

## WHAT LOVE CAN DO

## Home To Green Valley Book 1

## by

## Virna DePaul

# Book Description

When a sweet and sassy baker meets the new Irishman in town, things start to sizzle...

Quinn O'Neill gave up being a professional rugby player to help his mam after his dad died, and now she's gone too. All that's left for him in Dublin? Four younger brothers, and elusive dreams to explore. Then he finds a journal revealing family secrets, and heads to Northern California wine country, where his mam grew up.

That's when Quinn meets _her_...

Lilly Parker. She's the baker at the B&B, an amazing gazelle of a woman. Blonde. Curvy. With high cheekbones that give her the look of an old-fashioned pin-up with a naughty side. She's wearing a pink and black apron that reads Life is Short--Lick the Bowl, and all Quinn can imagine is _them_ : her, wearing nothing but that apron, and him, licking and savoring.

The more time they spend together, the more Quinn believes Lilly's the one. Only she's headed to Miami in a week's time to pursue her own dream, and he has a decision to make.

Does he go back to Dublin and his rugby career? Or does he make a home in the enchanted valley town, start his life fresh, and see if love's enough to make Lilly his forever?

Sign up for my monthly newsletter for updates and contests:

http://www.virnadepaul.com

# More From Virna DePaul

KISS TALENT AGENCY

HARD AS NAILS

GOING DEEP SERIES

BEDDING THE BACHELORS SERIES

HOME TO GREEN VALLEY SERIES

ROCK CANDY SERIES

SAY YOU LOVE ME SERIES

THE PARA-OPS PARANORMAL ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES

# One

Well, that's it then. I called Dad when I heard the news that Mom passed. I told him I wanted to come home and see him and my sisters, and what did he say? "We don't have a daughter named Maggie. You must have the wrong number." Click, he hung up on me. Some family, huh? So I guess I won't be needing you anymore, Diary. I have a life now and a beautiful baby boy, and more than enough to keep me busy. Besides, looking through these pages hurts so very much.

So long from Dublin,

M.

Quinn O'Neill stared at the journal entry dated December 1989. He'd been a year old when it was written, and in the time since, "M," his mam, had given him four brothers and enough love to last a lifetime. It had to last a lifetime now that Mam, like his father, was gone from this earth.

With a weary sigh, Quinn leaned back against the closet door of his mam's bedroom. He'd been sitting on the floor, going through the old leather trunk he'd found inside.

The trunk that held the secrets of Mam's past.

Just an hour ago, he'd been sitting in the living room, studying his four brothers' waiting expressions, the range of green to blue eyes. They'd gotten them all—Brady had Mam's blue, Conor had Mamó's green, even Dad's brown went to Quinn and the twins—an assortment of the O'Neill Clan. In all their eyes, Quinn had seen grief mixed with indecision. Their mam hadn't left instructions for after she was gone, yet as always his brothers looked to him for guidance.

The gravity of that weighed on him like ten pints of the black stuff.

First their dad had died of a heart attack two years ago, just months after the family restaurant, The Cranky Yankee, was severely damaged in a kitchen fire. Quinn had been twenty six at the time and still playing pro rugby, but once Dad died, Mam needed a new man of the house to help with the restaurant and his brothers, so Quinn had quit the team and stepped up.

Then, five days ago—Mam. Only fifty years old. Brain aneurysm. Now, their matriarch was gone. Only five of them left, and Quinn head of household. It had been a lot for him to take in.

He'd entered Mam's bedroom hoping to find answers. Now he had them, and eventually he had to join his brothers and tell them what he'd learned.

Many bedtimes ago, Mam had lulled him to sleep with stories of a faraway place where the grapes turned to gold, but Quinn had always just assumed she was making the tales up. Now he knew it was a real place.

Rummaging through the trunk, he plucked one photo out. It was of young Maggie O'Neill, definitely before the O'Neill, wearing cornflower blue bell bottoms. She sat on the edge of a rickety bridge with her legs dangling over a narrow creek, holding onto the railing. In her hair were flower barrettes, and on her face was that same, cheeky smile he'd recognize anywhere.

"Hello, Mam," he greeted her, smiling. It was amazing to see her looking so young.

On the back, she'd written, Forestville, 1980.

Forestville. That's where Mam was from, only she'd never told them that because memories of her birthplace had brought her pain. No wonder given her father had disowned her after she'd met Grant O'Neill, Quinn's father, broken her engagement to a local man named Ken Parker, and left Green Valley to make a home in Ireland. From that day forward, she'd had to leave her beloved family and home behind, as well as all her childhood dreams. In the diary, young Maggie had rambled on about either a flower shop, or a surf shop, or a bed-and-breakfast, and other big dreams. She said she didn't care what she did for a career, as long as she was the best.

Quinn's heart hurt, truly ached.

As long as he could remember, she and Dad had managed The Cranky Yankee. She'd done the accounting, paid the bills, and everything else that came with running the back office. A far cry from a surf or flower shop.

He picked up the photo of Mam and Dad as a young couple, touching heads at a pub, two frothy beers between them. On the back—our first date, Mulligan's Tavern.

Quinn had heard of the place. Dad's mate from college, Paul something, had left for America, and Dad and a few other friends visited him one summer to help him get Mulligan's up and running. It was the only time Dad had been out of Ireland. Just that one summer in 1986 when he met Maggie. He always said he'd never forget it—she'd strolled right in and said she'd never had a Guinness but always wanted to try one, and no less than ten blokes burst off their stools to offer her one.

"She was a fine bit of stuff," his dad had laughed.

Ten blokes. But she had chosen his dad, because he'd made her laugh like no man ever had before. Take that, old man Phillips.

It'd been the right decision. As much as Dad had loved the restaurant, he'd loved Mam far more, and they'd had a good relationship, one that had resulted in Quinn and his brothers. But Quinn couldn't help but feel heaviness in his chest, like Mam had missed out on lost opportunities, like maybe she should've tried to talk things through with her old man. It made him wonder. Had he, and Dad, and his brothers been worth the pain of losing her other family?

Family is king.

That was what Mam had always said. Quinn couldn't imagine leaving his family behind for anything in the world. They were everything to him.

He studied the remaining contents of the trunk: papers, more photos, some stuck together, a few pieces of jewelry, a dried-up flower at the bottom, and loads of folded-up letters, some still in their envelopes, some covered in blue or black ink. A fire ignited inside his chest, as he sifted through the photos at rapid speed—image after image of a small town, photo after photo of a place called Phillips Vineyard & Winery, of his mam posing before rows and rows of fields.

It would take a whole day for Quinn to browse through the entire box, which he fully intended to do. As his brothers watched the game, he snuck out unnoticed and carried the small trunk to his room. Only his middle brother Con watched him slide like a ghost through the living room all the way to the staircase. What've you got there? his eyes seemed to ask.

Nothing you need to know about, little brother. Not yet.

Once upstairs, Quinn could breathe again, and he entered his old room, sat on his made bed against his football pillow, and laid the journal open on his lap. He flipped back to the page he'd read earlier, the one that told him what he and his brothers had to do next.

November 1985. She still hadn't met Dad, but Quinn could tell she wasn't an innocent teen anymore from the words she'd chosen: "I don't care what I do with this life, where the wind takes me, or how I spend it, as long as I love and love well. And when my time is over, I pray that the wind brings me home again to Green Valley."

Quinn stared at the words as a spike of adrenaline rushed through him. "...the wind brings me home again to Green Valley..." When her time is over.

The words resonated with him. Before she'd died, Mam had sold The Crazy Yankee. She'd told Quinn and his brothers to follow their dreams, start a new life, find a new home where they could make their dreams come true. The only problem was—Quinn didn't know what he wanted to do from here.

Rugby was always a possibility. After they'd sold the restaurant, Quinn's old coach had reached out and encouraged him to rejoin the team. Only the more Quinn thought about it, the more rugby seemed better left in the past. Forget that he was two years older and out of practice—the idea of constantly traveling again didn't appeal as much as it once had. In addition, though it'd been difficult leaving the team, doing so had opened his eyes to new possibilities, and for the first time in his life, Quinn had learned that he was actually good with other things besides sports, like running a business. Even as he'd tried to save The Crazy Yankee after his father's death, he'd had fun imagining the kind of restaurant he'd open if given the opportunity.

Quinn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. No, he wasn't sure what his future had in store. But right here, right now?

Quinn looked at the time on his phone and figured it was around ten in the morning in Forestville. With shaking hands, he searched for Phillips Vineyard & Winery in California and was surprised to see it was still a fully functional establishment. A quick read on Wikipedia told him that the proprietor was still Richard Phillips, who had two daughters, Beatriz and Suzanne Phillips. No mention of Maggie.

He knew he was crazy for even thinking it, but he had to know. Had to hear the man's voice. He had a grandfather, for feck's sake! And aunts! He probably had cousins too, lots of them. Did they even know he existed? It wasn't right, the way they'd erased Maggie Phillips from history. And it wouldn't be right for Quinn or his brothers to deny Mam her dearest wish to return to Green Valley upon her death.

Before he knew what he was doing, Quinn's thumb pressed down on the link for the U.S. phone number, and after a brief silence and series of clicks, the line rang.

"Phillips Winery, how may I help you?" the female, thickly American accent answered the phone.

"Good evening, er...morning. May I speak with Richard Phillips, please?"

"Mr. Phillips doesn't come in on Wednesdays, or most days, but I can connect you with his wife, Betsy. May I ask who's calling?" the friendly voice said.

Betsy? Mam's journal mentioned her mother's passing, so Betsy must be his second wife. Maybe third, for all he knew. Didn't matter. As long as he got through. "The name's Quinn. Quinn O'Neill."

"One moment, Mr. O'Neill."

The line changed to swing music featuring Tony Bennett, and Quinn's heart pumped excitement through his chest and brain. Suddenly, it felt wrong to be hoarding this moment all for himself. Even if he was the oldest, his brothers deserved to know they had more family. He scrambled to his feet and bolted out of his room, running down the stairs, and spilling into the living room like an escaped convict discovering sweet freedom.

His four brothers all stared at him like he was mad. "What's gotten into you?" Con groaned. "You look like feckin' Frankenstein."

Quinn spun the journal and pointed to Maggie's final wish. "I've got it. It's here..."

"What's here?" Con's face twisted in confusion at the phone against Quinn's ear. "Who you talking to?"

"We're taking her back," Quinn whispered, setting the journal down on the tea table.

"Back where? What you mean, Quinn?" Brady asked, giving him a cautious side-eye.

All five brothers craned over the journal to have a look while Tony Bennett crooned on in Quinn's ear about diamond bracelets and Woolworths not selling something. "I mean we're cremating her body," he whispered. "It's what she wanted. We'll spread some ashes over Dad, but then the rest...we're taking her back to America. To Green Valley, California."

The twins, Sean and Riley, exchanged confused glances.

Brady and Con shook their heads at each other a moment before staring back at Quinn. "What in feck's sake...?" Con muttered.

Finally, Tony Bennett's voice was sharply cut off by an elderly woman's charming, chirpy voice. "Hello?"

"Hullo. Is this Betsy?"

"It is."

"Great." Quinn smiled, pulled the phone away from his ear, and pressed the speakerphone button. "May I please speak to Richard Phillips? That is, if he has a moment to spare."

The woman named Betsy's perplexed voice swirled a few notches. "Well, yes, but...who may I ask is calling?"

Quinn scanned his brothers' faces—his cheeky brothers who he'd always promised to take care of, no matter what. They'd lost everything here in Dublin—their parents, their family restaurant—Brady had even lost a child and then a wife. It was time for them to leave Ireland for a time. To try something else, see something new, just as Mam had said. More importantly, they could bring their mam back home.

A visit to America was in order, whether or not Richard Phillips accepted them.

He needed to see where his mam was born and raised. He needed to see where she'd sat and dangled her legs, the vineyard where she'd grown up. He needed to take it all in before deciding what to do with his life. It wouldn't be right not to, now that he knew another half of his heritage existed.

Quinn took a deep breath and answered, "Tell him his O'Neill grandsons are calling. Maggie's boys. All five of us."

# Two

The best thing about Russian River House, the bed-and-breakfast out on Westside Road in Forestville, a small town smack in the middle of Green Valley, California, wasn't just the view of the sparkling Russian River, the wine tastings on the adjoining property every evening at six o'clock, nor Mellie and Cook's breakfasts every morning. It was all those things, of course, but it was also, definitely, unequivocally, the muffins.

Lillian Parker's muffins, to be exact. All thirteen varieties.

At least that was what anyone reading the 1,392 reviews of Penny Parker's quaint establishment on TripAdvisor.com would think:

"Best muffins EVAH!"

"You must try the innkeeper's daughter's carrot ginger muffins. They're to die for!"

"Wonderful place to spend the weekend with my wife. Don't leave without trying the lemon poppy. Steal two or three if you can for the plane ride home."

The key was in the fresh ingredients and applesauce. Yes, applesauce replaced the oil in most of her recipes and provided not only moisture and a light, pleasant flavor, but an unexpected elegance you just couldn't get from the standard oily muffin. Over the years, more than a handful of customers had pulled Lilly in close and whispered, "Don't tell your mother I said this, but your talents are being wasted here!"

Lilly always sighed when she heard those words.

"The Plan" when she'd graduated college had been to use her Hospitality Degree to take over the family bed-and-breakfast, just as her mother had always wanted, but did anyone really, truly know what they wanted out of life when they were only twenty-one? For several years now, she'd dreamed of traveling the world before settling in a thriving city to open her own bakery. But then her father had fallen ill; since his death, her mother had become more and more dependent on Lilly. It had become far too easy for Lilly to set aside her dreams, telling herself that she wasn't even thirty yet and there'd be plenty of time to do what she truly wanted.

Due to recent events, however, the time had come for Lilly to reach for her brass ring. She finally had the chance to see the world outside her small hometown. At the same time, she'd work side-by-side with one of the best pastry chefs in the business. It was the chance of a lifetime and she couldn't turn it down. Lilly just had to gather her courage, break the news to her mother, and hope she'd understand.

Today, the Russian River House guests had ventured out early, possibly because of afternoon showers predicted for later on. Only an elderly couple, the Delfinos, still sat in the corner of the dining room, trading bites of pumpkin spice and lemon-blueberry muffins. While re-stacking coffee cups in the adjacent butler's pantry, which was between the dining room and the kitchen, Lilly watched their eyeballs roll into the back of their heads and listened to their moans of delight, a sound she never got tired of hearing. Then she glanced in the direction of the nearby foyer, where her mother sat behind the reception desk. Maybe once the Delfinos left, she and her mom could have a private moment to talk.

"Lillian, dear."

Returning her attention to the dining room, Lilly saw Mrs. Delfino, wearing a pink cardigan with jeans high on the waist, motioning her over with a wrinkled hand. "Lillian, do you know what's in these muffins?" she asked, pointing at the pumpkin spice, painted eyebrows drawn into a tight knot in the center of her forehead.

"Uh, yes," Lilly said, clearing her throat. "Canned pumpkin, fresh farm eggs..."

"No," Mrs. Delfino interrupted with a smile she couldn't contain. "Heaven. Heaven is baked into these muffins." She chuckled and passed the buttered bite to her husband. "Am I right, Jer?"

"Heaven." Mr. Delfino nodded, pushing up his glasses, before taking a bite.

Lilly let out a sigh of relief. For a second there, she thought they hadn't been pleased. "That's very kind of you to say. Thank you." She smiled at the couple who must have been in their late seventies to eighties.

"Canned pumpkin? Is that right?" Mr. Delfino's voice was scratchy with a twinge of New Jersey. Lilly had become quite good at picking up different accents from guests over the years, and there was definitely some Italian New Jersey in there.

"Oh, yes—always canned." She crouched next to their table. "Never fresh. Canned pumpkin has more moisture and flavor than fresh. But that's the only muffin with a canned ingredient."

"Amazing. You must spend your whole day baking, studying about baking, or thinking about baking." Mrs. Delfino glanced at Lilly's hands and dirty apron.

