Catching Irish: a Summerhaven novella (The Summerhaven Trio Book 4) Read online

  “You love him back.”

  Her finger on his chest stilled, and he realized—yet again—that the word love was a painful trigger for her. He rephrased his words: “He’s important to you.”

  “He’s all I’ve got,” said Tate, her finger resuming its circles.

  Finian almost corrected her. He almost said, No, sweet girl, you have me too. But it wasn’t the right time for such a declaration. While she was sharing her story, it was his job to listen.

  “Was your childhood ever…happy again?”

  “I don’t know.” She took another deep breath, but this one was strong and smooth. “My childhood was like a broken mirror. Fractured glass gives a strange reflection, you know?”

  “You were broken.”

  She nodded. “I’ll always be broken. That’s why…that’s why I can’t…why I won’t…”

  “That’s why you won’t be loved,” he finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  Or love in return.

  The unspoken words hovered between them for a moment before fading away. It was futile to say them aloud or insist on them, silly to try to make her understand that broken things could be pieced back together with patience and determination, love and time.

  And frankly, Finian had no right to say anything.

  Fin could practice patience when he wanted to. And when he set his mind to something, he could be very determined. But love? He hadn’t loved Cynthia, and he didn’t know if he loved Tate. He was infatuated, yes, and he cared about her, certainly, but love? The sort of strong, forever, no-matter-what kind of love that a broken girl would need? He didn’t know if he had that sort of love to offer her. And besides, they barely had any time to find out. Today was Friday, and she left for home on Monday. Two days later, he’d return to Dublin.

  It made him feel heavy hearted.

  It made him wish for the sort of time that would allow him to develop the kind of love she needed.

  This wasn’t supposed to be complicated, he thought to himself. How did random sex at a wedding turn into something that mattered so much?

  With her cheek on his heart, and his mind whirling with questions, they lay in silence as the world awakened outside of Trinity Cottage, as the finches and chickadees called for their breakfasts. The distant roar of a motor told Fin that his cousin Ian was up and moving, which made Finian muse on a more immediate problem.

  They’d been so hungry for time alone with one another, they hadn’t even stopped to say hello to the rest of the Havens last night, a choice he and Tate would likely pay for this morning with a hearty round of teasing at breakfast.

  “My cousins are goin’ to be cunts about this,” he said.

  “About us sleeping together?” she asked.

  “Mm-hm.”

  She leaned up on his chest, her face lighter and, he thought, more open since telling him about her childhood. It made his stupid heart swell to see it.

  “I couldn’t give two shits,” she answered.

  “When you sweet talk like that,” said Fin, grinning at her, “I want to fuck you all over again, woman.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘hag’?” she asked, letting him flip her to her back and welcoming him by spreading her legs.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, grinning at her as his cock stiffened to stone, seeking entry. “Mo cailleach. My pretty little witch. I want you.”

  “I want you too,” she said, staring into his eyes.

  She arched her back, gasping as he slid into her body in one smooth thrust, her ankles rising to lock on his ass, and her eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

  And Finian, who now understood the fierce reservations of her heart, held her tightly as he joined his body with hers, desperately hoping that whatever attachment they’d developed for one another wouldn’t leave them both forever scarred when it was severed.

  ***

  While Ian, Rory, Finian, Burr, and most of the other guests headed down to the Gilford Ice Arena for a game of hockey, Hallie invited the younger ladies—a very pregnant Brittany, Tate, and Tierney—to her apartment for an afternoon of board games in front of the fire. But games had been quickly abandoned for talking, and it was only a matter of minutes until they asked Tate what was going on between her and Finian.

  Contrary to what Fin had predicted, no one had bothered them at breakfast, during a morning hike up West Rattlesnake Mountain, or during lunch, which had featured delectable Irish fare like fish and chips and shepherd’s pie. It was almost as though someone had forbidden the heckling of Tate and Finian, which made Tate wonder.

