“I don’t like being manipulated,” she said.
“I can’t blame you,” Aidan said. “Nobody does.”
“Then why do I feel this pressure, no matter which direction I turn? Is your grandfather’s treasure hunt real? Or is it another form of manipulation?”
He went very still. “What do you mean?”
“This whole thing—the riddles, the hunt, finding someone to search with. What aren’t you telling me?”
He set down the ladle, rubbing the back of his neck in that gesture she’d learned meant he was choosing words thoughtfully. “You’re right. There’s more to the hunt than I’ve said.”
Dylan’s stomach tightened. “Tell me.”
“My grandfather’s letter—the one that started all this. He didn’t just hide the ring for fun. He hid it specifically for…” He paused, then pulled out his wallet, removing a worn piece of paper. “Here. Read it yourself.”
Dylan took the letter with hands that weren’t quite steady.
My dear boy—and I know it’s you, Aidan. You got my looks and my charm, which means you’ve got my weakness too. You think life’s a dance where you never have to pick a partner for more than one song.
By now, they’ve shown you the ring. It’s a fine ring, and it’s served the family well. But here’s the truth of it, boy—that’s not the real ring.
The real claddagh ring, the one blessed by a priest in Galway before the hunger took half of Ireland, is hidden. I’ve left it somewhere on this land, along with clues to find it. Why? Because nothing worth having comes easy, and love least of all.
You want to know the secret of the O’Haras? It’s not charm or looks or the gift of the gab. It’s knowing how to work for something. How to earn it. Your grandmother made me prove myself seven times before she’d be my wife.
Find the ring, boy. But more than that, find someone worth giving it to. Someone who’ll make you want to stop dancing and finally learn to stand still.
PS. Don’t let your brothers help. They mean well, but this is your adventure. Find someone clever, with brains and heart. And for the love of all that’s holy, find someone who can’t be charmed by that smile of yours.
Dylan set down the letter, her mind spinning, but Aidan was already moving toward the stove. “Let’s eat while it’s hot,” he said quietly. “Then we can talk through whatever you’re thinking.”
They sat across from each other at his dining table, the stew rich and warming between them, but Dylan found herself studying his face in the firelight. Victoria’s words circled like vultures overhead, picking at the tender places where hope had started to take root. The domesticity of it—the way he’d ladled the stew into bowls his mother had probably given him, the way he’d set out cloth napkins instead of paper—felt simultaneously perfect and suspect.
“The last unmarried O’Hara,” she said finally, setting down her spoon. “This whole hunt was about finding you a wife?”
“No,” Aidan said quickly, though his own appetite seemed to have fled. “It was about making me work for something. Making me understand that love isn’t easy or convenient or?—”
“So I’m what? A means to an end? The clever one who helps you get your inheritance?” The words tasted bitter, like medicine she didn’t want to swallow but knew she needed.
“Dylan, no. That’s not?—”
She pushed back from the table, needing distance from the golden circle of lamplight that made everything feel too intimate, too real. “You asked me to help you that first Saturday. Was it because you actually wanted me, or because you were fulfilling some family prophecy?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” He stood too, the space between them crackling with tension. “Dylan, please. Yes, the letter made me think of you. But not because I was following instructions. Because when he described someone clever with brains and heart, someone who couldn’t be charmed, you were the only person I could picture.”
“How convenient that your employee fit the description.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, each one a small blade thrown with precision.
“Stop it. You know it’s more than that.”
But did she? Dylan felt the old familiar panic rising—the sensation of standing on shifting ground, of discovering that what felt solid was actually just another temporary arrangement. “Do I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you needed someone to help you find a ring so you could fulfill your grandfather’s requirements. And I was available. If Victoria had come to town a few weeks earlier, would it have been her you asked to go on your treasure hunts?”
The hurt that flickered across his features almost made her falter. “Of course not. Is that really what you think? After everything? After five years of?—”
“Five years of what? Me working for you? That’s all it was until this treasure hunt started.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
Dylan reached for her coat like a lifeline, needing escape before the words building in her chest could detonate and destroy whatever fragile thing they’d built together. “I need to think.”