"Well, no, I also grow flowers and an herb garden upstairs. In fact, have you tried the strawberry basil muffins? You might not think basil goes well in a dessert, but I'm telling you, they're divine."

"I'll be sure to grab that one next," Mrs. Delfino said. "Sit down in a chair, hon. You young people, always squatting. Servers in restaurants these days...squatting, squatting," she told her husband.

"Squatting," Mr. Delfino agreed. "Hard on the lower back."

"Not a bad idea." Lilly wiped her hands on her apron and pulled up a chair. Her mother wouldn't mind if she chatted a bit with the guests. In fact, that was part of the charm and ambience of a good bed-and-breakfast, interacting with the clients and making them feel welcome. "So, where are you two from?"

"Long Island," Mrs. Delfino said. "That's in New York."

Lilly smiled. She knew where Long Island was, for crying out loud. She may not have gotten out much, but she did own several maps, a globe, and Google Earth. "Nice."

"It's right next to the edge of sanity," Mr. Delfino added, slathering strawberry preserves on his pumpkin muffin. He winked at Lilly.

Lilly shuddered. Whether it was because Mr. Delfino was giving her a flirty wink right in front of his wife, or because he was tainting her pumpkin muffin with strawberry preserves, or maybe both, she wasn't sure. "Edge of sanity, huh? Wow, you've come a long way. From the frying oil into the fire pit." She chuckled. Forestville wasn't too far from that description.

"It's frying pan into the fire, dear," Mrs. Delfino corrected, breaking apart the last piece of lemon-blueberry and giving half to her husband. "Why do you say it, though? Does it drive you insane to be out here in the middle of nowhere? Don't get me wrong...it is absolutely gorgeous!"

"Gorgeous."

"Insanely spectacular!"

"Insanely." Mr. Delfino pressed a cloth napkin to his mouth.

"But if I were you, I would go a little nutso here all the time. The vineyards are really pretty, but Jerry and I need to be close to the city. We need arts and restaurants. We need culture, museums..."

"We need the train. Nearby. All the time. Though this is pretty. Very, very pretty."

"I get what you mean. Trust me, I do," Lilly said, fascinated by the timber of their voices and the lovely way they finished each other's thoughts. She checked to see what her mom was doing and found her in quiet discussion with Mellie in the corner, the surefire sign that something juicy was going on in town. Juicy for Mom anyway. To Lilly, it was all old hat. Someone was getting married, someone got fired, someone new was hired at one of the local wineries, on and on. Honestly, it got ridiculously boring after a while. She leaned into the Delfinos. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Can we keep a secret?" Mrs. Delfino's shoulders shook. "Honey, do you even know who you're talking to?"

"Queen of Secrets," Mr. Delfino said.

"Like a tomb." Mrs. Delfino zipped her lip and threw away the key.

"Okay..." Lilly rested on her elbows. "Last month, I entered a baking contest sponsored by Food Network."

"And you got pregnant?"

"What? No." Lilly recoiled. What the hell?

"Sorry, go on..."

"So, I just got the call this morning..."

"That call?" Mrs. Delfino narrowed her eyes.

"Yes. I won!" Lilly beamed. "Out of five hundred some contestants, they narrowed it down to twenty. I went last month for an interview at my old college, where they did a baking test, and I just got word today that I won an internship with Guy Santoli, the head pastry chef of L'Appetite Boulange! I leave in three weeks!"

"That's wonderful! Where will you be going?" Mrs. Delfino asked.

"Miami. I've never even been outside of California!" Lilly tried to keep her voice hushed.

Mrs. Delfino's eyeballs ogled her. "What? Such a pretty girl, with that body and that face, and you've never been outside of California? Unbelievable. Look at that body! Jerry, would you look at that body."

"I'm lookin', I'm lookin'..."

What having a nice body and face had anything to do with leaving your home state was anyone's guess, but Lilly just shrugged and reveled in having finally just told her first people the great news! Yes, a bit of guilt jabbed at her that she hadn't told Mom first, but Mom wasn't exactly the most supportive about her leaving town.

"I think that's great what you young women are doing, being on your own for some time, advancing your careers. I do, don't get me wrong, but it's a lot of stress. What you really need is a man..." Mrs. Delfino sipped from her teacup. "A rich man to support you while you open your own business. You have lots of freedom, you have lots of babies—BINGO!"

"Bingo," her husband agreed.

"That's what you do." Mrs. Delfino reached out and squeezed Lilly's forearm. As misguided as her advice was, there was a sincere sweetness in her hazel eyes. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just saying."

"I know what you mean," Lilly said, leaving it at that. What she needed was to get out of Green Valley, see the world...Hell, just seeing her own country would be great, and she could do that with or without a man. "I'm dying to go places."

"Like where? Tell me."

Lilly turned her attention out the window. "Rome would be nice."

"Ooo, my grandparents came from Rome. Beautiful city, but old. Very old. Where else?"

"Australia. London—I'm dying to go to London. And Hawaii. So close, yet so far. We work all the time, so it's not easy to just up and go. But I will soon. In three weeks!" Lilly said, folding and unfolding a napkin over and over. For the first time in forever, she had something to feel excited about, and Miami was the perfect place to get her fresh start.

She just had to tell Mom.

"Those are all wonderful places. Jerry and I have been. But don't worry, you have your whole life ahead of you. Like I said, rich man. Sweep you away. If he has a white horse, even better." Mrs. Delfino went back to sipping her black coffee from her porcelain cup.

"Well, I better get the last of breakfast cleaned up. I just wanted to get that out." Lilly stood and brushed off her apron, reaching out to shake both their hands. "It was a pleasure talking to you both. We're so happy you're staying with us. If there's anything I can do to make your stay more welcome, just let me know."

"You already did. Such great news." Mrs. Delfino bit into her pumpkin spice muffin and mm-mmmed. "Again, this thing is delectable, and I hate pumpkin!"

Lilly smiled and picked up a cloth napkin that had been discarded on another table. At that moment, Mom brushed by in a rush, headed back to the front desk. She used to be a big woman, but since Lilly's father died last year, she'd worn down and was easily half the woman she used to be, and not in a good way either. "What were you talking about with the Delfinos?" she asked. "You all seemed excited."

"Oh, nothing," Lilly lied, joining her mother in the foyer. "They were just raving about the muffins."

"Of course they were. That's my girl." Mom smiled at her. "The last guests are coming to check in. They called ahead to let us know. Did you check the sheets and bath items in Room 5?"

"Yes, I checked everything. It's all ready." Lilly plucked a tiny sunflower from the vase full of autumn orange and yellow sunflowers on the counter and laid it on top of the pumpkin sitting next to it. She would have to put out the Halloween decorations soon; even though she wouldn't be around to enjoy them, her mom would.

"Did the Delfinos say if they liked the room?" Her mother nervously marked off items from a list with her pencil. "They wanted extra towels. We gave them that. They wanted a wake-up call. We gave them that."

"Mom, relax. Everything is fine. They love it here!" Of course, Lilly didn't mention that the Delfinos only complimented her muffins. It wasn't that the rest of the B&B wasn't wonderful. Everything was superb—well, almost. The furniture could use a little updating in three of the rooms, and the awful heavy drapes always made Lilly want to sew play clothes and hang from trees, singing about her favorite things and do-re-mi.

"I hope so. They seem the type who could easily complain about one little thing then go online and give us one star, just because we ran out of Splenda."

"They're not going to do that. They were truly delighted." Lilly nervously wrung the cloth napkin she was holding. She should mention it. Of course she should. And why not? "They said I should open my own bakery. Ha, ha, imagine that!"

Mom's neck swiveled toward Lilly. "They said that?"

"Yeah." Lilly smiled hopefully.

"Did you tell them it was unlikely, since you'd be taking over this place one day?"

Lilly swallowed a lump in her throat. "Right. Yes, I told them." She sighed and returned to the dining room. So much for that. She should have known better than to bring up the idea of opening a bakery when her mom had planned her entire life out for her.

Sigh. When am I going to grow a set of balls? Lilly entered the butler's panty and flung the cloth napkin onto the counter.

Once again, she glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Delfino, wondering if she would ever find someone to spend her life with like that. Someone to travel with, see big cities with, then settle down to have a big family. The idea of it sounded so wonderful. But here she was—already twenty-seven with only one boyfriend under her belt. Ben Miller would have asked her to marry him, but his family moved to Chicago, and though he could have stayed in Forestville with Lilly, he didn't exactly try. He claimed it was just about the most boring place to live for someone their age, but then the last she'd heard, he'd married and moved to Elmhurst, Illinois.

Elmhurst, Ben? Seriously?

Whatever. She couldn't put any more energy toward it. That ship had sailed, gone, adios, buh-bye. Problem was, hardly any new ships ever came through this port unless they were already on their honeymoon, gay, celebrating an anniversary, or elderly. Princes on white horses just didn't ride through Forestville, Mrs. Delfino, no matter how fairy tale-ish the name of their town sounded.

No, Lilly knew her best bet in life was to accept the internship in Miami and start anew. Then, when the six-month apprenticeship was over, she could maybe open a shop in San Francisco or Chicago or wherever tickled her fancy. Her bakery could serve muffins and pastries in the morning, cookies, cupcakes and other sweets in the afternoons and evenings. Coffee and milkshakes, too, and make absolutely no apology for it either.

But the burning question was—how would Mom take the news?

Suddenly, her mom appeared. "Lillian, is there something—"

The front door bell chimed, and in blew two men from the early autumn coolness, knocking back their hoods off their heads. Mom immediately headed back to the desk. Curious to get a closer look, Lilly followed her.

The men were young, mid-to-late twenties. One of them had dark brown hair and dark eyes with heavy, charming brows, and the other had slightly lighter hair with bright green eyes. Both were hot, but the brown-eyed man seemed older, was taller, and for some reason, seemed like the one in charge. Hellooo, boys...

Mr. Brown Eyes unwrapped his gray scarf from his neck and walked up to the front desk then caught sight of Lilly and her mom, practically gaping at him. His gaze met Lilly's and he winked, a lopsided smile spreading across his face. "Hullo. How's it going there?"

Irish.

Lilly would know that accent anywhere. Forestville had their share of Irish folks in the east part of town. A tiny flutter of excitement flurried in her chest. What was she saying about leaving Green Valley? Was there somewhere she needed to be in three weeks? On second thought, maybe Miami could wait.

Mom hurried behind the counter. "Hi, welcome to Russian River House."

Behind Lilly, Mr. and Mrs. Delfino exited the dining room. Mrs. Delfino smiled at Lilly with freshly repainted lipstick. She spotted the men at the counter and pointed at them secretively behind her other hand. "White horse...take you away."

"White horse," Mr. Delfino echoed, tapping Lilly on the shoulder. "Take you away."

# Three

After the flight from Dublin to New York City, a layover, then another six-hour flight to San Francisco, plus car rental and driving time, the last thing Quinn expected was for his balls to tighten upon seeing the blond American woman working in the dining room of the Russian River House. She was quite possibly the most gorgeous girl he'd ever seen. Holy shite.

But damn, he was bushed and desperately needed a bed.

The last ten days had taken a huge toll on him. From the moment his mother had died to the day he'd called Richard Phillips, his maternal grandfather, to inform him that his daughter, Maggie Phillips O'Neill had passed away suddenly, only to get a hostile, "I don't have a daughter named Maggie, nor do I have a grandson. Only two daughters here in Forestville," Quinn had been doing his best to keep his spirits up. Old man Phillips might have kept his mam away with his belligerent attitude, but it wasn't going to work on him. He had the right to know where Mam had grown up, see the sidewalks she had walked, the river she had loved, and the valley she'd adored.

Con had been a bit less eager to make the trip, saying Mam had made her choice to leave Green Valley and had been all the better for it, but Quinn had pestered Con into coming with him for a few reasons. One, to try and snap him out of his funk. Two, to get him out of Brady's hair—they'd been bickering like chickens the last ten days, more than usual. And finally, to help him find closure over Mam's death. Of course, that was something all his brothers needed, but Brady, Sean and Riley had obligations that needed tending. After they'd all agreed to cremate Mam's body (despite his initial belief that Mam should be buried, Con, after reading Mam's journal, had changed his mind), Brady, Sean and Riley agreed that Quinn and Con should journey to America first. If they still felt at the end of one week that it was what Mam would have wanted, they'd call the others, who'd then join them to spread her ashes.

Quinn felt optimistic it would all work out as it should. And while he hadn't shared this with his brothers, he'd decided that if he liked it here, he'd extend his trip. If he didn't, he'd return to Ireland like a good Irish boy ought to do.

So far, he was liking what he saw right in the dining room.

Once again, Quinn glanced at the hot blond American, an amazing gazelle of a woman, even as the innkeeper droned on about things to do in the area, the bookstore down the street, the diner around the corner with the homemade cherry pie, and the winery next door. The blonde—she was tall and a bit curvy, just the way he liked—kept stealing glances at him while the older woman talked. Her hair was up in a messy bun like she'd just run circles. She had a smooth, angular face with high cheekbones that gave her the look of an old-fashioned pin up with a naughty side. Then again, maybe his imagination was running wild. After all, she wore a pink and black apron that read: Life is Short—Lick the Bowl.

"I'd be happy to. Just show me where it is," Con said, deepening his voice, as he stared straight at her chest.

Quinn smacked his arm. "You going to start right away, are you?"

The innkeeper with the sunken cheekbones gave him dour looks. And they said Americans were friendly.

"I apologize for my brother. He's shattered and in dire need of a nap. That was completely uncalled for," he stage-whispered.

"No offense taken." The young woman smiled cheekily then turned and walked into a small alcove through the dining room. From where Quinn stood, it appeared she was sorting a variety of breakfast quick breads into plastic storage bags. What he would give to try her muffins.

"Your room is Number 5," the older woman said and fake-smiled. She placed a room key on the desk. "It's the last one down the hall on the left. Breakfast begins at six-thirty and runs until ten-thirty every morning. Obviously, you're late for today, but we have coffee out all day, unless you gentlemen prefer tea? We can get you some tea."

"Ah, sure, tea would be grand, if it isn't too much trouble," Quinn said, thinking how he hadn't had a nice cuppa black tea with milk in over a week. Such a thing would hit the spot right about now.

"Lillian?" the innkeeper called.

The blonde turned her head toward them again. "Yes, Mom?" Her arms were full of muffins, and her gaze flitted to him, to his brother, then back to Quinn again. The tiny gesture made him dance a little jig in his brain, even though he hadn't just crossed the Atlantic and all the continental U.S. just to act like a complete bowser.

"Can you get Mr., uh..." The older woman checked the register for his name. "O'Neill and Mr. O'Neill some tea in their room, please? They've had a long trip from...Dublin, is it?" She read the register again, as though double, triple-checking her facts.

"Yes! Yes." Quinn slid the room key toward him and folded his papers back into his bag. "All the way from Ireland. Please, don't ask if I know any leprechauns or Bono. I actually prefer the leprechauns." He chuckled.

"Who?" The woman squinted her eyes.

Quinn needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut. "Eh, nothing. Just, eh...a dumb joke."

Still visible in her little alcove, the young woman with the breakfast muffins shook with quiet laughter. She covered her mouth with one hand and disappeared into what Quinn suspected was the kitchen. Quinn smiled to himself.

"Well, such a long way just to visit Forestville. You boys must be going to San Fran and L.A. as well, I would imagine," the older woman said, tapping her pencil on her desk. The way she still squinted her eyes slightly, as though trying to thoroughly inspect them, worried him. Did she know who they were, or was she just having a bit of indigestion?

"Most likely," Quinn said, just to let it go. He may have hailed from a large city, but he knew that people from small towns were all the same—they all got to talking if you gave them even the smallest amount of information. He didn't want anyone to know that the sons of Maggie Phillips were here, but then again, after the call with his grandfather, word may have already spread. "Anyway, thanks so much. We'll be off then."

"Call us if you need anything." The innkeeper took her seat again and shuffled papers around as they collected their bags.

What should I call you? Quinn wondered briefly then realized she meant he should ring if he needed anything. The new vernacular would take a bit of getting used to, and a nap would prove useful right now.