  But perhaps strangest of all, as the hours wore on, Tate found that she was dying to talk about it—about Finian, about her confusing feelings, about the future or lack thereof. It was such a change for her to actually want to talk about a guy, to know that she liked him and he meant something to her, no matter how temporary or unusual their relationship.

  “It was so nice of Suzanne to take the girls to the game,” said Hallie, who was nestled into the couch beside Brittany, their slippered feet resting on the coffee table. “Bridey and Jenny are crazy about each other. And it gives us a chance to catch up.”

  “Does Jenny like hockey?” asked Tate, thinking that Hallie’s little girl seemed awfully young to enjoy the game.

  “I don’t think she understands it,” said Hallie, “but she loves Ian. There is, literally, no scenario in which she passes up the chance to spend time with him.”

  “Does it ever make you jealous?” asked Tierney, who was curled up in a cozy armchair by the fire. “How close Jenny is to my brother?”

  Hallie shook her head, a peaceful smile on her lips. “Nope. I love it. They’re like two peas in a pod. I don’t know if there’s anything on earth that makes me happier than seeing Ian and Jenny together.”

  “Ian’s a great dad,” agreed Brittany in a dreamy voice. As soon as she realized what she’d said, however, she cut her eyes to Hallie. “Oh, gosh! Not that he’s her father…I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” said Hallie. “And it’s true. He is a great dad to her. In fact…” She scrunched up her nose. “Oh, God…I’m not supposed to tell you girls something that I really, really want to tell you!”

  “Well,” said Tate, who was sitting in a matching armchair across from Tierney, “now you have to tell us.”

  “You don’t want to piss off a woman as pregnant as I am!” Brittany threw a pillow at her friend. “Spill. It.”

  Hallie flicked a nervous glance at Tierney, then took a deep breath. “You know how we’re having a little céilí in the barn tomorrow night?”

  “What’s a céilí?” asked Tate.

  “A dance,” said Tierney. “Like a square dance, but for Irish people.”

  “Keep going!” insisted Britt.

  “Well…there’s a priest coming, you know. He’s a friend of the boys, and so we were thinking that during the céilí,” said Hallie, still staring Tierney with a nervous expression, “Ian and I might…”

  “Oh, my God!” cried Britt. “Are you getting married tomorrow?”

  “We were thinking about it,” said Hallie, wincing at Tierney. “Are you mad, Tierney?”

  Tierney was smiling from ear to ear. “Mad? Why in God’s name would I be mad?”

  “Because you were next to get married,” said Hallie. “I would never, ever want to steal your thunder!”

  “Oh, Hallie,” said Tierney, “I’m only too glad for Ian to go before me. Besides, our wedding isn’t until summer!”

  “Really? You’re sure?”

  Tierney nodded. “I promise! I’m so happy for you two!”

  Hallie jumped up to hug her almost sister-in-law, and the ladies talked briefly about how they could help Hallie tomorrow.

  At one point, Tate glanced around the room, her eyes landing on Brittany, who was staring back at her with a curious expression.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” Britt blurted out.

  “What can’t you stand?” a
sked Tate.

  Britt looked at Hallie with a desperate expression. “I know you made us all promise not to ask. And I know you said that Ian would personally beat up anyone who bothered Tate about Finian, but…but…but…I’m dying to know, and he wouldn’t hit a pregnant lady, would he? No! Never! So I figure I’m the only one who can ask!” Without waiting for Hallie to answer, Brittany locked eye with Tate. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

  Tate stared back at her childhood friend—at the wild expression in her pretty blue eyes—and surprised herself by bursting into giggles. “Oh, my God, Britt. You’re a junkie for romance!”

  Hallie and Tierney joined Tate in laughter, but it quickly faded, and Tate was met with three sets of eyes staring at her with blatant curiosity.

  She sighed. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  They all started talking at once, but Brittany yelled, “I was the only one with the courage to ask! I get to go first!” She turned to Tate. “Did it start at my wedding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you guys have sex?” asked Hallie.

