I nodded, contrite. “Noted. I want to hear more.”
He leaned in. The hairs on my arm stood when his warm breath caressed my ear. He whispered the strange words slowly, seductively in my ear. It was beautiful. A language of old, salty winds and softly ringing, weathered bells. My brain didn’t know what he said to me, but my heart did.
We left the intimate cocoon of the snug and joined the growing crowd in the pub’s main room. Finn led me to a table made of a glossy square of wood affixed to the top of an old barrel. We sat on little stools topped with woven leather. The fire warmed my cheeks, or maybe it was the cider. Next to us sat a group of men. Each held a different instrument—a banjo, a fiddle, a small accordion-type box, and a guitar. Finn grabbed a guitar from atop an ancient leather-covered piano and sat on the stool next to me.
A young woman with braided hair sat alongside the men with a deep bass drum in front of her. She tapped her bare feet while she played. As the music got going, other people, women mostly, joined with flat drums, which Finn told me were called bodhráns. They brushed the drums with wooden sticks that resembled thick paintbrushes. Each beat thrummed deep in my chest like a pulse. I’d never view musicians the same way after seeing how their auras pulsed with the music as if their bodies were tuned to it. It was another moment of confirmation of something I’d always known subconsciously: music affected our energies. Music wove around us and asked our souls to dance.
Finn accompanied on guitar while his uncle Clancy sang a slow song. Clancy had a beautiful voice, river deep, that carried and fell like water over mossy stones. As when Finn had sung, I choked up. The song was so full of melancholic emotion, almost like a call to ancient kin, and I instantly understood what Finn had meant about their music.
The ghosts inside of me stirred.
When the tempo picked up again, the entire room exploded with energy and colors. We all clapped along, whistled, and cheered. Two elderly women stood up and, with their palms touching, did a kicking sort of dance together around the room.
“You so owe me a Riverdance!” I yelled to Finn over the music.
One of the women bounced over to me with her palm up. I shot a questioning look at Finn, who indicated with a tilt of his head that I was being invited to dance with her. His grin was wide and teasing, probably anticipating my goofy version of an Irish jig. “It is wrong on so many levels that I have to do this before you,” I said. He just laughed.
Inside my body, there lived a quiet me, a previous version of me, who desperately didn’t want to dance like this in front of a room full of people. But the newer version of me very much wanted to. Besides, how could I politely turn down an elderly lady, even if she was going to show me up on the dance floor?
The crowd hooted when I pressed my palm to hers. I took a big breath and kicked my feet around in my best approximation of Irish dance. She smiled approvingly, raised one hand over her head, and tossed her silver hair. For a moment, I could see the other version of her: the one who was my age, having her first taste of cider; the one who danced all night and kissed a boy in the snug. She was still in there, shimmering with light.
The music ended to raucous applause. I plopped down in an exhausted heap, having danced three songs in a row.
“Well played, Cora,” Uncle Clancy said with a squeeze of my shoulder. “I’m so pleased you danced. Sibyl loves a new partner.”
I was breathless. Happy. “Thank you. I actually had fun!”
“Of course you did!” Clancy looked at me with kind, sincere eyes. “It was a sight to behold. You were positively glowing out there.”
Uncle Clancy left the bar in the care of his employees and walked us a few blocks away to introduce me to what he swore would be the best beef stew I’d ever had in my life. Once we were seated and eating, he poked me in the arm and raised a caterpillar brow at me. “Well?”
“You sure do know your stew.”
He smiled so broadly it was as if he’d cooked it himself.
“Thank you so much for your welcome tonight,” I said. “You’ve been really sweet.”
“As opposed to my mother,” Finn added with a bit of throat-clearing.
“I didn’t mean—”
Finn waved a hand. “No worries, Cora. She was a wretch to you. That’s just the truth of it.”
Clancy took a swig of his Guinness. A spot of tawny froth remained on his mustache. “My sister give you a bit of a breezy welcome, did she?”
I shrugged, not wanting to criticize Finn’s mother, even if she had made me feel like gum on her shoe. I kept my thoughts to myself. In my experience, the only people who are safely allowed to trash parents are their own offspring.
Clancy patted my hand. “Oh now, child, that’s Ina, especially when it comes to her little prince here,” he said, motioning to Finn with a tilt of his head. “Don’t let her get to you. She puffs up and pecks like a goose, but she’s all fluff and feathers.”
That wasn’t how I would’ve characterized Ina Doyle. She was regal, queenly, with sharp and efficient mannerisms that said she couldn’t afford to make a wasted move or speak a wasted word. Or waste her breath on a girl like me.
“You’ll not take it personally, eh.” Clancy said it like a command. But she’d basically accused me of doing something to Finn. Of changing him.
Finn scooped the last of his stew from the bowl and pushed it aside. He ran his hand down my arm, leaving a trail of warmth. “She said no dating. How was I supposed to know I’d meet someone so rare?”
I choked on a bit of my water, and he patted my back.
“Surely Ina could tell how special this one is,” Clancy said, pointing his fork in my direction. “I’m not surprised you were drawn to her.” He winked at Finn. “And fair play to you for luring her here.”
We finished our dinner and walked outside into a light drizzle. Clancy kissed both my cheeks and handed Finn an umbrella. “I’ll be seeing you,” he promised and strode down the street in the direction of the pub.
“Well, you’ve got Uncle Clancy charmed.”
I sighed. “Why does it seem like we never parted?”
“Maybe because we were never supposed to.” Finn leaned in to kiss me but stopped, leaving my willingness evident on my parted lips, which he touched lightly with one finger. “I’ve been beating the shite out of myself ever since I left you.”
“Oh.” My lips hungered to kiss him, but I held eye contact and whispered, “Well, I’m here now.” Warmth heated in his eyes. “I’ll take over the beating.”
He burst out laughing and kissed me. A deliciously wicked kiss with my head cradled in both of his hands. My fingers dug into the back of his neck. Having him in my arms, his mouth on mine, left me breathless and my body hungry. He wrapped both arms around my shoulders. “God, you do things to me, Cora. When I’m with you, I feel ten feet tall and bulletproof.” Our eyes met. “I’m greedy,” he admitted, bending his head forward, speaking his words into his chest. “I thought I could walk away, but in my heart I never did. I’m with you now, and everything in me wants to hold on. I want to keep you with me. Possess you. Am I wrong for feeling that way?”
I didn’t think so. It was the same for me. I wanted Finn to adore me so completely, he’d never say good-bye again. He’d forever be ruined for any other girl. I wanted to claim him right back. Did that make me wrong, too?
We stood in the rain. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. I’d never regret coming to Ireland. No matter what disappointments the trip might hold regarding my mother, seeing him again was worth it. I’d fly across the world for one kiss from Finn Doyle.
Still, he wasn’t the reason I came, and I’d be doing myself and my mother a disservice if I didn’t honor that. “This has been so lovely,” I said, aching already. “But I have to go back to my room now. I’ve got this journal of my mother’s, and I was on my way to read it when I ran into you. The truth is I’m dying to read it. It’s like she’s waiting for me. She’s been waiting for me for twelve years.”