Their room was spacious and comfortable with a king-sized bed. He would have much preferred to have his own bed, but at this point, he didn't care about sharing. He threw his bags into a chair and closed the door, as Con threw his stuff on the floor. Their heads hit the mattress at the exact same time, which made them snort with laughter.

"Shite. I'm going to sleep 'til tomorrow, if that's all right with you," Con groaned, spreading his arms out wide, inhaling the spaciousness of the large bed.

"Brother, you need the rest. That's why I brought you." Quinn was bushed too, but he was also wired, like a child who'd seen too many exciting new things after a long day and couldn't close his eyes. Well, here they were in Forestville, California, America—his mother's hometown. Finally. Sometime today or tomorrow, he'd set out to see the town a bit closer and try to get a sense for who his mother might have been before she moved to Ireland.

Though he had no idea where to begin. He supposed he could start by re-reading Mam's journal and making notes on places to visit, but two important spots—at least for him—would be the house she grew up in and Mulligan's Tavern, the pub where she and Dad met in the Irish part of town.

A noise like that of a chainsaw ripping apart a giant oak tree sounded next to him, and Quinn noticed that Con had already passed out right on top of the bed's comforter, snoring away like a freight train. Quinn sighed, envying his brother's ability to just lay back and fall asleep like that. It'd always taken Quinn a while, especially when his brain was overloaded with a thousand thoughts.

He was only older than Con by three years, but sometimes, he felt like Con was the baby of them all and felt compelled to take care of him as such. Getting up, Quinn reached for the folded blanket at the end of the bed and stretched it out over his brother. "It's way past your bed time, wee one." He laughed then headed out, closing the door gently behind him.

The establishment had a lovely living room area with couches, a fireplace, and some reading chairs. He could sit out here for a while and hope that the muffin gazelle would come by again. That is, if her mam wasn't around to keep her in line. He'd seen the way she looked at her daughter—Lillian, her name was—as if she needed an eye kept on her.

On a couch next to a window with a view of the country road, a pumpkin patch out on the lawn, and the rain about to come down, Quinn had just spread his knees out, getting comfortable, when Lillian appeared, brandishing a tray with a tea kettle and two ceramic cups. She didn't see him and was headed down the hall, clearly for their room. "Miss?" Quinn called.

She slowed down. "Oh, you're out here. I was taking it to your room."

Quinn stood to help her, or at least make his willingness known. "My brother fell asleep. Much appreciated. I feel bad you made it after your mam told you. When she offered, I assumed she'd be the one to do it."

Lillian rounded the couch and set the tray down on the table before him. "I didn't know which type of tea you liked, so I just made chamomile. There's cream, sugar, and honey here," she said, pushing her hair behind her ears. She didn't make eye contact with him, and she kept pointing at the tea and talking about it without looking directly at him.

"I usually just pour some milk in it, but no worries." He smiled, hoping she'd brave a look at him.

"Wow, milk—the one thing you needed was the one thing I didn't bring." She snapped her fingers. "I'm sorry. I'll go get some. Be right back."

"No, honestly, it's fine. Lillian, please. I don't need it," Quinn said, shooting out a hand to stop her. "I'm sure it's grand just the way it is." He poured himself a cup and raised it, letting the tepid liquid touch his lips. It wasn't his mam's strong black tea with milk. It was the worst, blandest tea he'd ever had in his life, but he sipped it and made mm-mmm noises just so she would think it was fantastic. "Thanks. This really hit the spot."

"Whew! I'm so glad. Here I was thinking I was making it all wrong. My name's Lilly, by the way. Only my mom ever calls me Lillian. So what brings you all the way out from Ireland? Do you have family here?" She folded her arms over her good-sized chest, offering up a sweet, pretty smile. She didn't have the biggest or the smallest breasts. They were a perfect size for her frame.

He forced his gaze on hers. "Please, sit." He gestured for her to have a seat and watched her think about it.

Slowly, she sat, folding her hands in her lap. "Actually, I will sit a minute. I've been on my feet for five hours." She sank back against the seat's cushion and moaned slightly. Quinn tried not to imagine that same moan in another context. "Yeah, that feels good."

He swallowed, shaking off the erotic images creeping into his mind. "See? No more foosterin' for you, young lady," Quinn laughed.

"What?" Lillian—no, Lilly—raised an eyebrow.

"Er...wasting time. I was being facetious. Of course you're working hard. Anyone can tell just from looking at ya." Quinn caught Lilly's mother's eye as she passed by the living room, not missing how the woman's stride slowed slightly before she disappeared from view. Quinn cleared his throat. "I get the feeling your mam doesn't like me for some reason."

Lilly's eyes widened. "Don't be silly. Why wouldn't she like you? No, everyone always assumes she's pissed off, but that's just her normal face." She laughed. "So you're a fan of wine and wineries? Is that why you're in town? I would imagine. I mean, it's really the only reason anyone ever comes through here." When she spoke, her voice was soft and melodious, and if he closed his eyes and gave into his exhaustion, it would send him straight to heaven.

Quinn considered telling her about his mother's death. He liked her already, and she seemed the type of girl who would understand his mission, but he wasn't ready for the questions that would come, nor the condolences. She would want to know more about Maggie Phillips, and then her mother might overhear, and God, no—he just wanted to drink his bland tea, and share a few words with this beautiful woman a bit more before retiring to his room. "We heard it's nice out here. Wanted to see it for ourselves. Yes, we love wine and wineries." He coughed.

"Irish guys who like wine instead of beer and whiskey, huh?" Lilly clucked her tongue. "Never saw that coming."

"Go way outta that! Stereotyping, are you?" Quinn feigned being offended, but secretly, he loved that she was spot on. He never drank wine, hated the stuff. "I happen to be a huge champion of glorified grape juice."

Lilly's mouth twisted. "Well, you came to the right place. Definitely lots of glorified grape juice factories around here."

"Hey," he said. "I was just pullin' your leg, you know. Not disrespecting wine country or anything." He detected a wistfulness in her eyes. There was something about them, like something brewing just underneath the surface of a clear, glassy lake. She couldn't have been more than twenty-two or three with tight skin like that, but she was yearning and had been for some time. "Are you not fond of wine, Lilly?" Or was it the town or something else she longed to be free of?

The light in her eyes seemed to switch on, as if realizing, as hostess, she needed to smile and make her guests comfortable at all times, never let them into any pervasive sadness she might be feeling. "Me? Oh, I like wine fine. And it's beautiful here. The people are wonderful. It's just that I've lived here my whole life, so I've seen everything there is to see...here...anyway. More wineries and vineyards than one person would ever care to see in one lifetime, Mr. O'Neill, so I apologize if my attitude is a bit blasé."

"Quinn. Mr. O'Neill was my father." He reached a hand out to her. Lilly stared at it a moment then slowly slipped hers into it, shaking softly. Warm and smooth. "And I see nothing wrong with your attitude."

She stared at him a few moments. She looked as if there was more she wanted to say, and he imagined her unraveling her whole life's dreams right here, opening herself to him in more ways than one, but she shook it off, pulling her phone from her pocket to stare at it. "Oh, my goodness. I have to get back. It was really nice chatting with you, Quinn."

"Ah, sure, very nice. You work every day?" he heard himself say. Why was that? Did he want to see her again? Well, who wouldn't? Just look at her.

"Most days, yeah. It's starting to slow down now after Labor Day, but...why?"

"Ah, no reason. Just wondering. We'll be here a week, my brother and I. Maybe I'll see you around again?" It was casual enough. Not too hopeful or flirty. Stay focused. Do what you came to do.

"Of course. Swing by in the morning. You can try my famous muffins." She winked, flashed her bright, pretty smile, and tapped the back of the wingchair. "See you later."

Quinn watched her walk away, trying to figure out what just happened. One moment, she seemed shy and nervous, and the next, she was winking, inviting him to try her famous muffins, like a paper doll trying on different styles of clothes. How famous were these muffins exactly? "Sounds lovely." He was unable to contain his smile, nor did he want to.

When he stood, his head felt light, and it hit him all of a sudden just how exhausted he was. The tea may have tasted like piss water, but it had somewhat lull him into a relaxed state with the help of some nice conversation with the innkeeper's daughter. In his room, he kicked off his shoes, undressed down to his scunders, and laid on the bed.

"Feck," he said and closed his eyes. What a day it'd been.

He thought of the plane ride, of landing at LaGuardia and hearing the New Yorker accents, of arriving in San Francisco and driving through wine country. He thought of the grand scope of scenery, how different America looked on both coasts, even though he hadn't seen much yet. Then, he thought of the first thing he noticed when he walked into the inn—the gorgeous blonde, craning her neck for another look at him.

She should be the one manning the welcome desk. Out in the open for all guests to admire, not tucked away and hidden. What a fine woman.

A light tap at his door pulled him out of his ebbing slumber. Groggily, he rose and moved to open it, then realized he was still in his skivvies. Imagining Lilly's mom on the other side of the door, he wrangled himself back into his jeans before answering.

Lilly stood there, wringing her hands. "Um..." Her eyes dropped to his body—his naked chest and his jeans, which he'd zipped but hadn't bothered to button. She swallowed hard. "I'm...so sorry...I just..." She blushed and averted her eyes down the hallway. Then looked at his chest and jeans again. "Um..."

Quinn smiled, enjoying the way he was making Lilly squirm where she stood, rooted to her spot. At the same time, however, he shifted slightly behind the door to hide the rather intense effect she was having on his body with her naughty looks.

"I'm sorry, Lil," he half-whispered. "But you can't come in. Normally I'm up for anything, but you see my brother's not the soundest of sleepers..." Just then Con's snoring rent the air. Quinn smiled wider and leaned toward her. "On second thought, I'll just kick the little maggot out. Perhaps you brought a late night snack of those muffins you were telling me about."

He made a production of looking for something she'd brought with her, even though he could plainly see her hands were empty. "Ah, just as well. I wouldn't want to share anything you'd brought for me, you see..."

Lilly tilted her chin up and rolled her eyes, indicating she knew he was kidding and having none of it.

Quinn burst out laughing.

"I just came by to tell you...to invite you...to let you know that I can show you and your brother around tomorrow." Her blue eyes turned back to his face, intense and focused on remaining there by force. "If you want. But I think I've changed my mind."

Oh, he wanted, alright. Right now he wanted a whole lot. But he'd settle on Lilly's offer of a tour for now. "That'd be grand! And please don't change your mind. I'm tuckered from flying, and my brain's a mess. I was just having a bit of fun between new friends."

She harrumphed but he could see the amusement in her expression. He'd always loved a girl with a good sense of humor. "Well, alright. But I won't be taking it easy on you tomorrow," she said, then groaned and closed her eyes almost immediately.

Instead of shooting out another sexual innuendo, he simply said, "Please don't. And we'll look forward to spending tomorrow with you. Right after I try your famous muffins, of course." Quinn winked devilishly. "See you then, Lilly."

# Four

On her third-floor balcony, Lilly paced back and forth between her basil, sage, and cilantro plants, watering and muttering to herself. "What on Earth was I thinking?" Inviting him around town, Lillian...really? And wink-offering your muffins then following that up with a knock on his door while he answered half-naked? "Man, I looked desperate."

Rule #1 of running any guest establishment was "Stay Out of the Guests' Business." Well, she wasn't sure if that was really Rule #1, but her mom always made her feel that it was. Sitting and chatting with them was one thing, but inviting them out for a stroll was another entirely. The next level of nosiness. Way to show off her small-town-ness. Then again, weren't Mom and her gossipy friends always telling Lilly she needed to get out more and meet nice men, or she would turn into an old maid? How was she ever supposed to do that if she never went anywhere?

Not that Lilly cared if she turned into an old maid. She was perfectly fine being man-less her whole life, since she'd earned her degree and was self-sufficient, but the thought of living without love or anyone to share it with that long made her sad most of the time. Not because her biological clock would soon start ticking, but Lilly truly wanted to start talking to people besides her mother, Avery, Mellie, and Cook.

In theory, she should've just come back to the kitchen and minded her own business after having tea with Quinn O'Neill. But that lilt in his accent! That baritone voice! That dark hair and those eyes, the stubble on his chin, his leather jacket. God, what was it about Irish men? She hated to be a cliché, but there was something so charming about him. Plus, her heightened interest wasn't unfounded. He had smiled at her and chuckled when they'd talked over tea, and he had come out of his room looking for her when he could have just gone to sleep like his brother had. She just knew he'd come back out looking for her.

Lilly couldn't ignore the way he'd made her feel standing there in only his jeans teasing her about letting her into his room or trying her muffins. How did guys do that—just have zero concern when they were in the buff in front of a girl they'd just met? She guessed it was all about confidence and wished she could have borrowed some of his. But before he'd shifted behind the door, he'd stood there, one arm over his head, leaning against the door frame, his chest and abs nicely defined and covered with a soft smattering of dark hair, not too much, but not bare either—perfect.

Her legs had gone weak, and she'd felt a jolt of energy shoot through her arms and back down to her groin, as he'd stood there, gazing right through her like he knew it too, just enjoying the way it was affecting her. But she couldn't chicken out, so she'd swallowed her dread and invited him into town, and now, she had no choice but to wait it out—a whole twenty or so hours until she saw him again. In the meantime, she'd make the afternoon goodies and spend all twenty hours trying not to think about Quinn O'Neill, newly-arrived Irishman.

Or what the hell—she'd think of him and enjoy every moment of it.

In the morning, she waited in the living room wearing jeans and a long-sleeved top with her gray wrap-around cardigan. She'd put on her pretty dangling earrings, the ones she rarely wore unless there was occasion for it. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, flipping through the October issue of Better Homes & Gardens, trying to look casually bored and excited at the same time. Next to her, she brought a picnic basket packed with banana streusel muffins, orange cranberry muffins, and cinnamon date brioches.

Her mom breezed through the living room, rearranging the magazines and flicking a speck of dust off the coffee table. "What time do you expect to be back, Lillian?"

"No clue. But you won't need me until this evening, will you?"

Mom's shoulders drooped. "I guess that would be fine." She huffed and began walking off, but then she turned suddenly. "You be careful. I'm not fond of you going off with two strange men by yourself like this."

Lilly closed the magazine and shot her mother a look. "Seriously? Mom, everything will be fine. I told you Quinn and I talked yesterday—he's not a stranger anymore. He's nice. Not a big deal." Lilly flipped the magazine back open and held back a smile, as her mother gave her a disapproving look then entered the kitchen. "Besides, I'll do as I damn well please," she muttered under her breath.

A moment later, the brothers emerged from the hallway looking well-rested, draping their jackets over their arms. Quinn was definitely the more athletic of the two, probably having played some type of sport before, whereas Con was built more like a yoga instructor. "What's the craic, Barack?" Quinn laughed, standing feet apart.

She waved, not knowing what on Earth that meant. "All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?"

"What's that?" His smile faded a bit.

"Oh, uh...just that you're ready to go. I brought you breakfast." She held up her basket for them to see. They approached and stood facing her in the morning light, filtering in through the window. "Figured we could eat while we're out, if that's okay."

"Sounds lovely," Quinn said, turning to his brother to ask if he'd locked the room and had his cell phone.

Con checked his pockets, nodded at Quinn, then flashed a smile at Lilly.

Lilly bit her lip and glanced away shyly.

"What about the journal?" Quinn asked Con. "And the map we printed?"

While they discussed the particulars of what they needed before heading out, she stole glances at them in the dusty light. Conor had some beautiful, gem-like eyes, but Quinn's chocolate brown were rich and decadent. Quinn was also a few inches taller than his brother and a few years older too, from the looks of it, but both were handsome, even though they looked nothing alike, except for the dashing smile. Both wore jeans, some sports jerseys she couldn't identify—Quinn's in blue and Con's in green—and both had combed back their freshly showered hair.

"Alright, we're good for it," Quinn said, stepping closer to her.

"Ready when you are," Con said.

Lilly ignored the butterflies fluttering in her stomach and strolled through the front door, loving the cool early autumn breeze outside. The fog was just starting to creep back, as the sun began burning its way through the morning. "Well, I don't know if you boys had any one place in mind, but I thought maybe you'd want to see a vineyard first. How does that sound?" She glanced over her shoulder at them and bounced down the front steps onto the sidewalk.

