“I know,” I sigh. “I justwantthem to like me.”
“They will,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Now, the Uber is here. Time to go.”
Surprisingly, the airport is relatively empty, so getting through check-in and security is quick. We spend the extra time looking at pictures of Teagan’s hometown on his phone while he regales me with stories of his childhood. He and his brother were quite the trouble makers, and it reminds me of my brothers. No wonder they all get along so well.
Once it’s time to board, the nerves that had been dormant flutter to life. I’m not scared of flying, but I’ve never flown over an entire ocean. Sensing my unease, Teagan links his fingers with mine, rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. It helps a little, but not nearly enough to keep me from fidgeting. Take-off is smooth, and after a few hours I drift off with my head on Teagan’s shoulder. I wake up in time to see the hills of Ireland come into view below us. The emerald landscape is threaded with sprays of red, orange, and yellow. More details appear the closer we get to the airport, and it’s breathtaking. I can see now why Norah is so enamored with the country.
I turn to see Teagan’s reaction to seeing his homeland for the first time in years, but he’s not looking out the window. He’s looking at me.
“Welcome to Ireland, Lovely.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Teagan
“There he is!”
We’ve barely exited the car before my brother’s gangly form is approaching, arms open wide. All negative feelings aside, I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. He’s a right pain in the arse, but fecking hell, it’s good to see him. Thomas and I resemble one another, but he has a good three inches on me. He may be taller, but I’ve got him beat on muscle. He’s always been lanky. My hair is a bit lighter from the consistent sunshine of North Carolina’s coast, but we have matching green eyes that we got from our Ma.
“What’s the craic, Tommy?” I say in greeting as we embrace each other warmly.
“Ya look good, Teag! The States been treatin’ yawell, yeah?” He holds me at arm’s length, eyeing me up and down.
His gaze shifts to over my shoulder and his eyes widen with mischief. Without turning, I know that he’s spotted Layla. Christ, here we go.
“Well, well, well! Ya said you were bringing yer mot with ya, but ya didn’t mention what a ride she is!” Bounding around me, he stops before Layla, extending a hand. “Pleasure to meet ya, love. I’m Tommy.”
“Layla,” She provides, giving him a dubious look as she offers her hand in return. “Nice to meet you.”
The fecker kisses her knuckles, and the urge to tackle him to the ground is so strong, I actually shift on my feet.
“Feckin’ eejit, keep yer filthy hands to yerself,” I grumble, my accent thickening with annoyance. Not even five minutes in, and he’s already being a miserable little pox.
“Ach, c’mon now, don’t be a craic vacuum!”
Stepping around my brother, I plant myself next to Layla and slide an arm around her waist, pulling her tight to my side. A deep sense of satisfaction blooms in me when she nestles in. Obviously I’m not worried about my brother making moves, but I like that she feels safe in my arms.
“Ma and Da inside?” I ask, hoping to get this initial reunion over with.
“Ma is, yeah. With Tarrah.”
Tommy turns back toward the house, gesturing for us to follow. The house and front garden look exactly the same as when I left—the same doormat on the front steps, the same purple primrose planted along the side of the house.
“Da’s out with the sheep. We both know the oul fella won’t change routine for anything. I think a dog would have to chew his leg off before he’d change things up. Even then, he’d probably use that leg as a walking stick, he would.”
Layla chuckles softly. To anyone else, that would be an amusing mental image. Tommy’s tone is teasing, but we both know it’s God’s honest truth. According to our Gran, Da even worked the ewes on his wedding day, scheduling the event around his daily chores.
Tommy opens the door, ushering us both inside. I give Layla’s hand a gentle squeeze, knowing that she’s probably already overwhelmed. Enteringthe house first, I’m not surprised to find that the interior is just as unchanged as the exterior.
Spick and span like always, the sitting room to my left still holds the brown sofa and two matching recliners. The end tables by the recliners have the old, tarnished picture frames right where they were the day I left. One holds Gran and Granddad’s wedding picture, while the other holds Ma and Da’s. Centered on the mantle above the fireplace is the crucifix, flanked by the three patron saints of Ireland and a family photo from fifteen years ago. It might be the only picture of Da smiling I’ve ever seen.
There’s clanging and muffled voices coming from the kitchen, so I lead us back that way. The closer we get, the clearer the voices become.
“Tarrah, hand me the tea cozy, will ya, love? Thank you.”
My brother’s voice booms behind us. “Ma! Look who finally made his way home!”
I cringe, not only because he’s so loud, but because he makes it sound like I’m back for good.
