I chuckle in response. “The pub owner interrupted before we could finish, but I didn’t feel like a winner the next morning. Though I’d say Eamon was a pretty good prize.”
“Ach, too right! Well, welcome back, both of you. I’ll go get yer food,” Moira says, turning and heading back to the kitchen.
“I’m a prize, am I?” Eamon asks, grinning slyly.
I study him for a long minute before responding, just to mess with him. Finally, I nod slowly. “Definitely.”
We eat our breakfast and say goodbye to Moira before climbing back in the rental to head towards Kilkenny. The majority of the drive is spent in companionable silence, observing the landscape with the occasional remark on something that catches my eye.
“I promise I’ll take you on the longer, more scenic, route before we head back to the States. I’m anxious to see my Mam. I knew I missed her, but now that we’re so close, I just want to get there,” he says longingly.
Reaching across the console for his hand, I wind our fingers together. “You don’t have to explain, Eamon. If my Mom were still alive, I’d be the same way.”
“Will it be hard for you? Being around me and Ma?”
“I don’t think so,” I admit. “I think, if anything, I’ll probably fall more in love with you seeing the two of you together.”
Eamon glances at me curiously. “No complaints here. I’m always open to finding more ways to win your heart.”
In an attempt to infuse a little laughter into the day, I say, “If you keep being sweet like this, we’re going to have to pull this car over and christen it, Kennedy.”
He turns his head so sharply that the car swerves into the other lane. I shriek and grab the handle above the window. “Christ, Norah,” Eamon barks out. “You can’t say that to a man while he’s driving!”
I giggle and wag my eyebrows at him. “Why do you think I waited until there were no other cars around before teasing you?”
“You’re trouble, woman,” he says, reaching over and squeezing my thigh roughly.
“Gah! Stop!” I squeak as he laughs. “I surrender! I surrender!”
“That’s what I thought.” He shakes his head and says, “Thank you for that. I needed the laugh today.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Norah
Kilkenny is beautiful and just as magical as all of the pictures showed. There are light displays and Christmas decorations stationed all over the city. Street lamps are wrapped in lights and hold decorative wreaths while door frames are lined with garlands or bows. I had forgotten about the holiday in the midst of getting ready for the trip. This time of year always makes me a little melancholy. Even though my friends welcome me into their homes, it just isn’t the same without my Mom.
“Do you think we’ll still be here for Christmas?” I ask Eamon.
He releases a breath before answering, “I don’t honestly know, love. If we are, I’m sorry.”
“What on earth are you sorry for?”
“Well,” he begins, “we didn’t talk about it, but don’t you havetraditions or plans you don’t want to miss out on?”
“Not really. I usually just go to Charlie’s.” I shrug. “I’m excited to be spending Christmas with you. And your Mom. And hopefully your sister.” Eamon doesn’t respond right away, so I reach across the console for his hand. “Hey, you okay?”
He laces our fingers together and squeezes my hand. “Aye. Sorry. I was just thinking about the last Christmas I spent with Mam. Caity was actually home and sober for that one. It was one of the more pleasant holidays since losing Da.”
“Hopefully this time will be just as good,” I offer.
“It will be,” he says, turning his head and smiling at me. “You’re here. I can’t imagine anything better than spending it with you and my family.”
Eamon navigates through his hometown with ease, remembering every road like he never left. Eventually, he turns onto a quiet street lined with quaint houses, all similar in size and style. They’re each two stories high with brown brick covering the lower level of the house and white siding on the upper level. The second-floor exterior boasts twin windows with queen post gables crowning them. Each home has a small yard in the front, some landscaped with precision while others are littered with children’s toys or bicycles. We reach the end of the cul-de-sac and pull into the driveway of the second house on the right. The yard is tidy, and there are flower boxes nestled below the bay windows flanking the front door, which has a simple Christmas wreath hanging from a hook.
After putting the car in park, Eamon turns off the ignition but doesn’t move. When I look over, his hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly while he hangs his head, eyes closed. My heart aches for him, so I reach over and stroke the back of his head.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Babe, talk to me.”