"As long as you're leading the way in those jeans, anywhere you want to go is fine by us," Con said, sounding like he said "oos" instead of "us."

Lilly blushed.

A moment later, she heard a smack. "Whist, you stupid wanker," Quinn groaned. "Have you no shame or decorum in the presence of a lady? Lilly, excuse my brother. He has a lot to learn in the ways of women."

"In the ways of women? You're only saying that to impress her. You're just as much a bowsie as any of us, I swear it. Lilly, don't listen to him."

Quinn rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Honestly, Con, she's going to regret ever offering to show us around. Sorry about all this."

"It's okay." Lilly laughed, heading down the sidewalk toward their first stop. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun listening to two brothers fight, especially over her. She honestly didn't mind Con's comment. It was nice to have someone notice her ass in the first place. "Not a problem, though on the way back, I'll have you boys do the leading."

"Eh?" Quinn punched Con's shoulder and smiled at Lilly. "A girl who can hold her own. I love it."

Lilly felt surprisingly empowered and charmed at the same time. "So what kind of wine are you into?" she asked to change the subject.

"Eh...the eh...delicious kind," Con said, patting his stomach.

Lilly cocked her head. "Is that so? Well, you came to the right place. This vineyard and winery we are going to makes a thousand cases of Chardonnay and Syrah a year. They also make twenty-five hundred cases of Pinot Noir yearly, all vineyard-specific, limited-production, so you'll be happy to know I know the owners personally and can get you in for free!"

"Well, that does sound lovely," Quinn said in amazement, giving his brother a secretive look that Lilly wasn't sure how to interpret. Was she showing off too much perhaps?

They reached the old two-story Tudor-style building she loved so well and walked through the open gate down the brick walkway to the side of the house. "Welcome to Parker House and Vineyard." Lilly pulled the side gate open to expose rows and rows of beautiful, green fields and a gorgeous flowered path leading the way.

"Ah, it's breathtaking!" Quinn said. His brown eyes soaked in the rolling hills, the morning golden sun shedding light on the rows of grapes, and the workers out in the field. "What are they doing, Lil?"

"Harvesting." Lilly led them out to the fields. She loved that he called her Lil, the name her father always called her. "The dark grapes will be made into Syrah. Is that why you came? You like the reds?"

"We uh..." Con grunted and launched right into candidness. "Didn't come for the wine. We came because our mother—"

Quinn smacked Con again.

"Bloody hell. Would you stop hitting me? What's the big fecking deal?"

"Your mother? Your mother what?" Lilly shielded her eyes from the sun.

Quinn sighed. "Our mother hailed from this area. We came for a visit because of her. We actually don't know much about wine. Sorry if I misrepresented before."

She didn't mind that so much. She was more interested in their mention of their mother. "From Forestville? Or New Killarney?" She hoped she wasn't being presumptuous, but with a name like O'Neill and having come from Dublin, maybe they were from the Irish town an hour up the road.

"Nope. Forestville, definitely. Green Valley. We don't know much about her background. Just learning now." Quinn broke away and walked ahead of her to take photos, and Lilly got the sense that he didn't want to talk much about his mother. She could respect that. Once he'd gotten sick, she hadn't talked much about her father to strangers either.

"I see. Well, I know all the families from around here. I would know anyone named O'Neill, and I don't. Did she go by any other last name?" Lilly asked Con.

Quinn and Con exchanged glances, then Con just shook his head. "No. That would be it, just O'Neill."

"Hmm," Lilly mumbled. She looked at Quinn. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm a good listener." She didn't know what the deal was with their mother, but she'd lost her dad to disease and might be able to empathize, depending on what was up.

"Thanks." He smiled as if to say, I appreciate it.

They strolled the vineyard a while, as the brothers took photos of each other, and Lilly took some really great ones of them together. They really were a handsome set of boys, and truth be told, she was having fun showing them around. "Well, it's too early for a wine tasting, but we can have breakfast over there, if you like." She led them to a gazebo with an old picnic table where they took seats.

A woman with long, braided gray hair Lilly hadn't seen in a few days came out of the main house and walked up to them, wiping her hands on a hand towel. "Morning, Lilly, how are you doing today?"

"Good, Nancy. Meet our guests at the house, Quinn and his brother, Con. They're from Dublin." Lilly opened her basket and pulled out her assortment of muffins, brioches, and natural juices, along with three cups.

"Ah!" Nancy said, shaking hands with them both. "Welcome, welcome. I see you're being given the five-star treatment by none other than Miss Hospitality herself. You're in good hands, gentlemen. Will we be seeing you at the wine tasting later this afternoon?"

"That would be nice, ya?" Quinn said to his brother.

"Ah, sure, would be grand. Why not?" Con replied, eyeing the muffins.

Lilly turned back to Nancy. "Can we get some coffee and tea too, Nancy? With some milk for the tea?" She smiled at Quinn, who lowered his head in appreciation for her having remembered the way he liked his tea.

"Sure thing, will be right out." Nancy turned back to the main house.

"Eh, black tea, if you have it," Quinn called after her. "Thank you."

"Sure thing." Nancy nodded.

Lilly raised an eyebrow at Quinn. "So my tea sucked yesterday?"

"Now, I never said that," Quinn chuckled under his breath. "Don't go puttin' words in my mouth, young lass." He passed the muffins to his brother, and together they all broke into them, using the silverware Lilly had packed to slather on butter and jams and jellies. "So...exactly how do you know Nancy so well? And this whole place?"

"Yeah, how did you just waltz on in here?" Con asked, munching on a brioche.

"Wait..." Quinn stopped cold and looked around the fields and at the house again. He cocked his head at Lilly. "Where did you say we were again? Phillips Winery? You're not a Phillips, are you?" He looked mortified, as though that would be a tragedy, not that she could disagree.

"Oh, God, no!" Lilly scoffed, not meaning to sound so offended. It's just that nobody had ever mistaken her for being from the Phillips Family before. But since he mentioned it... "No, I said Parker House. How do you know the Phillips Family? You read about them online or something?"

Con eyed Quinn, and Quinn looked back at Lilly, swallowing softly. "Yeah, you could say that. I thought maybe you were related to them."

"Not at all. I wouldn't touch Phillips property with a ten-foot pole."

"Is that right?" Quinn bit into a cranberry orange muffin. "Holy...this is the best. Con, try this. So, eh...why wouldn't you touch it with a, eh...pole?" he asked, turning back to Lilly.

She shrugged. "Just because. Different families. Business competitors. We stay out of each other's way for the most part."

"We?" Quinn raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." Lilly said, sitting up straight. "Yes."

"So you know the Parkers of the Parker House, I presume?" he asked.

She smiled and gazed out at the vineyards she and her cousins should inherit one day. "Very well, actually. They're my family."

# Five

Quinn shouldn't have been surprised to hear that Lilly Parker's family owned a vineyard and winery. After all, it seemed to be the primary industry in this area, and everyone in Forestville was probably tied to one somehow. But he was surprised. Maybe because she'd been sorting muffins and serving tea back at Russian River House, or because her hair had been up in a messy bun, or because her mother had talked to her like she was some sloppy waitress working the lower ranks of the kitchen, but something—the shy way she'd carried herself probably—had told him she was just an old-fashioned working class girl.

"You have a widespread operation 'round these parts, do you?" Quinn tried not to feel awestruck by Lilly's presence. After all, running a vineyard and winery couldn't be all too different from owning a family restaurant, could it?

"Widespread? Well, we're not the largest winery in the area. That would be the Phillips and the Enderman's place west of here. But we're a decent size. We produce around fifty-thousand cases a year."

"Impressive!" Quinn said like he knew anything about how fifty-thousand cases compared to other wineries.

"The Phillips' place produces over a hundred-fifty thousand," she clarified. "You could say they're a big competitor."

Quinn loved listening to Lilly talk on about all the different types of wine they produced, how their winery may have been smaller than the Phillips', but their fields were richer, their grapes more flavorful, and their hospitality warmer.

"Can't argue with that," he said, smiling at her. He liked how Lilly had taken them under her wing. How, once she'd walked out of the bed-and-breakfast, a transformation seemed to take place. Like she could be herself again, like air had found its way into her lungs, like the distance between her and her mother had given her back some lost confidence. Like she'd come alive. He liked when she showed them the vines, where the grapes were crushed, when she was explaining how Syrah and Shiraz tended to be full-boded, bold wines with notes of pepper and dark fruit flavors like blackberries, and how Europeans usually labeled them Syrah while Australians labeled them Shiraz.

Things he'd never cared about before but knew now because Lilly had explained them so well in her pretty flute-y voice he could listen to all day long. Of course, he also loved her baked breakfast goods. He almost hadn't wanted to rave too much about them out of fear that the attention would go to her head, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—those things were fierce!

After leaving the vineyard, they walked around town a bit, and she showed them a flower market, pointed to a couple more wineries from the road, and the Russian River itself. But then a series of texts rang in, and she claimed she had to get back to the bed-and-breakfast, also family owned and operated, more her mother's baby, while the winery remained her grandparents' domain. They headed back.

"Thank you for the tour, Miss Parker." Quinn took her hand and kissed the top of it gently. The gesture made her blush underneath her pale white skin, and once again he took pleasure watching her squirm. Lord, he was having trouble shaking fantasies of her squirming—in bed, beneath him, on top of him, around him...

"The pleasure was all mine, gentlemen," she said, pulling her hand back until it was in her pocket. Crystal blue eyes actually twinkled with girlish pride. "Con, I think your brother has the lead now with the way of women." She chuckled.

"Ah, he's banjaxed," Con said, patting his brother on the back.

"Whatever that means. I'm going to have to buy myself an English-Irish dictionary to be around you two," Lilly said, heading up the steps. "The Irish pubs are on the east side. Bookstore down the street, and grocery store around the corner. Need me to drive you?"

"Nah, we have ourselves a car. It's parked around the side. Thanks, we'll see you later tonight? Maybe? Hopefully?" Quinn smiled at her one last time, soaking in her classic form before she closed the door. Then, he let out a huge breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Whew. She's a fine thing, that one."

"I saw her first," Con said.

"Feck off. You did not." Quinn wouldn't let Conor's playing paws anywhere near Lilly, if he could help it.

They headed to the car park, boots crunching over gravel. "Why do you think she doesn't like the Phillips Family?" Con asked. "You think it's a winery rivalry thing?"

"Of course. Years of family feuding, like us and the Calhouns." Quinn recalled the Calhoun Family of Salty Dog fame, the American Bar & Grill across the street from The Cranky Yankee in Dublin. Even though there was more than enough business to go around, their families were always at odds with each other. When the Yankee was damaged in the fire, and their dad subsequently died, the Calhouns reached out to help, but Quinn could almost sense a smarmy happiness about it. "Either way, if she doesn't like the Phillipses, then she won't like us either, so we can't tell her we're related. Got it?"

Con looked at him sideways and shook his head. "Not so sure that's the best way to approach things, brother, but she's your gal."

"My gal? I never said she was my gal." And don't you forget it, wee one.

"Well, you could have fooled me with that kiss atop her hand." Con buttoned up his jacket. It had gotten a few degrees colder now that the sun had gone down.

"It's called chivalry, you maggot, something you wouldn't know anything about." Quinn opened the automobile door and slid in, reminding himself that he needed to drive on the right side of the road, make right turns on the right, left turns on the left, and everything would be fine.

"Chivalry is fakery, Quinn." Con slid into his seat and closed the door. "I'd much rather be up front and real in telling a bird she's got great knockers than lying to her about why we're here. Just tell her. There's nothing dishonorable about it. You're learning about mam's place of birth."

"I will if I have to. Can I just sense her out first? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I like to know people before I tell them things, not like you who barely says hullo before you snog 'em. Let's get going." He started the ignition and headed off cautiously toward the east side of Forestville, hoping not to crash into anything and still find a place called Mulligan's Tavern by the time they arrived.

East Forestville boasted a bookshop named Quill's, a couple drugstores opposite each other, a park where teens all sat around laughing or skateboarding, and a Catholic church right across the street. It only took five minutes to get there, and by the time they were almost out the other end, they finally found where the action was.

Not Mulligan's.

From the tales their dad used to tell them, Quinn had imagined a wonderful, bustling pub off River Road where the craic never ended and it was always a jolly time, but what they found instead when they arrived was a desolate old building with faded shingled tiles, a broken neon sign, and two old cars parked in a car park made for fifty.

What was worse was that across the road was another, more lively pub called The Cat's Meow where the music blasted strong, half the town was singing, and the craic was strong. "Let's go for a pint over there, eh?" Con said, eyeing the more lively spot.

"Con, The Cat's Meow was not where mam and dad met, you dope. We're going to Mulligan's." Quinn gave the dismal old building another once-over and shuddered. If, after a quick visit, they didn't find their father's college buddy, Paul Brennan, then they would cross the street and get bolloxed at The Cat.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

Pulling on the heavy wooden door, a bell chimed, and the few locals sitting around all whipped their heads around to look. "How's the craic?" Quinn said in his usual way.

"Eh."

"Eh," came various greetings from several old geezers.

"Evening, gentlemen," said an older man from behind the bar. He was standing with a young barmaid in her early twenties, pretty as a picture, with her black hair up in a tight bun. She wore a red tank top that cradled her breasts in that perfectly snug way, and her lips were painted bright red.

"Evening," Quinn said, trying on an easy smile. "We're looking for an old friend, Paul Brennan."

The man laughed to himself. "I never forget a face." His cheeks and eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He looked like Saint Nicholas after several pints. "You look familiar, lads. Where might I remember you from?"

Quinn strolled up to the bar and extended his hand in greeting. He paused when he spotted a framed photo on the wall behind the man buried amidst a multitude of other framed photos of patrons over the years. It was Mam with his father, both of them in their early twenties, thirty years ago. Above their heads was the Mulligan's Tavern sign from outside, only lit up with working neon.

"Why, you look like you've seen a ghost, boy," the man said, following Quinn's line of sight. "I'm Paul. How can I help you?"

"Great to meet you. Name's Quinn. This is my brother, Con, and I'm afraid I've come with some bad news about your old friends right there behind ya." He nodded at the framed photo.

Paul swiveled to look at the photo. "Grant and Maggie? Know them? Ah, don't tell me. Why, you're the spittin' image. I should have known. From the moment you walked in. You're their lads, aren't ya?"

"We are. We're five brothers, but only two of us are here this week visiting. Our father passed two years ago, I'm afraid, and our mam, well, she left us last week." Quinn had told family and friends since the tragedy occurred, but it never got any easier. Just saying it now brought tears to his eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hand.

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that, lads. Your father was a pal of mine at Trinity in Dublin. He gave of his time to help me open this establishment many years ago when he met your mother. A good man, he was. I'll never forget him."

"Thank you," Quinn said, pressing his lips together to keep from losing it. Hearing someone else talk about his parents that way, well, it made his heart ache even more.

"Have a seat. What can I get you, on the house? This is Dara, my youngest. I've three girls. You'd think the Lord would've blessed me with just one lad to watch the games with, but no."

"Stop it, Dad. I watch the games with you all the time," Dara said in a much more American accent than her father. She leaned over to wipe the countertops, showing off her talented cleavage for Con's appreciation mostly.

Quinn smacked his brother's arm hoping it would prompt him to focus on Dara's eyes.

"You boys staying here in Forestville?" Paul asked.

"Russian River House," Quinn said, watching Paul fill up two pints of Guinness for him and Con. Frothy, with a thick head of foam on top. Perfect.

"Penny Parker's place? Oh my God, their muffins are to die for. Try the cranberry orange." Dara's big green eyes flared, as she remembered Lilly's pastries.

"We did!" Quinn felt pride at having tried Lilly's muffins first-hand from the baker herself. He suddenly wished she were there with them, though Mulligan's didn't seem the type of place Lilly would frequent. "They were quite fantastic."

