Bible, or your father’s?” he asked.
“Fitzgerald. We don’t have much from the Oliver side.”
“Good.” He checked the first name in the Bible. “Although this looks like the Bible came from James and Michael’s mother’s side. She was an O’Donahue.”
She elbowed him. “And you call me a walking computer.”
“You are.” He pushed a curl away from her eye. “Was it unusual for your mother to keep the Fitzgerald name?”
“Yes, but I’m glad.” Her nose wrinkled. “The daughter keeps the Fitzgerald name until there is a son. Our papa wasn’t above using the Fitzgerald name to improve his stature.”
“So, Abby will keep her name?” Liam asked. “And all her children will be Fitzgeralds?”
“I never thought about that.” She grinned. “Wonder what Gray will think?”
“He’ll do anything Abby wants.”
She laughed. “I think you’re right.”
They filled in births and deaths on the family tree.
“It’s ridiculous doing this by hand.” Dolley shook her head. “We need a computer and a program.”
He tipped his head. “Can you say research assistant?”
“Can you say happy apprentice?” She tapped his lips. Her eyes went wide, and she snatched her hand away.
And he smiled. Slowly but surely, she was touching him more often. “I think that’s smile number three today.”
“You don’t need to count my smiles.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I’ve smiled more than that in the hour I’ve been up here with you.”
“Then I guess you’re not doing your job.” They were almost nose to nose. Her move.
Dolley’s tongue snuck between her teeth and touched her upper lip.
Her phone rang.
They jerked like children caught with their hands in the sweets bowl.
She fished her mobile out of her pocket. “Hey, Anne.”
He turned back to the paper, eavesdropping. He’d heard her talk to this Anne more than once.
“That sounds like fun. I’ll see you around eight.” She pushed the phone back into her jumper pocket. “Are you interested in another foray into the pub scene?”
She bit her lip again. Was it because she hadn’t meant to invite him, or because she wanted him to accept the invitation?
It didn’t matter. “Sure. Bring your camera and we’ll work on nighttime indoor pictures.”
And he would work on getting her to make the next move.
* * *
MAYBE DOLLEY SHOULD have taken this night to get some distance from Liam. But when Anne had called, they’d been having—fun. She glanced at him as they headed down the steep steps to River Street.
What if she took a risk and changed their relationship? Maybe Liam would be different. But how cliché was a mentor and apprentice dating? It sounded sordid and definitely not professional.
“Hang on.” Liam slipped his camera out of his bag.
She hung back, trying to figure out his picture’s focal point. The cobblestones were damp, and the dim streetlights gave her an impression of bleakness. A man moved ahead of them in the dark.
How could she frame a picture to show hope? She pulled out her own camera and zoomed in on the streetlight pushing back the gloom. The glow of the light was a beautiful warm orange.
They exchanged cameras. In Liam’s picture, the man was an eerie shadow in the dark street.
He stared at her pictures. “Do you find hope in everything?”
She didn’t answer. “Do you see only isolation and solitude?”
“Probably.” He chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. He didn’t seek joy. His dark outlook on life was a good reason not to change their relationship.
“What’s my smile goal tonight?” he asked.
She didn’t know how to help him change his attitude. “What do you think it should be?”
“T
wo.”
She snorted. “Ten.”
“Four?”
“Eight, and I’m not dropping lower.”
They stopped one more time to take pictures of the river and the boats docked upstream. “They’re not as dreary as your last pictures.” She handed his camera back.
“Maybe I need you to remind me every day to look for the joy in life.” His blue gaze caught hers and snatched her breath away.
She wasn’t capable of being his happiness monitor. She was learning from him. If she was good enough, maybe he could connect her to the right people to take her work to the next level.
But that sentiment felt—wrong. She’d come to value her time with Liam.
He held the door for her. “Okay. Eight smiles.”
“Don’t feel you have to be stingy.”
He grinned. “One.”
Groups gathered next to the bar. She searched for Anne. “Let’s see if she’s near the stage.”
Anne and a couple more work friends had commandeered a table near the windows, a little back from the stage. Empty glasses filled the table. Anne waved them over.
“I missssss you.” Anne gave her an enthusiastic, inebriated hug.
“Been here a while?” Dolley whispered.
Anne giggled. “Yeah.”
Hmm. Drunk Anne could be good or bad. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be crying in her beer by the end of the night.
She and Liam headed to the open chairs. Liam pulled hers out, so she could sit down. Had anyone ever held her chair before?
After making introductions, she and Liam ordered pints, and the rest of the table ordered another round.
“I love your accent,” Anne gushed. “Dolley told me how fabulous it was, but it’s nothing like hearing it in person.”
Dolley glanced at Liam.
He grinned, holding up two fingers.
She racked her memory. Hopefully, that was the only embarrassing thing she’d confessed to Anne.
There was a rustle of people, and the entertainment moved onto the small stage. One man held a small flute and another a mandolin. A woman carried a fiddle.
Liam’s eyes lit up. “Are they playing traditional music?”
“Of course.” Sliding her chair around, she faced the stage. She leaned closer to his ear. “The tourists eat it up.”