Catching Irish: a Summerhaven novella (The Summerhaven Trio Book 4) Page 9

  From what she said, her uncle was doing much better, but she was still nervous to leave him. Which had made Fin start wondering if she’d ever leave him. The more time that went by, the more he thought that she probably wouldn’t. And the biggest problem with her reticence to visit was that Fin had already used up his immigration allowance for the year. He’d spent ninety days in the United States from October to December and another ninety days from January to March. Technically, he wasn’t allowed back until next year.

  So if Tate wouldn’t come and see him? They were fucked.

  Not that he had anything better to do than sit in this fucking corner every weekend. In fact, in a weird and likely masochistic twist of fate, he actually felt closest to her here. And deep in his heart, the hope that she would one day show up was the only thing that kept him sane.

  He sighed, looking up to see if a waitress was passing by or if he’d have to give up his coveted seat to go get his own beer.

  And that’s when he saw her.

  Platinum-blonde hair.

  Blue eyes like the summer sky.

  Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she stood about twelve feet away from him in the crowded bar.

  Tate.

  Tate.

  Tate is here.

  A million times, he’d imagined how it would feel to see her, but now that she was actually here? He froze for a moment just watching her, just processing the beautiful fucking reality that the woman he desperately wanted was finally, finally, finally…here.

  His adrenaline skyrocketed, and he bolted up, heart racing, crossing to her in a moment and pushing two blokes out of the way to stand before her.

  “Tate!”

  “Fin!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

  He lifted her feet off the ground, yanking her against his chest and slamming his mouth against hers. Their teeth clacked together, but they were undeterred, kissing hard and fast in the dense crowd of a spring Sunday at Donoghue’s. When he drew away, he was panting with surprise, his pulse zooming like a runaway train.

  “Yer feckin’ here.”

  “I’m fucking here.”

  “What’re you drinkin’?”

  “Beer,” she said, grinning up at him as her feet touched back down on the floor.

  “That’s my table,” he said, thumbing toward the corner.

  “Just where you said.”

  “Like I promised.”

  “I’ll sit.”

  “I’ll get our drinks.”

  ***

  In the many dreams she’d had of their reunion, it had never included a packed-to-the-gills bar that smelled distinctly of wooden floorboards saturated with hundreds of years of spilled beer. And yet, as she slipped into the corner booth with its roughhewn wooden table, she realized that it was so perfectly Fin, it was perfect for her too.

  He joined her a moment later, placing two pints of beer on the table and sliding in beside her, caressing her face with his eyes like he couldn’t believe she was sitting next to him.

  “You didn’t tell me you were comin’.”

  She shrugged. “It was a last-minute decision.”

  “I’m so…Jaysus, I can’t believe yer here. I’m so bloody glad to see you.” Her hands were resting on the table, and he took the one closest to him and held it. “How’s Pete?”

  Her uncle had taken to calling her “warden” over the past month, griping that she was cramping his style by coming over every night to make him dinners that consisted of fish or chicken and vegetables.

  Three days ago, when she’d stopped by with some broiled cod and grilled zucchini, she’d been surprised to find Pete at the candlelit kitchen table, having dinner with a friend, Lucy Rodriguez. It had taken her a couple of minutes—and observing that her uncle was wearing a dress shirt—to realize that Pete wasn’t just “having dinner.” He was on a date, and by stopping by, she was interrupting. Awkwardly, she’d left the food on the kitchen counter, said good-bye, and left, but Pete had followed her.

  “Tate Maureen, wait up.”

  Standing in the moonlight in his backyard, he’d pulled her gruffly into a bear hug. “You don’t have to go.”

  “I think I do.” She drew away and looked up at the face she loved so well. “At least you made chicken.”

  “Lucy made it,” said Pete. “And the rice is brown.”

  “I approve,” said Tate, kissing his cheek.

  “Got you something, honey,” he said, turning back to the house. “Wait there.”

  A moment later, he’d returned, offering her an envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your birthday present.”