"They are the bomb!" Dara finished wiping up the counter then winked at them. "Don't keep him up too late. He'll get cranky later. Dad, I'll be outside waiting for ya'. Gonna go have a smoke. Bye, boys." She gave Con, in particular, a pointed look, then strutted out from behind the bar. Now there was a girl overflowing with confidence, Quinn thought. Maybe a little too much for Quinn's taste, but for Con...

They turned their attention to an American football game on the telly and shouted when the other patrons shouted, cheered when the other patrons cheered, pretending they were in the know, though Quinn knew a bit about the sport, being it was similar to rugby. Con polished off his pint then stood and headed outside. "Alright, I'm pulling my socks up. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Quinn murmured, glad to get rid of his brother for a while. The boy needed the distraction of a hot bird anyway. He wouldn't be surprised if Con got some ass before he did on this trip, not that Quinn had come for any ass. But he couldn't deny when he thought that particular phrase, Lil's sweet face and body—including her gorgeous ass—formed in his mind. "So Paul, what's going on here? Business a little slow?"

Paul shrugged, chewing on a piece of straw. "Eh, what are ya going to do? Been thirty years in the business, and everything is fine, you know? Then one day last year, these ossified plonkers across the street decide to renovate the Piggly Wiggly into a pub. Ah, sure, it'll be grand! Let's open up a pub across the street from another feckin pub! Maggots."

"Shite," Quinn commiserated.

He'd heard this story in its various forms more than once from restaurant owners in Dublin, and the only way to keep up was to modernize, update, and bring in the trendy, new crowds. It was the main reason he'd wanted to update the ovens and appliances at their restaurant and hire a new cook to put together a fresh menu—it was time for a face lift. "I know what you mean. My dad's restaurant was going through a similar phase when he died. You're at a crossroads now."

"Aye, but I don't know how much longer I can stand it here, Quinn, I really don't. I'm tired. My wife is tired. We're ready to retire, but we can't, you know? It's hard—you build your dreams...I wanted to hand this place off to Dara and her sisters, but there's not much to hand them now. I don't blame Dara that she wants to up and leave every night before closing time. Ah, feck."

"You have to change something, Paul. Put something new on the menu. Offer dessert. Offer cake. Offer muffins." Quinn laughed, though it wasn't such a bad idea. Still, he had Lilly on the brain, and not about just how sexy she was, and that was more than he could say about most women when he first met them. "Something different, something those cats across the street don't have, and watch the clientele come waltzing back in."

Paul gave Quinn a sad smile. "You have a head for business, like your father."

"Nah, Brady's the business mind in our family. I'm the rugby player, but I've learned a lot since my dad passed." More than a lot, actually. While Brady was good with the numbers, Quinn saw himself more as the creative part of the operation.

"Rugby, you say. Who'd you play for?"

They talked about Quinn's rugby years, including the possibility of Quinn rejoining the team, before settling into a comfortable silence and football watching.

During a break in the game, Quinn glanced around the empty bar and sighed. "Get a pole and some strippers in here, Paul," Quinn said, polishing off his beer.

Paul laughed and lifted his glass to a toast. "Hear, hear! To pole strip dancing across from St. Mary's! Brilliant idea, Quinn O'Neill!"

"Thank you, thank you. I try." Ah, the craic was getting better already. See? All it took was a couple new faces.

Suddenly, the door chimed, and Paul craned his neck to see past the bar's edge. Quinn leaned back to see who would show up at Mulligan's at eleven o'clock at night when the real action was happening across the street. He couldn't believe his eyes when he spotted the prettiest fish out of water he'd ever seen—Lilly, still in her jeans and gray wrap-around sweater—walking into the dirty, smelly, smoky tavern.

"Well, what do you know?" he mumbled, happily surprised.

She spotted Quinn at the bar and sighed with relief. "Hi." She gave him a little wave. "Thought I might find you here. Buy a girl a Guinness?"

# Six

"What are you doing here?" Quinn's face was loaded with surprise.

"What do you mean?" Lilly shrugged, setting her purse down on a stool. "Can't a girl from the west side of town visit the east side? What is this, 1957?"

Quinn scoffed then gestured to the bartender for another pint for himself and one for Lilly. "God, she's just like her."

"Like who?" Lilly narrowed her eyes.

"Never mind." He crossed his arms, showing off his forearms. "How'd you know where to find me?"

"Who said I was looking for you?" She bit her lip and heard the bartender laugh. Turning to him, she winked at the older man. She pulled out a stool, leaning into Quinn's ear. "Anyway, why here? Why not that place across the street where there's more action?"

"You like action, do you?" Quinn raised one eyebrow and clucked his tongue playfully.

"You know what I mean." She nudged his arm. "This place is dead," she whispered. "No offense. By the way, I saw your brother outside. He was making out with some girl outside. He sure bodes well with the natives."

Quinn smirked at the bartender—Paul, was it?—whose expression soured. Maybe he didn't like people kissing outside his pub? "Yeah, he wastes no time, that one. By the way..." Quinn cleared his throat. "Lilly, this is Paul Brennan, the proprietor of Mulligan's, and the girl you spotted outside is his daughter, Dara." He widened his eyeballs.

Lilly had never felt more mortified. "Ah." She felt her face flush. "Yes. Pleasure to meet you, sir. Lovely, lovely pub you have here. Always wanted to come inside. And now I have!" She smiled, as Paul pushed a Guinness across the wooden countertop towards her. She took the dark liquid and sank back a third of it.

"Pleased to meet you too. Enjoy." He smirked and returned to watching the football game.

"Never would have guessed," Quinn said, staring at her and shaking his head.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The beer was dark and heavy, but it was wonderfully cold and felt nice going down. "There are lots of things about me you never would guess," she said.

Lilly wasn't usually the daring type, but then again, she usually wasn't about to leave town soon either. What the hell, she'd thought when she got off work, figuring she'd come looking for Quinn and Con. I'm about to leave anyway. May as well go out with a bang. Literally.

She chuckled to herself.

"Find something funny, do ya?" Quinn's face lightened, and he swiveled on his stool. His head tilted slightly. He crossed his arms, one elbow on the counter. "You have my full attention now, Miss Parker, with your, There are lots of things about me you don't know and your secretive smile. Keep talking."

Behind the counter, Paul Brennan chuckled and leaned against the cash register, watching Green Bay playing Chicago.

Lilly swallowed softly, not wanting him to catch on to her tell-tale signs of nervousness. "Who's winning?" she asked to change the subject. "Anyone know?"

"Packers are up 7-0. It's first and down," Paul replied, eyes glued to the screen. "Ten seconds left on the clock in this quarter. You like football, miss?" He turned an eye on her.

Lilly sank back another sip of her Guinness. "I'm a daddy's girl. And a huge Raiders' fan."

"Raiders?" Paul recoiled, scoffing. "Only 49er fans allowed in this pub, missy," he laughed. "Didja hear that, Quinn? Your Raiders friend likes rowdy drunkenness. Not sure I should let a public menace like her in here." He smiled and extended a pointed, playful finger at Lilly.

"To rowdy drunkenness, Paul." Quinn raised his fresh glass in a toast. "And girls who like sports."

"Me, a public menace?" Lilly feigned being offended, hand at her chest. "I believe 49er fans hold the current record for most laws broken on game day, Mr. Brennan. I'm willing to bet you've seen the inside of a jail cell a handful of times for uproarious behavior."

Paul squealed a hissy laugh and slapped his knee. "Aye, you'd be right about that, miss."

Quinn seemed to watch her with deep admiration. Show you love sports in front of men. Hook, line, sinker...

"So, let me get this straight...you help run a bed-and-breakfast, you bake a fierce muffin, your family owns a vineyard and winery, and you like watching American football?"

"Just football, Quinn," Lilly clarified. "See, 'cause we're in America."

He put down his drink and threw his hands up. "You're just too good to be true, Lilly Parker."

"Careful there, lad," Paul mumbled from his spot. "I've seen this happen before in your family. Thirty years ago, actually."

Quinn smiled and lifted his chin in silent acknowledgement.

Lilly peered at Quinn over the rim of her glass. Before the beer, he was ridiculously gorgeous, and now after almost downing an entire pint, clearly right at home in the Irish pub, he was more beautiful than ever. For the next ten minutes, they joked and watched the game. She and Quinn continued to exchange flirtatious banter and hot glances.

At one point, she found herself resting her elbow on the bar, chin in her palm, just gazing at him. She suspected she had a sappy smile on her face. Wine she was used to, but beer was another animal altogether, and she was feeling a bit tipsy. "So I hardly know anything about you, Quinn."

"There's not much to tell," Quinn said, his knee jittering up and down.

"That can't be true. You've played a sport before. You were an extra in Magic Mike or something. Come on. Fess up."

"Magic...what?" His eyebrows danced over pools of darkness.

"Nothing, just tell me about yourself, Quinn O'Neill." Lilly took another long sip of her drink. She noticed that while he'd raised his glass for the toast, he hadn't even taken a sip yet.

"Alright, let's see. I graduated from Trinity in Dublin, played professional rugby for four years..." Lilly's ears perked up. So that was where the solid physique came from. "Went to work for my dad and mam's restaurant, and I'd been managing the place with my mam until she decided it was time to close shop and let us find our dreams. Now we're in California, searching for gold, just like everybody else."

Lilly didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell if he was happy with the way things had turned out or not, whether his coming here was his idea or sort of forced on him.

Quinn seemed to notice her concern for him. "No worries, it's a long story. Let's just say I might still play rugby, or I might go back to Dublin to open another restaurant. Sky's the limit. My mam pushed us all out of the proverbial nest to find our own way when she realized we were living our father's dream. So for the first time in my life..." He paused, staring into his Guinness. "I have no place to go."

"God, Quinn, that's so sad. I'm sorry." She reached out and rested a hand on his forearm.

"Nah, don't be. Could be worse. Could be raining." He bit his lip, and Lilly couldn't tell if he was kidding, serious, or what, but she felt a creeping giggliness rise into her throat.

She did her best to hold in her chuckle, but it escaped with a vengeance, which fed into Quinn's short-burst laughter, and before she knew it, they were both snorting and leaning on each other for support. "I am so sorry," Lilly said. "I'm laughing at your pain. Oh, my God, I'm such a bitch!"

"Now, now, you're laughing with me, not at me. Right, Paul, we Irish don't take things too seriously?" Quinn turned to Paul, and Lilly caught a magnificent view of his perfect profile—his straight nose, his angular cut jawline, the dark stubble growing there. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers along it.

"What'd you say, you bloody fecking bastard?" Paul grunted, and the three of them roared with counter-slapping laughter.

"See? We take everything in stride," Quinn said.

Lilly was dying. She couldn't breathe and she was still sober enough to realize that she was probably laughing so hard because she wasn't completely sober. Was Quinn feeling the effects of his drink too? "Oh, my God..."

"What about you, Little Miss Muffin?" Quinn turned his attention on Lilly again. "Have you sat on any tuffins lately?" His eyes flared and roved over her a bit.

Lilly clucked her tongue. "First of all, it's Miss Muffet, I'm pretty sure they taught me in Pre-K. And secondly, it's tuffet and none of your business if I've sat on any of them."

"Ouch. I see what you mean about Raiders fans being ornery." Quinn cast a mock hurt face over at Paul.

"I tried to warn you, Quinn."

Lilly dropped her head and shook with laughter. She loved this. Yes, they were a little brash and rude, but it was all in good fun, and she was doing a pretty good job of keeping up with them.

"What I mean is, what have you done lately? Tell me more about yourself, Miss Lilly Parker. Besides the fact that you surprise me every time you open your mouth." His eyes focused on her lips when he said it, sending a warm shiver down her body.

Now he had a sexy mouth. Would she ever feel them on her lips or body? She desperately wanted to know and secretly thanked the beer for helping her loosen up, or else she'd never find out.

"Well...I know what you mean about wanting to open up your own restaurant," she began. "You know how you liked my muffins this morning?" she asked. Quinn nodded slowly, briefly closing his eyes, remembering. "And you know how my mom owns and runs Parker House?"

"Let me guess...you want nothing to do with it."

"I want nothing to do with it."

It shocked her how easily the words came out. She'd never actually vocalized them before quite that way. Yet Quinn seemed to understand in a way nobody else could. He'd experienced a change in career a couple times now.

Lillian sighed. "That's not exactly true. I love Russian River House. I grew up there. I love this town for the same reason. I just—I just don't want to be tied to either one before I've had a chance to see the rest of the world. I didn't always think that way. I went to school to study Hospitality, Food and Beverage, with the intention of continuing the family business. But there are so many cities I want to see. Plus, I took a baking class for fun and couldn't get enough of it. Haven't stopped since. I want to open my own bakery in a big city but I haven't had the courage to tell my mom how I feel. We've been going through a hard time these last two years, financially and everything else..."

"Ah, sorry to hear it. Bad dose of luck, I take it?"

"You could say that. My father was ill." She paused, fingers trembling around her glass. She didn't want to talk about the ALS. It wasn't why she came. But she'd loved talking about her father before the disease. She looked up with a sad smile. "He was a brilliant wine enthusiast. He loved the vines. Loved the winery. Loved making sure his products were top-quality. He really took pride in the place, more than he cared about making a ton of money. But after he fell into decline...my mother threw herself into caring for him, and well...we all lost sight of business for a while there."

"I hear ya," Quinn sighed. "Boy, do I hear ya."

She nodded quietly for a minute, her eyes focused on the football game.

"Seems like we both need to get away then. Find courage. Find our way. Say what needs to be said." Quinn stared through her, and all flirting aside, he had the kindest eyes. He was listening, interpreting her words. She wondered what other things he needed to say, what else was on his mind. For a man who loved to talk and joke, he still kept very private.

He was right about one thing, though—she did need to find her voice, as much as it would hurt her mother. It wasn't just a matter of hiring someone to take her place—her mother felt Lilly needed to be there.

"All for what?" She spoke through a slight fog of tipsiness. "So I can go chase my dreams of opening a bakery in a big city? What if I fail? Sure, my baking is great here in a small town, but if I go out there, I need to compete with the big dogs, and I don't know if I'm good enough." She slapped the counter a little too forcefully.

Quinn scooped up her hands. Warm. Strong. Swoon. "Listen to me. You're good enough. I say you are. And anyone who says you're not can go suck it." He gave her a devilish smile.

God, don't say suck it. Don't say such things looking so damned delicious, Lilly thought.

"I tasted them," he said adamantly, "and guess what? I've been around restaurants and pubs my whole life, so I would know. They're good. Better than good. Frightfully good. You just need the experience, Lilly. That's all there is to it." His fingers grazed hers, and her heart palpitated a little bit faster.

Experience. Was that something you could offer, Quinn?

Lilly didn't have an awful lot of experience. Aside from being with Ben Miller for a year, she'd had one boyfriend her junior year in high school, Orlando Bines, which lasted four months and never got past the kissing-touching stage, and another her sophomore year of college, Harris McGuirk, who'd been her first sexual experience. None of them had made her feel the mindless passion she read about in romance novels. Lilly learned early on that the key to sexual fulfillment was being able to please herself through any means possible.

She'd lost hope a while ago that any man could "do it" for her.

Maybe it was the beer whispering in her ear, but she thought Quinn looked like that type of man. Then again, she'd known Quinn could do it for her when she'd headed over here. "Right," she breathed, barely above a whisper. What were they talking about again? Oh right, muffins. Baking. Good God, was it warm in here? "Thank you, that's really sweet of you to say. I guess I'm just a big dreamer at heart. Some might say I have a good thing going right where I am, and I'd be stupid to consider making any career changes. But I have this opportunity, you see, and it would mean leaving next month..."

"It's not stupid to consider a career change. Not at all. And dreaming is pivotal for that road to success, as long as your brain is riding shotgun. You remind me of my mother, Lil, in so many ways," he said, smiling at her affectionately. "She was a big business dreamer, like you."

Lilly furrowed her brow. "Why do you talk about her in the past tense? Is she not with you anymore?"

He stiffened a bit, still looking straight at her, but the light slowly died from his eyes. "My mam passed away recently." He pursed his lips and played with the edge of his glass.

"Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry to hear that," she gasped.