  Tate nodded. “Uh…yeah.”

  Tierney gasped. “Were you having sex after the wedding? We couldn’t find you two anywhere!”

  “Roger that. In the choir room at the church.”

  “Dirty girl!” exclaimed Brittany with dancing eyes. “And last night?”

  “Mm-hm.” Lots. “He stayed overnight with me at Trinity.”

  “I noticed he didn’t come home last night,” said Hallie, who was sitting closest to Tate. “You like him, Tate?”

  Taking a deep breath, Tate nodded. “I like him.”

  Britt hit Hallie with a pillow. “I have never heard her say that! Despite all of my efforts to find her a boyfriend at camp!”

  “That’s because she never has,” said Hallie.

  “So what comes next?” asked Tierney, her expression thoughtful.

  “I don’t know,” answered Tate honestly, her heart pinching a little. “He lives in Ireland. I live in Florida.”

  “They’ve got these things called airplanes…” said Tierney.

  “Oh, my God!” exclaimed Tate, her eyes widening at Fin’s cousin. “You two are definitely related!”

  “Did he say the same thing?”

  “Verbatim.”

  “Well, what about it?” asked Britt. “I mean…you could go there and visit him. He could go to Florida to visit you. There’s Facebook and Instagram and e-mail and Skype. It’s, like, not the worst time in history to be in a long-distance relationship, Tate.”

  What Brittany said made sense to Tate, and in yet another strange realization, she found that she wasn’t totally repelled by the idea of making her “thing” with Fin less than temporary, though that was probably because of the buffer between them: an ocean.

  “Tate,” said Hallie, whose parents had been friends with Tate’s in Boston before they died. “They’d want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Do you remember them, Hallie?”

  She nodded. “I do. My mom and your mom were good friends. You came to all of my birthday parties, and they would talk and laugh all afternoon.”

  “Don’t forget me!” said Brittany. “I was there too!”

  “But your mom stopped coming after the divorce,” said Hallie.

  Britt shrugged. “True.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” said Tierney. “That’s right! I almost forgot. Your mothers attended Summerhaven together, didn’t they?”

  The other three women nodded.

  “We’re legacies,” said Hallie.

  “Don’t change the subject,” snapped Britt, pointing a finger at Tate. “You and Fin. What’s the plan, Tate? You’re killing me.”

  “So dramatic,” said Hallie, rolling her eyes. “Leave Tate alone.”

  “Maybe Tate doesn’t know the plan,” said Tierney, her green eyes so like Fin’s as she watched Tate from across the small sitting room. “Maybe she’s still figuring it out.”

  Grateful for Tierney’s gentle understanding, Tate nodded. “This is a first for me, girls. I can’t remember the last time I let someone like me and actually liked them back. And who do I choose? A man from across the sea. I’m hopeless.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Tierney. “You’re cautious. I understand that.”

  “We can’t always choose,” said Hallie. “Sometimes it just…happens.”

  “And when it does,” added Brittany, “all you can do is hang on.”

  Her three friends started talking about Hallie’s miniwedding tomorrow, and the conversation shifted, but Tate was left with Britt’s words resonating in her brain and the idea that maybe—just maybe—she would.

  CHAPTER 8

  It has been a perfect day, thought Finian, lying on his back in Tate’s bed.

  To his right, a naked Tate slept beside him, curled up against his side with her head resting on his shoulder and her breath falling on the base of his throat in soft, even whispers. Leaning over just a touch, his lips brushed against her temple and rested there as he thought about Ian and Hallie’s surprise wedding, and how it had made him feel to see his cousin get married.

  He knew that it was typical for the single men at a wedding to feel a certain amount of panic when watching one of their comrades surrender to marriage, but Fin, standing with Rory, Brittany, Tierney, Burr, and the rest of their friends and family as witnesses, discovered that all he’d felt was an unexpected twinge of longing.

  And all he could think, as he’d held Tate against his chest with his arms around her waist, was that maybe—someday—he’d like to take the plunge too.