  “You usually give me a gift card.”

  “Yeah, well. Things are different this year. I’m counting my blessings.”

  She’d opened the envelope to find a ticket to Dublin leaving in three days.

  “Your vessel’s still in dry dock for a month or so, and I figure…there’s a guy over there waiting for you, right?”

  With tears in her eyes, she’d thrown her arms around her uncle, squeezing him tightly. “I can’t leave you.”

  “Honey, you are the best niece an old man could ask for. But I got Lucy inside there waiting on me. And you gotta go find your Lucy. Well, that’s not quite what I mean. But…you gotta go live your life, Tate Maureen.” He’d kissed her cheek, the scruff of his beard scratching her skin. “Your momma would’ve been so proud of you.”

  How’s Pete?

  “He’s good,” she said, taking a sip of her beer and squeezing Fin’s fingers. “Actually, he bought me the ticket to come over.”

  “He did?”

  She nodded. “And he has a girlfriend.”

  “Salty dog!” exclaimed Finian, grinning at her. He bit his bottom lip, his smile fading just a touch. “How long are you stayin’?”

  She took a deep breath. “Well…my yacht won’t be ready for four more weeks.”

  Finian’s mouth dropped open. “A month?”

  “Too long?” she asked, grimacing slightly, hoping that he wanted her to stay just as much as she wanted to be with him.

  “Not enough,” he said, leaning forward to drop a kiss to her forehead, his voice warm with relief. “But it’s good, Tate. A good start. I’ll take it.”

  “Fin,” she said, clutching his hand as she turned her face to his. “I live in Florida, and you live here. I wish I could, but I can’t make you any promises. I’m seeing a therapist, but I’m still scared as hell.”

  “You’re here,” he said softly. “That’s all that matters. We’ll find our way, Tate. We’ll figure it out together.”

  She bit her bottom lip, then let it go, looking into his eyes, scared to say the next words, but knowing he deserved to hear them.

  “I don’t know how good I’ll be at loving someone, but I know this, Fin.” She gulped. “I know I want to be loved.”

  Palming her cheeks with his hands, he drew her lips to his and kissed them tenderly.

  “Then me darlin’ girl, mo cailleach, my sweet Tate, you’re in exactly the right place.”

  THE END

  Want more of Summerhaven?

  Turn the page to read a letter from Katy!

  A LETTER FROM KATY

  Dear reader,

  Thank you so much for reading my Summerhaven series! I hope you’ve loved the stories of Rory, Tierney, Ian, and their cousin Finian. I certainly loved writing them.

  Now I’m betting that some of you are wishing for some sort of epilogue here—something that wraps up Fin and Tate’s story into a pretty bow and also manages to tell you that all of the Havens are doing well. I get that. I like that kind of closure too.

  The thing is? I didn’t plan to write an epilogue for this book, because it would be fake to give you the marriage of Fin and Tate when they’re a long way from the altar. Are they crazy about each other? Yes. Are they going to end up together? Of course! But they still have a lot to figure out.

  So instead of an epilo
gue, how about I give you a shorthand update on how everyone’s doing, huh? Would that work? Yes? Good?

  Okay. Here goes.

  Brittany gave birth to a daughter in May. She and Rory named her Kendall, and her godparents are Tierney and Ian, which makes Jenny her adoring godsister. Their business—opening high-end camps for corporate retreats all over the world under the Manion brand—has taken off, and Rory is now a man of considerable means, though his greatest fortune is his girls. He and Britt still live in her Boston apartment, though they are building a five-bedroom “cottage” on land adjacent to Summerhaven. They plan to spend every summer up on the lake, which means another generation of Havens, starting with Jenny and Kendall, will grow up there together.

