Sherryl Woods - The Summer Garden

“You’ll be almost the first I’ve let through the doors,” he admitted. “I’ve been keeping most of the family at bay. I want them to see it first when I hold the grand opening. Matthew, my father and my uncle have seen it, of course, since they’re doing the work, but no one else has stepped inside.”

“Would you rather I stayed away, too?”

His silence sent a strange chill through her. Finally, he said, “No.”

“There wasn’t much sincerity behind that,” she said accusingly. “If you don’t want me there, just say so.”

“Don’t go getting prickly on me now,” Luke chided. “I was just debating the value of having your opinion now versus seeing the look on your face when it’s all completed.”

She relaxed then. “And the verdict, then?”

“I want you to see it now. You more than anyone deserve to get an early glimpse. You were there while I was working it all out in my head. You know the effect I was hoping to achieve. You may be able to spot whether I’ve gone off course.”

“And you’d want me to tell you that?” she asked.

He gave her a wry look. “Could I keep you from it? One of the many traits I love about you is your commitment to saying what’s on your mind and never holding back.”

“I may not have much practice, but I could be sensitive and subtle if I put my mind to it,” she offered.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want censored remarks. I want the truth.”

She heard the faint hint of vulnerability in his voice and knew she’d find the right words. She had to. She touched his cheek. “It’s going to be wonderful, Luke. I know it is. Have you found music for the opening?”

“I have a stack of demo CDs in my office and no time to listen to them. I have to do that soon, or I’ll be doing Irish karaoke on opening night.”

“I could give a listen, if you like, and recommend a few. Then you could make the final choice from those.”

“That would be a godsend,” he told her.

“It would make me feel a part of it,” she said.

They sat there in companionable silence for a while as the moon turned the bay to silver.

“Tell me about you,” Luke said eventually. “You mentioned taking photographs that Peter framed and hung on the walls at McDonough’s. How did that come about?”

Moira sat up straighter in his lap and filled him in. “Never in a million years did I expect such a reaction when he glimpsed the picture I’d taken of you. I thought he was just being kind, but people have been asking about me, wondering if I’d be available to shoot photos of their weddings or of their babies. Can you imagine?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “I have actual jobs lined up for my return. Isn’t that incredible? In fact, I did a photo shoot of a baby before leaving, and the mum and dad were absolutely gaga over the photos, or so they said. They ordered a lot, so it must have been true.”

Luke seemed to go very still as she talked. Though he said all the right words, he didn’t seem to share her excitement. She frowned.

“I thought you’d be happier,” she admitted. “I’ve finally found my niche, just as you have.”

“But it means you’ll be going back to Dublin,” he said, sounding vaguely disgruntled by that.

“It’s where I live,” she said. “I’ll be going back. Did you think I came all this way intending to take up residency? I would never be so presumptuous, Luke. This is a surprise visit—nothing more.”

“Of course it is,” he said. “And it’s a wonderful surprise. Don’t mind me. I don’t know why I reacted like that.”

Ironically, Moira thought she knew. And for the first time since Luke had set eyes on her earlier in the evening, she felt a real glimmer of hope that this visit and what it might suggest about their future mattered to him as much as it did to her.

Though it had been well after midnight when Luke had finally managed to tear himself away from Moira after the party, he was back by seven in the morning to share breakfast with her. But when he arrived at the cottage, it was only his grandmother he found awake and stirring. She was making oatmeal and checking on the cranberry-orange scones she had in the oven. He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in this morning?” he asked, studying her worriedly for signs of exhaustion.

“Have you ever known me to sleep past six?” she asked.

He looked around and listened for any hint that others were out of bed. There was nothing. “I thought Dillon and Moira would be up by now with the time difference and all.”

“Oh, believe me, they were up before dawn. I found a pot of tea brewed when I got up and a note that said they’d gone for a walk on the beach.”

“Then they’re not here?” he asked, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

She smiled at his reaction. “Not to worry. They’ll be back any minute,” she assured him. “Or you could go out to meet them.”

“No, I’ll wait here and help you get breakfast on the table.” He went to work setting four places at the large kitchen table, then asked, “Should I scramble some eggs? Perhaps fry some bacon? They might be hungry for more than oatmeal or scones after their walk.”

“Meaning you’re the one who’s truly hoping for a heartier meal,” Gram said with a grin.

He shrugged. “I’ve a long day of hard work ahead.”

“And you hate oatmeal,” she countered. “Even when I filled it with raisins and brown sugar, then topped it with cream, you always turned up your nose.”

“Nasty stuff,” he said, then grinned back at her. “No offense.”

She shook her head, her expression one of amused tolerance. “Get the eggs and bacon from the fridge.”

He’d just set a large platter of eggs and bacon on the table when the back door opened and Dillon and Moira came in. Moira’s cheeks were flushed from the early- morning chill in the air and her hair was tousled by the wind off the water. Her blue eyes were sparkling with delight, either from the walk or the sight of him. He couldn’t help hoping it was the latter. Since spotting her the night before, his emotions had been in turmoil, a mix of pure happiness and panic that her presence meant so much.

“This is a surprise,” she said.

“I thought you could come with me to the pub after breakfast,” he said, then greeted Dillon, who was watching the two of them with amusement.

“Ah, he’s finally noticed I’m in the room,” Dillon commented.

“And I faded into the background when the door opened as well,” his grandmother said.

“If the two of you are going to give me grief, I’ll lure Moira away to Sally’s for a peaceful breakfast,” Luke threatened.

“Not after you’ve insisted on cooking all these eggs,” Gram retorted. “Sit, everyone. Dillon and Moira, you have your choice of eggs and bacon, oatmeal or scones, or all of it.”

“I’ve worked up an appetite,” Dillon said. “I’ll start with oatmeal and go from there.”

“Eggs for me,” Moira said. “And then a scone. They smell delicious, Mrs. O’Brien.”

“It’s Nell, please. I thought we’d established that in Ireland.” She turned to Luke. “What do the two of you have planned for the day?”

“I’m going to show Moira the pub,” Luke said. “And she’s going to help me sort through all the potential musicians for the opening night and make a list of those I should book for later.”

“And will I be sneaking a peek at this pub of yours today?” Dillon asked.

Nell reached over and rested a hand on his. “Since I’ve been prevented from stepping foot inside until the opening, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait as well. I’m not about to stand on the sidewalk feeling left out.”