“You toasted with your drinks. That makes it romantic.”
“Pretty sure it just made the beer foamy,” Aisling muttered.
Bríd nudged her knee with a knuckle. “So? Is it true? Is there... something happening?”
Aisling hesitated, staring into her teacup like it held answers. “He’s infuriating.”
Bríd’s grin widened.
“And clever.”
The older woman nodded sagely.
“And way too sure of himself.”
“So... yes,” Bríd said triumphantly.
Aisling sighed. “Fine. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like I planned any of this. One minute, I’m swearing I’ll never date again, and the next I’m letting a man kiss me because he insists on shutting me up in the pub, and next, I’m letting him kiss me because he insists on editing metaphors in the middle of a goat emergency.”
That last part wasn’t really true, but it could have been. Ronan was just stubborn enough.
Bríd let out a belly laugh. “Only you, love.”
“I swear, I’m cursed. My fiancé was an editor,” she said, suddenly.
“Oh, cursed is a strong word. I’d say... mildly enchanted. And maybe a wee bit smitten.”
Aisling rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Last night, she’d lain in bed and realized how much she enjoyed being with Ronan. Sparing with him and the kisses. Good Lord, they were hot enough to start a forest fire.
Bríd leaned back. “Your grandmother would’ve loved this.”
At the mention of her, Aisling stiffened slightly. “Actually... I found something yesterday. Hidden in the wall behind the kitchen. Maybe you know about it.”
Bríd straightened. “What sort of something?”
Without a word, Aisling stood, disappeared into the house, and returned with the small tin box and the letter, folded and worn at the edges. She handed them over like they were made of glass.
Bríd opened the box first. Inside, the ring glinted in the light, delicate, elegant, and unmistakably old. She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.
“Sweet Holy Mary,” she breathed. “Is that...”
“Yes.”
Bríd picked up the ring, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Your grandmother must have hidden this away.”
She set the ring down and unfolded the letter. Her lips moved as she read, her eyes scanning faster and faster until she reached the bottom.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “So it’s true. He did love her.”
Aisling nodded. “Patrick Wright. Professor. Columbia University. He left Dublin with plans to come back in two weeks. He must have mailed her that ring, but if Mom received it, she would have taken it to New York with her.”
“So your grandmother intervened. That’s how the ring found its way into the wall,” Bríd said.
“Yes,” Aisling said with a sigh. “At least, that’s what I think. When Patrick never arrived…”
“She couldn’t wait,” Bríd said softly, finishing the thought. “Your mother waited as long as she could. And when he didn’t return... she left for New York. Heartbroken and pregnant.”
“She probably thought he lied,” Aisling said. “Or changed his mind. Maybe even went back to his wife and pretended she never existed.”