  Because she’d had her back to his front, he hadn’t been able to see her face as Ian and Hallie exchanged their vows, but what surprised him the most was that she hadn’t untangled herself from his arms or otherwise tried to run away from him during the impromptu wedding. And it hadn’t even occurred to Fin to let her go and stand respectfully beside her. It was only when he caught Tierney watching him with a soft smile on her lips that he’d realized he was resting his chin on Tate’s shoulder like they’d been a couple for years.

  How strange that he should have attended two weddings with Tate at this point and slept with her more times than he could count on two hands, but he hadn’t even spent a week in her presence. Why should she mean so much to him? And what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

  As he watched Ian pledge his undying and eternal love to Hallie, he’d had a sudden flashback to the first time he’d met Tate: at Rory and Brittany’s rehearsal dinner. His chair had smacked the ground as he’d stood up that night, and when she’d stood up a few minutes later, hers had done the same. If Finian believed in fairies and legends—mind, he wasn’t totally certain that he didn’t—he might wonder if a spell had been cast, somehow binding him to this strange, standoffish woman and her to him in return.

  Tate stirred in her sleep, sighing against him and snuggling closer, and Fin adjusted his grip around her, holding her a little tighter in his arms.

  She’d gotten under his skin, and when they said good-bye tomorrow, it was going to ache. Nah. It was going to hurt like a bloody bitch, and Lord only knew for how long. After their first weekend together, he hadn’t shaken his longing for her after four months. This weekend, she’d been so much softer and more open to him; it was going to hurt worse this time, and it was going to take even longer to get over her.

  “Ah, Tate,” he whispered. “I wish things were different, lass.”

  “Hmm?” she hummed.

  He kissed her temple again, lingering, closing his eyes to inhale the light scent of her shampoo mixed with their recent lovemaking.

  Lovemaking.

  Is that what it was?

  He clenched his jaw, kissing her again before resting the back of his head on her pillow. What he felt for her was more intense than anything he’d ever felt for another woman, but he still wasn’t ready to label it. And all he wished was that he had the time and
space to get to a place where he was ready.

  “Fin?” she whispered.

  “I’m here,” he said.

  “Was I asleep?”

  “You were, darlin’,” he said. “For a little bit.”

  “It was a busy weekend,” she said. “And you’ve kept me up two nights in a row.”

  “Any complaints?” he asked, rolling to his side so he could face her.

  She shook her head, her eyes dark and lazy. “None.”

  “I’ll drive you to the airport tomorrow,” he said, leaning up on his elbow.

  “Oh,” she murmured, looking away from him. “Okay.”

  Fuck. He didn’t mean to wreck the mood. He was just so damned sad and confused and fucked up about letting her go and never seeing her again.

  “I wish we had more time,” he said.

  Her eyes cut to his. “You do?”

  “I do.” He paused, wondering how much he should say, desperate not to push her away but well aware that his time with her was running down. “I don’t know what this is. On one hand, I barely know you, but on the other, I’ve known you for months and all I want is…more time. Feckin’ bites that there’s none left.”

  “I could stay,” said Tate in a small voice, “for a few extra days.”

  “You could? You’d do that?”

  She shrugged. “My ship’s in dry dock until the first week of May. I told my Uncle Pete I’d give him a hand with some of his upcoming charters, but I don’t think he’d mind if I stayed until Wednesday. That’s when you’re leaving, right?”

  The wind was knocked out of him. He couldn’t believe that she was offering him more time. It was like a reprieve from execution at this point, and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly.

  “That’s when I’m leavin’,” he said, grinning at her as he nipped the corners of her lips, his cock swelling with the news that it could invade her sweet body numberless times between now and Wednesday evening.

  “I’ll change my flight in the morning,” she said.

  “Whatever will we do until then?” asked Fin.

  Tate put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his back, then straddled his chest, firmly gripping the base of his rigid cock, then sinking down on it with a satisfied groan.