  Tierney was married to Burr in June in a traditional Irish wedding. It lasted a full weekend, with Jenny and Bridey dressed up as the cutest flower girls ever seen, while Britt and Hallie served as matrons of honor. Tate came up from Florida for the weekend and did a reading from the book of Corinthians. Burr’s sister, Suzanne, and her husband, Connor, are regular visitors at Summerhaven, and Burr has risen to the rank of sergeant at the local police department. Lately, Ian has noticed that Tierney always looks varying colors of green and carries saltines with her wherever she goes. But he figures she’ll share her news when she’s ready.

  Speaking of Ian, like his brother, his greatest joy is also his girls: Hallie and Jenny…although that’s going to change—in a good way!—soon! He found out this August that Hallie is pregnant with twin boys, which should even out the male-female ratio among the Haven cousins no matter what Tierney has! Hallie is due in February, and Jenny can’t stop talking about being a big sister. Luckily, she’s got her cousin, Kendall, for practice. As for Hallie’s cottage? As a wedding gift, Brittany paid for it to be renovated on the sly, and it’s on its way to becoming a storybook four-bedroom cottage, perfect for a growing family.

  As for our newest couple, Finian and Tate…after they spent most of April together in Ireland, Tate had to return to Florida. But she went back to Ireland for two weeks in June, two weeks in July, and another two weeks in August. When she returned to Florida in August, Uncle Pete announced that he had proposed to Miss Lucy. After their marriage, they planned to move closer to Lucy’s family in Puerto Rico, where they’d start a small charter business together.

  This left Tate feeling a little left behind until Uncle Pete explained that he’d hired an immigration attorney to do some research for his niece. He’d learned that she needed $5 million in the bank to make an annual income of $50,000 off the interest; and $50K just happens to be the minimum amount per annum required for an American to “retire” to the Emerald Isle and live there indefinitely. With his gentle urging, Tate sold her boat for $8.5 million, banked the profit, and surprised an overjoyed Fin when she announced that she was moving to Dublin. Last I heard, Tate was investing in a brand-new garage owned by a top-notch young mechanic who had a fondness for American girls and DeLoreans. And if my information is correct, they just put a bid on a two-bedroom harbor-view house in Howth, where Tate moors her modest, fifteen-foot yacht. Sounds like they’re pretty happy.

  Yes, friends, I’m delighted to report that my Havens are doing A-OK.

  And that—in the business of romance writing—is what we call a very happy ending.

  Love,

  Katy

  xoxoxo

  (Excerpt from Breaking Up with Barrett, The English Brothers #1, by Katy Regnery. All rights reserved.)

  CHAPTER 1

  Barrett English.

  Emily’s heart kicked into a gallop as she looked down at the caller ID on her buzzing phone. Trying to steady her suddenly shallow breathing, she closed her eyes for a brief second before pushing back from the coffee shop table where the rest of her study group continued to discuss early American industrialization.

  “Be right back,” she whispered to her roommate, Valeria, and ducked out the back door of the shop into an empty alley.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. English for Miss Edwards?”

  “Okay.”

  A moment later, his smooth, polished baritone voice came on the line. “Good afternoon, Emily. Thank you for picking up.”

  “I was at study group,” she said, leaning against a brick wall and cringing at the way she made it sound like his call wasn’t welcome.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

  “N-no. It’s fine,” she answered quickly, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans as she sandwiched the phone between her shoulder and ear. Damn it, she wished she could be cooler, but her mind always went blank the moment she heard the low rumble of his voice.

  “I’ll be brief,” he said. “Tomorrow night. The Union League Club. Seven o’clock.”

  Emily sighed. She had plans tomorrow night with a sensitive, easygoing doctoral psych student named Chad who’d asked her out more than once. She’d repeatedly turned him down, but Val had insisted that after four months spent at Barrett English’s beck and call, Emily needed to go out with someone with whom she actually had a chance.

  “Emily?” he prompted.

  “How late?”

  “Three hours minimum. Possibly four.”

  Pushing her hand through her straight blonde hair, she knew it would be smart to decline Barrett’s request and go out with psych cutie as planned. The arrangement she had with Barrett—while beneficial to her bank account—wasn’t doing her social life any favors. Nor her heart, which didn’t seem to comprehend that Barrett only called her because she was his employee. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say no to him.