He shrugged, nodding a bit, his stare never wavering. It was like he was looking right through her, maybe seeing his mother in her eyes. Lilly dared not move. "No one could've expected it. She was only fifty. That's nothing," he whispered, leaning in. Lilly leaned in too. "That's about Paul's age too." He nodded in the direction of the pub owner fixated on the final moments of the game.

Lilly knew this pain all too well. She took his hand. "I lost my dad too...last year. I know how you feel, Quinn. When we're little, we expect our parents to be around forever, or at least to grow old and gray. We never expect to lose them so early in life. I'm so sorry."

He nodded, lips pressed into a stiff smile.

"So this is why you're here. Why you came to Green Valley."

"Yes. My mam, she married my dad and moved to Dublin, and since then, it's been all about Dad and the family. Dad and my brothers. Dad and us. That was it. I never saw Mam take a trip for herself, never watched her have a gal's night out, and if she settled down to do anything for herself, and one of us needed something, she popped right back up again to take care of it."

Lilly listened, her heart aching, even though it wasn't her mother he was talking about.

"I found an old journal of hers from when she was fresh out of grade school, and in it, she talks about all these crazy dreams she had, businesses she wanted to open—a surf shop, a flower shop, a bed-and-breakfast like you and your mam. She even wanted to open an Irish pub." He chuckled to himself. "She was full of ideas. Who knew? The truth is, my brothers and I...we knew very little about her."

"And so the O'Neill boys appeared." Lilly smiled sadly.

"Yeah. We're here to see where Mam grew up."

"And what do you think?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully even as he kept his gaze on hers. "Even before I laid eyes on Green Valley, something about this place and what it meant to Mam called to me. Now that I'm here, I know why she loved it so much. It's beautiful. Green. Lush. A playground of secrets just waiting to be discovered."

She swallowed hard. "Wow."

"What? Too much?"

She shook her head. "No. It's just...I used to feel that way about this place. A long time ago. I suppose it's typical, taking it all for granted because I've lived here my whole life, being unable to see the true depth of its beauty anymore. It's nice...being able to see it again through your eyes." They stared at each other for several seconds before she blinked. Realizing he was still holding her hand, she tugged until he released it. "Um—what about Ireland, though? It's supposed to be gorgeous."

"No doubt, it is. But Ireland also holds some painful memories for me and my brothers. I'm at a place in my life where I'm looking for a fresh start. A place to settle down where I can find what I'm meant to do. Who I'm meant to be. And maybe, who I'm meant to be with. If I'm ever going to live anywhere other than Dublin, now's the time. Hell, from what I've seen so far, Forestville could be a contender." He looked down for a moment, then back up at her again. "Would that be nice, you think?"

Lilly felt her heart sink. On one hand, that would be wonderful—to have Quinn nearby. She could see him more often and not worry that he'd be returning to Ireland if she started to fall for him, which she so easily could, unless it was the beer, which she didn't think it was. But on the other hand, she was leaving in three weeks. Gone from Green Valley for six months. And after that, who knows? The world was calling to her. If Quinn was considering settling here with any degree of seriousness, that meant she was the wrong girl for him.

Sadness drummed at her chest. She polished off her Guinness and sat back, suddenly feeling decidedly too sober. So that was it then. Her drive over here had been a waste of time—sort of. She'd wanted to connect with Quinn, sense him out and see what he was all about, but there was no way she could ever date him.

He wanted in—she wanted out.

Too bad. He was breathtaking. And leaning into her. And holding her face with both his hands. "Is that a no?" He looked deeply into her eyes. The brown depths of his own invited her into his world, dark lashes, strong and alluring. She felt herself melting into them.

"Oh, it'd be nice. Definitely nice," she whispered, taking in the fullness of his lips.

He would have to be a fling. Just a short fling, which was fine with her. She hadn't been with a man in over a year, but Quinn was attractive and intelligent and hot enough to more than make up for the fifty-two weeks without. Yep, definitely just a fling.

"Tell me something." His thumb brushed across her lower lip. He leaned in, and his knees spread apart, allowing himself even more room to inch in closer. "Are you doing anything later tonight?"

She'd never felt so bold before, but she'd never wanted anyone so badly either. Swallowing back her nerves, hands pressed against her shuddering knees, she whispered, "Yes. You."

# Seven

"Is that right?" Quinn's eyebrows shot up. It was exciting as hell to hear shy, old-fashioned Lilly Parker say such a thing. It sent him reeling with a billion thoughts, a billion ideas, and a billion positions.

He'd have been lying if he'd said he didn't feel hesitant too. She was tipsy. But having had only one pint, he wasn't. He could drive her home, take his time, make sure whatever buzz she had going was gone by the time they did anything.

If she still wanted to do anything, that was.

"Then let's get out of here." Quinn hopped off his stool and pressed a soft kiss against her cheek. As much as he wanted to plant it on her full lips, he didn't want their first kiss to be at a bar, no matter how great Paul had been to them. "We're out, Sir Brennan," he said, fishing into his wallet and placing enough cash on the bar to cover both his and Lilly's drinks.

"You don't have to do that," Lilly said, her hands inside of her purse, ready to pay. "But thank you."

"Lil, it was just a beer. You can buy me one tomorrow. When we come back." He winked at her.

"Quinn, it was a pleasure." Paul reached across the polished length of wood to shake Quinn's hand. "Glad I got to see Maggie and Grant again, if only through your eyes."

Paul Brennan's words and the catch in his lonely smile crunched Quinn's stomach into a hard knot. He reached across the bar top and gripped Paul's arms. "Thank you. Much appreciated."

Lilly swirled off the seat and waved goodbye, heading for the door, treating Quinn to a fantastic view of her backside in those tight pants that hugged every contour of her kickass frame. Her hair was down tonight, in loose curls that cascaded down her upper shoulders and back, and just as he was admiring the curve of her ass, she shot him a coy smile over her shoulder.

Outside, the climate was fantastic. He was used to dense humidity, but the sweet California air was cool, not too dry, and not any more moist than it needed to be. Around the corner of the building, he spotted shadows linked in an embrace against a car—his brother and Dara. Why hadn't they just gotten a room already? "You'll be alright, maggot?" he called out.

Con peered at him through the darkness, through a lip lock, and gave him a thumb's up.

"Go get yourself a room, you filthy bugger," Quinn laughed, placing his hand on Lilly's back. His brother went on kissing Dara in the shadows of the car park and lifted his middle finger in response.

Quinn smiled, happy he'd brought his brother along, if only to distract him. Thank you, Dara.

Lilly folded into him warmly, not making any attempt to keep her distance. As they headed down the sidewalk, he held out the crook of his arm for her. "Shall I drive you back, m'lady? Wouldn't be a proper gentleman if I made you drive after your sloshing tonight."

Lillian punched his bicep then held onto his arm for support, as she walked in her sexy heels. Helping her along made him feel strong and wanted. "I'm hardly sloshed, Quinn. I was born and raised with chardonnay in my baby bottle, you know."

"Ah, go off with you, you little lush. I was just joking, but seriously, I'd rather you come with me, if that's alright." They reached a large oak tree on the corner, its leaves swishing in the breeze. Quinn absorbed the brightness of Lilly's blue eyes in the feeble light. "Please."

Warm hands slid up his arms in the chilly air, causing goose bumps to break out all over his skin. She pressed up against him, and he felt the warmth of her body and the curve of her breast against his arm. "I'd be happy to," she said with eyes alight. God, when she looked at him that way, he just wanted to snog her in public, rip her clothes off, and wipe that air of coyness off her beautiful face, one moan at a time.

And why not? They were two consenting adults. They may not have the same life goals. After all, it seemed like she wanted to get the feck out of Green Valley, whereas he was just beginning to discover its secrets. Remembering what he'd said to her about the possibility of him settling down here, he winced. He wasn't sure where the words had come from. Only that she'd asked what he thought of the area, and he'd been telling her, and it had struck him suddenly, incredibly, insanely, that sitting in the pub, Lilly beside him, he'd felt at home in a way he hadn't in a long, long time. Why not, his mind had teased.

Why not?

Because it was ludicrous, he realized now that he was out in the cool air. He was at a crossroads in his life. He needed time to find himself before he chose a place to live or became serious about a woman. And Lord knew, it wouldn't do to lose his heart to a woman who was aching to spread her wings and fly.

In any event, what did it really matter if Lilly might soon be leaving Green Valley and Quinn had no idea where he'd be come next month? Why couldn't they spend an evening together to ward off the loneliness while they were both here?

"Quinn?" She touched his arm.

"I was just thinking, your place or mine?" Quinn brushed a strand of hair away from her face then chuckled at the cheesiness of his line. "Sorry."

"Considering you're staying at my house, let's go there." She squeezed his bicep. "God, these arms," she said, her verbal filter all but completely gone—eradicated. "Pick me up and carry me to heaven. Sheesh."

He laughed at her words even as he felt his chest puff out a bit. There was nothing more sexy than a woman forgetting her decorum and just letting loose. He loved it. "Why, thank you, and ah...didn't realize you lived at the good ol' Russian River House. Thought maybe you lived at Parker House, in the tallest tower like some Greek goddess surrounded by golden grape vines. At least that's how I played it out in my head."

"Sorry to disappoint," she said as they reached his car. "But I live at the bed and breakfast. On the third floor. Surrounded by empty coffee cups and crumpled tissues. Romantic comedies, classic sweeping romances...I've seen 'em all."

Sexy, Quinn thought.

Seriously. He imagined her working hard during the day then lounging in her room at night, going out when she wanted to have a bit of a frolic, but otherwise, being a down-to-Earth, movie-watching gal. Not like the women he'd gone out with in the past. Always seemed like he and his rugby friends attracted the high maintenance types looking for money, power, and fame, so it was nice to spend time with someone who didn't seem to need nor want him for it.

They left the east part of town in Quinn's rental and snaked down the winding roads toward Russian River House. Quinn's hand inched over to Lilly until it rested on top of her hand, and she laid her other over his. He stole quick glances at her through the darkness, loving the way the oncoming lights lit up her eyes like sparkling blue diamonds. "You've got to be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said. "I'm not just saying that, but I swear it's true. From the moment I walked through the door, I was just like...bam! Smack me if I get annoying, will ya?"

She beamed at him sideways. "Stop."

"I can't. And you don't realize it either, which makes you even more gorgeous."

Lilly's delicate fingers brushed across the top of his hand. "Thank you. That's sweet of you to say." Then, she rested her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

Driving along the Russian River, they rode the rest of the way back in near silence. Quinn wondered if, now that they were out of the confines of the pub and back into the real world, Lilly might have second thoughts about what she'd suggested back at Mulligan's. "You alright?" he asked. "We don't have to do this. We can just sit and talk. I love talking. Talking is one of my favorite—"

"Quinn..."

He glanced over at her, head back, smile spread on her face, neck craned, watching him drive. The picture of relaxation. He could make her relax even more, if she wanted.

"I'm totally good with it. Unless you don't want to."

"Oh, I want to. Trust me. I do." If she only knew how much. "I just—I need you to be completely sober first, Lil. To be sure." He loved the way her skin felt—warm and soft—on his.

"Oh, I'm sure. But if you want to wait until you're sure I'm sober, that's fine. Just keep this in mind. I came looking for you hoping this would happen. My biggest worry was how to get your brother out of the way. And no, I wouldn't have wanted to have both of you at the same time. I see that naughty look on your face."

"Me?" He couldn't contain his smile. He'd never shared a woman with any of his brothers before, nor would he ever, but he loved the saucy way Lilly thought. "You're the one with the filthy mind. Me, I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. You have this permanent mischievous look about you, like a little kid who's been caught polishing off a whole pack of Oreos. Every day, all the time."

"I don't know, Lil. I think you're more mischievous than I am. And well, I do like cookies."

She giggled nervously. "Well, hopefully I can give you something you'll like even more."

"Oh I have no doubt of that." Raising his hand, he kissed her fingers.

For several minutes, the car lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"But um, Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"Just this once...okay?"

He heard it there in her voice—trepidation, the same worry he had over getting too attached. He didn't want to fall in love anymore than she did. He wasn't ready. Maybe soon, but not now, not when he didn't know where his life was headed. "I got you, Lilly. Just one time."

She sighed, and he knew she was satisfied with their decision.

He drove around the last bend toward the bed-and-breakfast all lit up on the roadside like one of those ceramic houses covered in snow in a Christmas display. Just talking and being with Lilly felt normal, natural. He hadn't smiled in almost two weeks, and now, in just one night, she'd made him laugh and flirt like his old self. He couldn't wait to see how else she'd make him feel.

At about midnight, he parked the car, shut the engine, then they crunched over gravel toward a side entrance in the shadows, where Lilly pulled out her key, doing her best to slide it into the lock but having a hard time.

"May I?" Quinn offered to help. Was it the tipsiness again or just her nerves, he wondered?

She handed him the key. "Ooo, a registered guest using the private access door, instead of the public front entrance." She giggled, stumbling over a flower pot, before he caught her. "Aren't you the rebel?"

"You're the one bringing me through the super secret side door. We might have to have a rebellion contest, you know. See who's more disobedient—the cheeky Irish lad or the classy American bird with the hot muffins." He laughed a little too loud, and she shushed him. "Eh, does your mam live here too?" Quinn asked, stepping into a dark hallway on the opposite side of the guest bedrooms.

Lilly closed the door and tugged him by the hand to a narrow staircase. "She does, but she's always in bed by now. Come on up." She started up the dank, carpeted staircase, stumbling over a newspaper sitting halfway up the second set of steps. Quinn wrapped his arms around her hips to keep her steady. In his arms, she felt solid and good, and he liked not having a real excuse to hold onto her but doing it just because she let him.

At the first landing, Lilly turned impatiently and helped Quinn up to her level, and there, in the middle of the stairwell with the moon shining through a tall, thin window, she pressed herself against him, tilting back her chin.

He knew what she wanted but drew it out a bit longer.

"Why, Lilly, this is all so sudden. I don't know how I feel about this," Quinn chided, sliding his hands around her waist underneath her shirt. Her skin burned, as he raked his fingers slightly below the waist of her jeans.

"You love it." She kissed him in the same spot he'd kissed her back at Mulligan's. On the cheek. Her breath sent shivers down his neck.

His eyes closed to relish the sensation. "You're right, I do." Just as he cupped her chin to lower his mouth to hers, she turned away, a playful smile lingering in her eyes. Then, she sprinted up the next flight of stairs to the third floor.

Ah, saucy wench. Quinn chased her, happy to play the game.

When they arrived at a closed darkly-stained wooden door, she turned the knob and let it fly open with a soft squeak. First thing he noticed was how tidy and classic everything appeared, from the wooden furniture to the perfectly made bed with goose-down comforter, to the light orange walls, vases and flowers on the dresser, fireplace, and everything. No tissues on the floor to speak of—a girly place for sure.

"This your flat? Looks like a magazine house."

She held the door open. "Thanks. This is just the room."

"There's more?"

"Lots more. Come on." She kicked off her heels onto the varnished wooden floor and padded barefoot, unwinding her scarf and tossing her purse onto a chair. When she reached double French doors, she slid aside two sheer curtains and popped open the doors. "Et voilà!"

He walked through the open doorway.

A wave of sweetness hit him, as he ventured out onto a grand veranda decked out with lounge chairs, cut-open barrels holding various herbs—everything from basil to sage to rosemary. He didn't know all their names, but he knew it smelled good enough to eat out here. The whole perimeter of the balcony was lined with herbs, and a trellis bordered one end, full of all sorts of flowers. "Whoa, amazing, Lil. What kind of flowers are these?" He rubbed a velvety white bloom between his fingers.

"Hydrangeas," she said, sparking on a handheld lighter and pushing the flaming end into several jars of candles. "There's also jasmine over there and azaleas, gardenias...you probably smelled them when you came out. You like them?"

"Like them? They're fecking amazing. You grow these all yourself?"

"I do. Have a seat. I'll be right back." She whirled away, leaving him alone on the deck with a darkened view of the mountains and a night sky full of stars. What a lovely landscape, and to think that his mother had been familiar with these same skies and smells and nighttime noises. In some ways, maybe she'd returned here in spirit.

