“Mom,” Aidan warned, but Anne had already shifted into full maternal orchestration mode.
“You must be freezing. Both of you. Sophie, tell Simone we need the private dining room. Raven, call Colt, have him meet us there?—”
“Mom, he’s your son, not our doctor,” Aidan protested. “We don’t need medical attention because we got cold.”
“You spent the night in a storm that dropped two feet of snow,” Anne countered with the authority of someone who’d raised five boys and knew exactly how to override objections. “You’ll see your brother, you’ll eat hot food, and then you’ll tell us everything.”
The “everything” came loaded with enough subtext to sink a ship.
“Anne,” Mick O’Hara’s voice cut through the chaos with quiet authority. He’d approached more slowly, his weathered face revealing relief and something else—a knowing look that he shared with his son over Dylan’s head. “Let them breathe. They’re safe. That’s what matters.”
But Laurel Valley had its own momentum when drama presented itself, and Dylan found herself swept along in a tide of concerned citizens toward The Lampstand. She caught glimpses of familiar faces—Rose from the bakery pressing a bag of warm pastries into her hands, Bernie Watson nodding approval like they’d passed some test, Mrs. Whitfield from the historical society watching with the satisfaction of someone who’d seen this coming five years ago.
The Lampstand’s private dining room had been transformed into command central. Colt waited with his medical bag, Simone had laid out enough breakfast food to feed the town, and what appeared to be the entire O’Hara clan had materialized with the efficiency of people who understood that family drama required full attendance.
“Sit,” Anne commanded, and Dylan found herself obeying before she could form a protest.
Colt’s examination was perfunctory, his hands gentle as he checked for signs of hypothermia or frostbite while rolling his eyes at his mother’s hovering. “They’re fine, Mom. Though I’m curious how you managed to stay so warm in that cabin with just the wood stove.”
The question hung in the air like a lit fuse. Dylan felt heat climb her neck that had nothing to do with the coffee Simone had placed in front of her.
“We shared body heat,” Aidan said calmly, meeting his brother’s gaze directly. “For survival.”
“Survival,” Duncan repeated from his perch by the window, his artist’s eye taking in every detail of their body language. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“We’re calling it two people not freezing to death,” Dylan said, finding her voice and the courage that came with it. “Though I’m sure the town has already written a much more interesting story.”
“Several versions, actually,” Sophie admitted with characteristic honesty. “Bernie Watson has you engaged. Rose thinks you’re already secretly married. And Mrs. Johannson is convinced this was all a plot to trap Aidan into marriage.”
Dylan nearly choked on her coffee.
“Speaking of marriage,” Hank said with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, “When a man spends the night with a woman, even in survival situations, there are certain expectations?—”
“Hank,” Aidan warned.
“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, “that our grandfather would have expected you to make an honest woman out of her.”
“She’s already an honest woman,” Aidan said, his jaw tightening.
“You know what he means,” Duncan chimed in, enjoying himself far too much. “The family ring, a night alone, the whole town watching—seems like the universe is trying to tell you something.”
“The universe needs to mind its own business,” Dylan muttered, but she was fighting a smile.
“Did you at least find the ring?” Wyatt asked, attempting to shift the conversation to safer ground.
The room went silent with sudden completeness. Aidan reached into his pocket, pulling out the box that had survived centuries and storms and the weight of expectation.
When he opened it, the collective intake of breath sounded like wind through pines. The ring caught the morning light streaming through windows, silver warming to gold, the ancient claddagh design seeming to pulse with life.
“My God,” Anne breathed, her hand going to her heart. “I haven’t seen it since your grandmother wore it.” Her eyes filled with tears that she didn’t try to hide. “She’d be so happy, Aidan. She always said you’d know when the time was right.”
“The time for what?” Dylan asked, though she suspected she knew.
“For the last O’Hara bachelor to stop being a bachelor,” Colt said with medical precision. “It’s practically a biological imperative at this point. We’re all married. Aidan’s the last holdout.”
“No pressure though,” Wyatt added with a grin that suggested the opposite.
“You could propose right now,” Sophie suggested helpfully.