  “Engagement ring?” she asked.

  “Per usual.”

  “The Chanel or the Givenchy?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Hair band or chignon?”

  “You always look presentable, Emily. I leave the details to you. Smith will pick you up at six forty-five. Are we done?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and the line immediately went dead.

  “Good-bye,” Emily said wistfully in the quiet of the alley, disappointment making her grimace. She fisted the phone in her hand until the case pinched her skin and shook her from her trance. “See you tomorrow! You’re welcome! By the way, I love you, you jerk!”

  Her yell caused a flurry of commotion overhead as a flock of pigeons departed in a hurry for safer, quieter lodgings, one of them pausing just long enough to crap on Emily’s shoulder with a big, fat plop.

  Fantastic. The perfect metaphor for my life.

  She stared at the goopy grayish-white spot in surrender before taking a deep, restorative breath, tucking her phone into her jeans, and heading back inside to clean her shirt and rejoin her study group.

  An hour later, she trudged home beside Valeria, who started scolding her as soon as Emily shared her last-minute plans for tomorrow night.

  “So you’ll have to reschedule with Chad? Geez, Em, I don’t understand why you keep saying yes to Barrett!” said Valeria, turning up her collar. “Why not just say no?”

  “He has a way about him.” Emily sighed. “I always consider saying no, but I somehow end up saying yes.”

  Though they’d never been close or intimate, Emily had known Barrett her entire life—well, not really known him, because they were from very different parts of Haverford Park, but he’d been a peripheral part of her life since birth. The economic nature of the call she’d just shared with him was textbook Barrett: businesslike, methodical and goal-oriented. Emily somehow knew he wasn’t trying to offend her—he was merely taking care of their mutual business as efficiently as possible. It just hurt that he employed efficiency over warmth since it verified what she had suspected for months: Barrett had little to no personal interest in Emily despite her growing feelings for him.

  Valeria continued in the no-nonsense tone she used when student teaching. “Here’s a solution: say no next time. ‘No, Barrett, I refuse to play the part of fake fiancée for you. Take a hike.’ Three words, Em—TAKE. A
. HIKE.” Valeria held up three fingers one by one, then tucked them back into the pocket of her pea coat. “Darn, it’s cold.”

  “It’s October in Philadelphia,” Emily pointed out.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Okay, Val. I’ll say no next time. Here goes. ‘No, thanks, Barrett. You don’t make me do anything disgusting. You barely say a word to me. I get to dress up in gorgeous clothes I could never afford, have an expensive glass of wine, and enjoy a scrumptious dinner with people who go out of their way to be polite to me. And yes, I’m flat broke and so is my roommate, but no, thanks, I don’t want your one hundred an hour to play your fake fiancée. Keep it.’ How does that sound?”

  “Not so smart.”

  “I rest my case,” said Emily, though the case was far from closed in her heart and mind, which feuded in a tightly locked conundrum. Lately, her heart murmured that she should walk away from Barrett before her feelings for him grew any stronger, while her head insisted she couldn’t possibly turn her back on the income he offered.

  Valeria’s voice interrupted her internal struggle. “Why does he need a fiancée anyway?”

  “He only told me once and briefly. Some of his business associates and clients like the stability of a family man on the way to the alter, and he feels that a date makes dinner meetings feel more social and run more smoothly.”

  Emily’s role was to smile warmly, laugh softly, and occasionally make a flattering remark about Barrett, which he would accept with a tight smile before refocusing on the business at hand.

  “Why you?” asked Valeria.

  “My family has worked for his for three generations—four, if you include me. My father is his family’s gardener, just like my grandfather and great-grandfather before. My mother’s the head housekeeper at Haverford Park. He knows where I come from. He knows I’ll behave myself and keep my mouth shut. I’ve known the English family since I was brought home from the hospital to live in the gatehouse at the foot of their estate.” She shrugged. “Me working for Barrett makes sense.”