So this was California.

Nowhere in the world is the air sweeter, more fragrant than my little home in Forestville, his mother had written in her diary. So long ago. How on Earth could she leave behind such a wondrous place? Once again, the thought came to him—could he live here?

Lilly returned a minute later with two wine glasses in one hand and two bottles in the other. She set everything down on a small wooden table between the lounge chairs. "I didn't know which one you preferred, but they're probably both glorified grape juice to you anyway."

"Ah, sorry about having said that. I should probably watch my tongue a little more closely," he said sheepishly, leaning against the railing and gazing at Lilly. Because of the chilly air, her nipples were slightly hard through her thin T-shirt and wraparound sweater. He did his best to keep his eye contact on her face, though it kept dropping. Hopefully, he would see those before the night was over. Hopefully, he would get to touch them and make her feel good.

"I don't know," she said, pulling an opener from her pocket. "I think I'd like to see more of what that tongue could do." She was reaching for one of the wine bottles when he gently covered her hand with his.

"Did I mention I want you completely sober for what we're about to do?"

She blinked. Licked her lips. "Um, well, yes. But I'm fine. Honestly. I'm sober and I know exactly what I'm doing, Quinn."

He took the opener from her and set it on the table, then placed his hands on her hips. "Well, I'm glad to be hearing that."

"Not that I do this kind of thing a lot," she said quickly. "But there's something about you, Quinn...I feel comfortable talking to you. You're funny, you're sweet, and very, very sexy."

Softly, he kissed the side of her neck. "Why, thank you, Lil. And you're..." He wanted to say perfect. She was perfect in every way, but he knew she just wanted to have one night with him. Keep it fun and simple, Quinn. "Lots of fun to be around."

She smiled and tilted her head back further, exposing more of her smooth, creamy throat to him.

The air's fragrance and the fact that the most gorgeous woman ever to walk the Earth stood inches away, offering herself up to him, transported Quinn to another place and time. Forget the damn wine, the only thing he wanted to get drunk off of was Lilly's lips underneath this remarkable endless sky. He sprinkled kisses along both sides of her neck until she was sighing and he couldn't hold back any longer. As exquisite as her skin was beneath his lips, he needed her mouth.

"Lilly," he whispered.

She righted her head, blinking slowly, face flushed, eyes hungry.

"Kiss me."

Gentle arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him in tight. Finally. Sweet, warm lips melted into a sizzling kiss that sent fire straight down Quinn's belly. Something about their tongues tasting and exploring while surrounded by fresh cool air and new spectacular surroundings made him hyperaware of just how great life was right now.

Quinn broke the kiss a minute later to press his forehead into Lilly's. "Can I just say, thanks?"

"For what?" She bit her shining lip, still wet from their kiss.

"For inviting me here. I feel closer to my roots in some ways. It's breathtaking, almost as breathtaking as you." Swiping his thumb across her jawline, she smiled and lifted her chin to kiss him again.

"My pleasure," she said with an edge to her voice.

He wondered, briefly, if anyone could see them out here, though he didn't see any windows clearly from where they stood, only the barely lit ones from the vineyard and winery house a ways up the road. "Can we stay out here all night?" he asked, doing nothing to hide the mischief in his voice.

"Ah, I see now what you mean about a rebellion contest. Let's see who's badder to the bone," she giggled, taking him by the hand, leading him to the lounge chair. She sat then laid back, guiding Quinn with her. He squeezed into the length of the seat with her, their bodies pressed together, and their kissing grew hotter, messier, more urgent. "There's a chenille blanket," she whispered, sucking on his bottom lip, "behind you in that basket."

His body shifted until his eyes spotted a big wicker basket. Reaching in, he plucked out a fluffy red blanket. "This one? And what shall I do with it, my dear lady?" he asked.

"Want to fulfill a fantasy of mine?" she asked, biting her lip.

Her request made his balls tighten against his body, his heart beat just a little faster. A classy woman—with an edge. "Is it what I'm thinking?"

She tilted her head, as her fingers deftly began unbuttoning his shirt. Her small hand slipped inside and rubbed his chest. All he could do was watch her lustful gaze roaming over his body, take in the sight of her delightful breasts growing swollen and hard with desire. He knew what she would say even before she said it. "Let's sit here all night, under this blanket, and see what happens between us. If you're feeling up to it, that is."

"I'm definitely feeling up to it, woman." He bolted up straight, finished unbuttoning his shirt for her then pulled it open. Her eyes soaked in the sight of his broad chest. It was one thing about his body he always felt pride over, something years of rugby had given him—a tight, wide upper torso most women loved to lay their hands on.

Lilly was no exception. Sitting up, leaning into him, she kissed his chest, her warm lips leaving a trail of kisses down his body toward his stomach. It had been years since he'd made love to anyone in the outdoors. His last girlfriend, Sofia, had gone and moved to Paris last year, and while their sex life had been relatively active, she was a shy and cautious woman who never would have dreamed of doing it outside—that would've been a holy show.

Lilly, however, seemed to relish in making things happen, as she was currently doing by peeling off her sweater then crossing her arms in front of her, in that awesome pose a girl does right before she takes off her shirt, and pulling it up and over her head. He must have looked like a horny schoolboy watching her do it, but she didn't mind one bit. Again, her breasts were the perfect size—not too big, not too small, pushed together with deep, succulent cleavage in her black bra.

"Well?" she said, reaching behind her and unclasping the bra, sliding her arms out, and tossing it to the floor. Her diamond eyes twinkled in the dark, as her beautiful tits hung free in the cool autumn night. "What are you waiting for, Mr. O'Neill? Let's get naked under that blanket."

# Eight

The moment she said those words, it was like the bell signaling the start of a horse race. Quinn wasted no time peeling back the rest of his shirt, standing and unzipping his jeans. The last time she'd seen him this way, he'd hung in the doorway, teasing her. Now she'd get to see what was underneath those jeans. He slid them down slowly, chuckling a moment at his striptease. Then, he pulled his shorts off and stood there like a perfect marble statue.

He'd mentioned having played professional rugby in Ireland, and Lilly could definitely see the results of that. His body was athletic, not over muscled, and there was that wide chest again—strong and perfect for laying her hands and cheek against should she ever fall asleep against it. His skin was lightly olive-toned with soft brown hair lining his chest, converging in a line down his strong abs, ending between his legs. She tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His equipment was long and thick—a lot larger overall than Ben Miller's—with ropy veins and a thick, purple head.

"You're blushing," he said, his voice taking on a deeper edge. "That'll teach you to be careful what you say."

"I'm not scared of you, or any naked man," Lilly mused, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down the length of her slender legs. She left her lacy panties on for good measure, just to have a layer on between them. She was excited and terrified all at once, and the truth was, she was acting more brave than she felt around Quinn. When she motioned for him to lie down alongside her, he did as she asked, taking his time and making a bit of a show, running his hand through his hair and being all Adonis about it.

She laughed. "Just lie down already. It's cold!"

He closed the space between them, and everything was right with the world. Amazing what another warm body next to her could do for a soul, what cold emptiness could melt away just having a stranger there to keep one company. But even as she had the thought, she acknowledged this wasn't just any body making her feel this way; it was Quinn's and the press of his flesh against hers was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

"Is this okay for you?" He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her lips gently.

Lilly nodded, focused solely on his mouth, sucking and drawing in his lips, tasting his delicious kiss. The effects of the beer and wine and jasmine and gardenia scent and his pheromones made her hold onto his shoulders as though he were a life preserver, which wasn't too far from the truth. He was the first man worth talking to and looking at to come through Green Valley in a while, and she would enjoy him while she could.

He groaned softly under his breath, and one of his hands, those hands she'd been watching all night, slid up and massaged her breast. "Beautiful..." he murmured, kissing her neck.

Her head fell back. So...incredibly...hot. His mouth moved down her neck until his lips closed over one of her nipples, hard with anticipation, and a soft moan escaped her. His tongue played with it, sucked and teased it, while his fingers played with the other nipple. She was so wet, he'd probably be able to tell just looking at her panties. He kissed between her breasts, then squeezed them against his face.

"You like that?" she asked, hands in his hair.

"I love it," he breathed. It almost didn't sound like him. He resumed sucking her nipples, and she asked him to do it a bit harder. As much as she wanted to slide her panties right off and mount his hard cock, she held back. They had the whole night ahead of them.

His hands slid down her tummy, then back up between her legs. He pressed two fingers there, on the outside of the cotton fabric, watching her face and her eyes close, as he massaged her clit through the lace.

Jesus.

She wanted him to consume and overwhelm her. She wanted to use him and make him use her at the same time. She pushed his hand away slightly before it became too much, and he looked up, confused, afraid maybe she'd decided to stop. "Lean back, Quinn," she said, and he rested back against the lounge chair cushion on his elbows, as she kneeled in front of him and ran her hands over his crotch. His cock had definitely grown harder since he's undressed, as it laid firm and hot against his belly. She wanted to feel him inside her mouth.

Sliding her burning hot body against his, a sly smile escaped her lips, and suddenly, her fingers curled around his thick cock, nicely-sized, throbbing and inviting. She would treat him to what her lips could do, what she'd spent all day fantasizing over.

His mouth opened, as he gasped for air. "Oh, Lillian..."

"Yes?"

"You're killing me."

"Good."

She left a trail of kisses from his strong chin to his neck, down his chest to one of his nipples. She stopped to suck on one, hearing him moan, while she continued to caress his hard shaft. Lowering one hand, she cupped his balls, testing their weight. His eyes, always so aloof, glazed over with fiery intensity. "You like this?" she asked him.

"Hell, yes."

She loved hearing him say it, felt the power within her to make him feel this way, and smiled. With a good grip on him, she slid her hand up and down over his hot skin, while he took advantage of her proximity and suckled on her tits again. As much as she would've liked to continue stroking him like this, she was dying, too. She needed to taste him and get a feel for him inside of her mouth.

Moving down, she positioned herself between his legs, and taking his cock in one hand, she laid it flat against his belly and came up underneath him, licking his balls and closing her mouth around one.

"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, Lilly." He let out a long moan.

"Three too many there, Quinn." She stroked him while sucking on his balls, sliding her tongue up over his skin to his cock. Finally, she twisted her mouth around the head, feeling the velvety smoothness before taking him in completely, sucking her cheeks tightly around him. She pulled it out with a pop and looked up to see his totally mind-blown face.

"Holy shite..."

She smiled. _You had no idea, did you, Quinn?_ Eyes on his, she slapped him onto her tongue a few times to watch his mind get blown. Then, in one slow fell swoop, she slid her mouth over him, taking in as much of him as she could, pushing his whole cock as deeply as it would go.

His breathing became intense, and she knew she had to pull him out before it was too late. Suddenly, he sat up, almost possessed. "Stand," he said, and she did. She had never gotten commands from anyone before. It was thrilling, sexy as hell, to say the least.

She bit her lip. "Yes, sir."

He hooked his fingers around the sides of her lace panties and slowly pulled them off, down the tops of her thighs until he revealed her most sensitive core. Sucking in a breath, he paused. Was something wrong? "What is it?" she asked, hinged on a whisper.

He smoothed his fingers over her shaved skin then glided two fingers between her lips, causing her to gasp. "Shaved and smooth. Just lovely, Lilly," he said. "And you're so wet." He pulled her panties down to the edge of her heels. "Look at you, all perfectly naked out here where anybody can see you—naughty girl."

Lilly beamed and bit her lip. "Quinn, if you need..." She hoped he had a condom, or she would go and get one for him.

"I've got it," he said, reaching into his jeans and fishing around in his wallet. "Turn around...stay there," he commanded.

_Turn around!_ She could hardly stand it. She did as she was told, her muscles shaking from how much she wanted him. His hands spread over her lower back and ass. She smiled at him over her shoulder in case there was any doubt in his mind that she was enjoying this. He reached over to the other lounge chair and brought back a soft cushion, positioning it in front of her. "Lean down on it," he instructed.

"Oh, my. You're winning the bad boy contest, I think."

"Was there ever any doubt?" He tickled her back playfully.

Again, she did as she was told and quivered with anticipation. Then, she felt him lower his body, and a moment later, his hot tongue slid between the lips of her pussy, hands firmly on her ass. He moved down to her clit, flicked his tongue around it, then sucked on it until she moaned so loudly, she was sure someone nearby would hear her.

"I like that," she said.

"I know." He took it up a notch and slid a finger then another into her sweet folds.

"Oh, God, yeah." _So fucking good._ "Please...don't stop."

"I wasn't planning to," he said, and the tongue onslaught continued. She wanted to come but wasn't ready, and besides, she wanted, more than anything, for him to glide into her and fuck her good and hard.

"Do it," she said.

"What's that?" he asked teasingly. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Fuck me, please," she begged.

"You said you want me to fuck you now?"

"Yes!" she said. "Please, Quinn." She wanted to feel him pounding her. He stood behind her, as she reached back, grabbing his cock and pulled him closer. He took a moment to work the condom over his throbbing cock.

One hand on her waist, the other on his erection, he slowly pushed himself into her wetness, then he grabbed a hold of her hips. He filled her up good, his whole cock pounding into her. _Yes, oh my God..._ With every thrust and pull of her hips toward him, she felt her body tightening, getting ready for sweet release.

God, she loved this. She didn't care if he would be gone in a week. She would enjoy this while she could. There was nowhere she would rather be right now than making love to him in this private paradise overlooking the valley. In fact, as good as it felt doing it this way, she wanted to see him face-to-face. She wanted him to look into her eyes when she came.

She reached back for his hand, forcing him to slow down long enough so she could twist around and lie on her back.

"You want it this way?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. His elbows rested on either side of her, and his face lowered to hers, kissing her over and over sweetly. Her legs tangled with his to lock him in, and together, they formed a knot. He thrust into her harder, and with each time, she felt herself getting closer. "I'm going to come," she told him when the waves were on the edge.

"Me too." Then, she saw it in his eyes—she'd reached through to him. He was at his most vulnerable. He kissed her again, his lips soft, eyes smiling at her adoringly. "I'm ready."

"Do it," she told him, and suddenly, he poured over the edge and into her.

The waves came for her too, concentrating on one, all-encompassing spot, a blinding white pleasure ripping through her. She cried out and held him. His breathing peaked then ceased, then he laid down beside her without another word.

They didn't talk for quite some time, both of them lying there under a happy shower of meteors. Lilly was the most content she'd been in a long time, and she dozed, head in the space between his chest and neck, listening to the heavy sound of his breathing and soft snoring. At some point, she shifted and turned the opposite way, and when the soft light of dawn began creeping underneath her eyelids, she felt the warm fuzziness of the blanket cocooned all around her.

What time it was, she didn't know, but there, on the cushion next to her, were a bunch of pale blue hydrangeas in Quinn's place with a scrap of paper, and on it, a scrawling: _See you later, beautiful woman._

Lilly smiled.

In the kitchen later that morning, she wondered what on Earth she was going to do about Quinn when she next saw him? Would he act as though nothing had happened? Would they get together again? Would she see him every night while he was in Forestville? But most of all, how strong could she be when it was time to part? The inevitable. Sure, it had all seemed like a good idea last night, but damn—he'd been so sweet, so sexy, she wondered now, while scooping muffin batter into tins ready to bake, how would she be able to say goodbye to him when the time came?

Her mother blustered into the kitchen with arms full of grocery bags. "I just ran into Avery Benson at the market," she said, setting paper bags down and giving Lilly a raised eyebrow with the power to make her feel guilty, even though she hadn't done anything wrong.

"And? Who's pregnant?" Lilly tapped the tray of muffin batter on the counter to knock out the air bubbles.

"Every girl in town soon, if they're not careful." Mom took out can after can and stacked them on the counter.

Lilly shot her mother an annoyed glance. "What does that mean?"

"It means...that Avery told me who those O'Neill boys are."

Lilly's stomach sank into her feet.

"They're the sons of Maggie Phillips."

"Who's Maggie Phillips?" Lilly asked even as she remembered Quinn saying his mother hailed from this area, then asking her about the Phillips winery. Last night, Paul had mentioned a Maggie and Grant as they were leaving. But Quinn had denied his mom going by any other name than O'Neill. Had he lied?

"Who's Maggie Phillips? Come on, Lillian, youngest daughter of Richard Phillips, Sr.? Owner of Phillips Vineyard and Winery down the road? The daughter who left town for Ireland when she was barely twenty, and nobody's seen her since? Have you been living under a rock?"

"I—I've never heard of her." And she hadn't. But she was more concerned with the fact that apparently Quinn had lied to her. Why?

"Lillian, you have to have heard me mention her from time to time. She married an Irish man she met down at Mulligan's Tavern, a guy named Grant O'Neill. Those must be her boys staying with us."

Lilly's heart twisted. Okay. So it seemed Maggie and Grant were Quinn's parents. But why was Quinn and Con being here a big deal, even if they were Maggie Phillips's sons? She wasn't sure what the problem was, but her mother, Avery Benson, and the older women in town had a way of making everything seem like a huge problem that needed discussing—probably the biggest reason Lilly felt she needed to take that internship and get the hell out of Forestville. "So what, Mom? His mother died, and he wanted to see where she was from."

Mom looked at Lilly sideways. "Lots of folks were upset when Maggie up and left, Lillian, not just her parents and sisters, but her fiancé too—the one she left behind to get hitched with the Irish guy. Not me, though. I was perfectly happy with it." Mom harrumphed in a way Lilly had learned over the years not to pursue unless she was ready to hear something she didn't like.

"What does that mean? Why the scoff?" Lilly leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. Even though her mom hadn't accused her of anything, didn't even know she had spent the night with Quinn O'Neill, Lillian was already ready to defend him, if necessary. "Why should I care what their mother did thirty, however many years ago?"

"Because..." Mom placed the cans inside of the cabinet a little harder, more angrily than absolutely necessary. "The jilted fiancé of Maggie's was your father—after he dumped me for her—before I took him back again."

# Nine

A familiar ringing sound blared nearby. Nightstand, Quinn thought, as he blindly reached out for his phone. Who the hell was calling him so early? "Filthy bowser..." he mumbled, feeling his way across the bed sheets until he finally grabbed his phone and brought it up to his face to check the time. "One o'clock? What the feck?"

He vaguely recognized the number flashing on the screen as belonging to Brady before the phone stopped ringing and the call clicked over to voicemail. His eyes roved across the gray walls in midday light to the crown molding along the ceiling to the window where a light rain fell outside. For a moment, he wasn't even sure where he was. Knackered, was all he knew.

Must be the jet lag.

Then, he remembered: bed and breakfast...the States...a beautiful, sexy woman who'd blown his mind last night—among other things. "Lilly," he said her name, trying it on for size.

It all came back to him... He'd fallen asleep next to her out on her private deck. Almost as hard as he'd come. When he'd woken, it was still pitch dark outside and he'd ignored the beauty of the stars above them to stare at the beauty beside him. He'd looked at her so long he'd been tempted to kiss her awake—specifically, by burying his face between her luscious thighs—but he'd held back. They had agreed to only one time while driving back from Mulligan's, and he hadn't wanted to make things difficult or awkward for her when she woke up, so he'd let himself out. Now, he seriously regretted it. He didn't have her phone number, but if he did, he would've texted her saying what a great time he had last night, maybe try to tempt her to have another go, maybe even take a pic of himself in his boxers lying suggestively in bed, just to tease her.

What an amazing hideaway that third floor balcony and garden had been. But damn, it was Lilly who was truly amazing. Lilly had been laying low from the moment he'd met her. There she'd been, innocently making muffins, wholesome and pure and talking wine and American football at the pub, and meanwhile, she was a total ride—the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. He should've guessed it after seeing her apron that tempted others to lick the bowl clean.

Aye, he'd have trouble forgetting her.

But he had to.

Last night had been it—one time together, no more. They had a pact to keep.

It took a few minutes, but he realized Con wasn't with him. Must've gone home with that Dara bird after he spent the night giving her the glad eye. Good for him. He'd needed to get laid, if only to get his mind off Mam.

Quinn sat up, threw his legs over the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes. He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and got dressed and ready to head out. He'd probably run into Lilly in the dining room so he brushed his hair and made sure he looked well put together, but not too well to look like he'd done it for her.

A light knock came at his door. Padding over barefoot, he opened it, pleasantly surprised when he saw who was there, all gleaming and working-goddess-like. "Hullo, Lil." How did she keep getting prettier every time he saw her? Today, her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail with a few wisps around her forehead. She wore her Lick the Bowl apron again, flour stains, and a pencil above her right ear. "You look good enough to eat." He opened the door to let her in and brushed off splotches of flour from her sleeve.

"Quinn." There was a drag in her voice. No smile for him this morning either. Bummer. "Can I come in?"

"That's why I'm holding the door wide open." He smiled. She seemed nervous, with the way she was wringing her hands and all, pushing her hair behind her ears. He shouldn't be joking with her now. "Sorry, I mean, of course, you can come in. Are you alright?"

A few steps into the room, Lilly made no pretenses. She looked like a woman with a secret burning a hole into her brain. Her worried gaze landed on his mother's leather-bound journal on his nightstand then back at him. She got straight to the point. "Why did you say you were in town again?"

This was her first thought after the amazing sex they'd had last night?

"My mother passed away almost two weeks ago. She hailed from Green Valley, though my brothers and I, we never knew that until recently. I only have that..." He pointed to the journal, marked about halfway with Post-It Notes. "It was my mother's from when she lived here."

"May I see it?" she asked, moving towards it.

"No." His voice was firm, resolute, and she stopped in her tracks. From the scolded look in her baby blues, he immediately regretted talking to her that way. "I mean, it's personal. Only me and my brothers have looked through it, though I'm the only one who reads it over and over."

"Why? What are you looking for?"

"Clues, hints of who she was before she came to Ireland."

"Why? What difference will it make?"

Quinn sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn't sure what was up with this interrogation, but it seemed important to her. "I don't know that it will. But like I told you last night, I'm at a point in my life where I may or may not leave Dublin, Lil. That's not an easy decision. I need to know what was so special about Forestville that she couldn't even talk about it after she left. I want to know who was the woman who became my mam." He had said too much. Yes, he had shared very special, very intimate times with Lilly last night, but that was no reason to go getting so personal. "Why do you ask?" He turned a fixed gaze on her. He desperately wanted to slide his hand over and link fingers with hers, tell her that he'd had fun last night, but she didn't seem in the right frame of mind.

"Would you read me a bit from the journal then?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

Quinn tilted his head. "You know, I have to say, I'm a bit baffled right now. I thought we'd have things to say to each other about last night, about that awesome finale to a wonderful evening." His eyes searched hers for any clue that the shared connection was still there. It seemed gone. Whatever happened between last night and now, it had wiped the light from her eyes. "Or don't you remember?"

The words reached her heart, seemed to awaken her, if only for a moment. The furrow on her forehead flattened. "Of course I do. It was an amazing night."

"So then, what's the problem?"

She bit her lip and looked away, paced the room, stood at the window to stare outside at the driving rain. "Where's your brother?"

"He hasn't been here. I was going to start calling him, though I'm sure he's fine."

She sighed, softened a bit. "Just a page or two, Quinn? From your mother's journal. Please?"

Something in her eyes. Maybe she'd looked into things. After all, this was a small town, and people talked, and he had called his grandfather prior to coming to tell him he would be here. Word, technically, could have gotten around about him and Con. She probably wanted to know where she stood with him.

He sighed, reaching for the journal, flipping to the last page he'd read from:

"Dear Diary, it was raining again tonight, but I went to Mulligan's Tavern anyway. I went, because it's new, and I heard they'd be having live music and because Gracie told me she would let me drive the scooter she'd won in a sweepstakes around town if I went with her. She was scared of Irish boys, but not me. Yes, they're far out crazy with their whoopin' and hollerin' and they can make a girl feel self-conscious with their obvious stares, but they're sweet and funny and they'll charm the pants off of you.

I would know, because I met one. In town today, visiting just for a week. His name is Grant (second one), and he said he'd be at Mulligan's if I wanted to talk to him some more. That's the real reason I didn't want to go at first, Diary. I didn't want to get in trouble. But it looks like I already am. More later."

Quinn looked up.

Lilly stood by the window, listening intently, mesmerized, gnawing at her fingers. "Is that it?"

"Well, no, there's a whole journal, but you said read a little bit, and now I've gone and done that. Why do you look that way, like the river is rising and flooding the whole of Green Valley? All nervous, as though something's wrong?"

She shrugged, twirled her hand around. "Gracie is Avery's cousin," she said, thinking things through, as though he wasn't even in the room.

Who was Avery?

"Does it say anything in there about another guy? Besides your father, that is?"

"No, not this part. In another entry, she mentions a guy named Ken, but honestly, she doesn't talk about him a whole lot. She only says 'him' or 'the first one' and 'the second one,' almost like she was talking in code, worried someone would read her journal. Probably her dad. My grandfather," Quinn added. "Isn't the most compassionate guy, apparently."

Lilly stared at him, fingertips to her lips. "I've heard that about him."

"You know him?" Quinn asked.

"Not personally, no. I mean, I've seen him around town at barbecues and church, but I've never had the pleasure of speaking with Mr. Phillips."

"My mother's family stopped speaking to her," Quinn said. "An abysmal thing to do, if you ask me."

"Maybe there was a reason they did that," Lilly muttered, lifting one shoulder in knowing indifference.

Did she really just...?

"What good reason could there be, Lil?" Quinn was surprised she would defend his grandfather—all the Phillipses—that way. "What good reason would make a town, your sisters, your parents stop talking to you? It's not like she murdered anyone, for feck's sake. Ah, be gone with it. I thought you'd be more understanding." He didn't know why, but Quinn felt desperately irked right now. What business did Lilly have saying maybe there was good reason for his mam's family to stop communicating with her? Like she knew anything. "Anyway, I need to get dressed and ready for the day." He went back to looking for his shoes and fishing out a pair of socks from his open suitcase.

Lilly brought her hands to her reddened face. "Oh, Quinn, I'm so sorry. I don't know what on Earth came over me. I'm just..." She sank into the armchair by the window and sighed desperately. "Stressed."

Watching her, he dropped his guard slowly. Maybe she was feeling negative after-effects after being with him last night. Maybe she had learned about his mam through the proverbial grapevine and needed to hear the other side of the story. Either way, she really hadn't meant to be offensive or hurtful.

"You know," Quinn said, sinking onto the edge of the bed, "I only came to Forestville, because I wanted to see where my mam grew up, where she roller skated, the bridge where she dangled her feet, the people who helped shape her life. I didn't expect to get judged for it, at least not by anyone who wasn't my own family. But it seems like that's what's happening and I have no idea why. My brothers and I knew her like no one else, and yet we didn't know her at all. I feel tremendous guilt for that, Lil. Knowing my first love, the queen of my heart, is gone, and I can't ask her questions anymore. I just get these pieces left behind that I have to put together myself." Quinn plucked his shoes from beside the bed and started putting them on, sock, sock, then shoe, shoe.

Lilly's gentle hand fell on his shoulder, and his brain suddenly recognized the scent of her skin, and his body came alive the moment she touched him. Memories from last night swarmed into his brain—her naked belly, the one little beauty spot above her navel, her eyes as she was climaxing, the way she arched her back, and her fluttering lashes. "Quinn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I only meant that there are two sides to every story."

"Three, actually. Two sides and the truth," Quinn clarified. "Did you ask your mam about her? Is that why you seem different today? Because listen, I want you to know, as much as I love my mam, as wonderful a person as I know she is and will never be convinced otherwise, and as much as I want to get to know more about my mam by being here, I'm not her. I'm my own person."

"And I get that. I do, because I'm my own person too, Quinn." She crouched and stared into his eyes. Her fingers curled around his. "And I didn't approach my mother, but she said..." She paused, choosing her words carefully.

"Said what?"

She sighed. "She said your mother hurt a lot of people when she left." Releasing his hand, she lifted her fingers and grazed his chin, played with the stubble there, as she tried on a smile for the first time since coming into his room. "But it doesn't matter, because I like you. Tons. What I should have said first was that I really had a great time last night. Thank you for the flowers."

"They were your flowers," he said, even though part of him wanted to ask her more questions about what her mam had said about his mam. But it was a subject that obviously troubled Lilly and besides, he already knew his mother's family had felt betrayed by her leaving.

"Yes, but no one has ever given me any before."

"No one has given you flowers?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could such an amazing, gorgeous, smart woman never have received flowers before? What was wrong with American men? Did they not have eyeballs?

"No. I've only had one serious boyfriend before, and he wasn't too charming," she said with a caustic scoff. "But you—God, I know we said it would only be one night, but..."

"But?" He helped her to a standing position, forearms resting on each other, staring into each other's pained eyes.

"But I really want to spend more time with you. Even if it's just for a short while. Can you handle that?" A small dimple in her lower cheek appeared when she was uncertain, he noticed. He wanted desperately to kiss it.

Tapping the dimpled spot, he smiled. "I think so. Want to have fun as long as we can? Is that the idea?" Actually, that sounded good to him. After last night, he knew that one time seeing her naked wasn't going to be enough.

"Yes." She sighed and leaned into him, pressing her full breasts against his chest. Her arms snaked around his torso. She was warm and smelled like vanilla. "Do you have anywhere to go? Am I distracting you from leaving?"

Her soft breath warmed his chin, and he lowered his face to bite her bottom lip softly. "No, am I distracting you from getting back to work?"

"No. Is your brother going to come back any moment now?"

"I don't know. But guess what? I don't care."

"I don't care either." They fell onto the bed and melted into a hot, sweet long kiss. Her delicate hands explored his hard body and she nudged his shoes off with her feet. "I've always wanted to see how comfortable these beds were," she said, leaning against his pillow and pulling Quinn down on top of her.

He was already excited from just kissing. This was what she did to him. He wanted her, but he had to be careful. Don't fall in love, he thought, even as he kissed her intoxicating lips and pale neck, removing her apron and shirt to reveal soft white skin, aching breasts yearning against his hands, and her pounding heart. Don't do it, he mentally repeated for good measure, even as part of him acknowledged it might already be too late.

# Ten

No, Lilly shouldn't have given in.

Yes, she was supposed to only talk to him.

She had reminded herself over and over while heading to his room that they were not to end up in bed again, but the more she listened to Quinn talk about his mother, Maggie, the more his eyes glistened, the more he read aloud from her diary, the more Lilly felt drawn to him. For a moment there, she'd almost told him that Maggie Phillips had been responsible for the breakup of her parents in the early days, but she'd used every ounce of her soul not to. This man was mourning the loss of his mother. Last thing she wanted to do was tarnish any sparkling thoughts he had of her.

Mom might drive her crazy every now and then, but at least she still had her around. Quinn had lost his forever. Watching him defend his mother, Lilly realized that his heart brimmed with soul, with love. He was a mama's boy, a mother's firstborn, and he missed her.

Something took hold of her.

While last night's encounter had been driven by hardcore passion and desire, today's was gentler. More than anything, she wanted to hold and comfort him, tell him it would be alright. Knowing Quinn for only such a short time, she was still convinced his mother had known how much she was loved—he could be at peace. But it didn't come out with words exactly. Lillian was never good at putting together just the right sentiments, so she showed him by breaking down, cradling his head against her heart, letting him hold her tightly, and giving him the comfort he seemed to desperately need.

She didn't expect anything in return. Quinn had already given her so much. Whenever she was around Quinn, she felt confident, adored, and understood. It seemed that every time she opened her mouth, he stopped whatever he was doing to listen. His eyes focused on her when she spoke. He made her feel like she was the most talented and beautiful woman in the world. She was grateful for the chance to be with him again, determined to enjoy every moment she could with this sweet man before they had to part.

Mellie and Cook would wonder where the hell she'd snuck off to when she'd told them she was only taking a five-minute break (something she normally wouldn't have done until all the muffins, scones, and brioches were done and served), but she hadn't been able to wait another minute to talk to him.

She'd had to hear Quinn's side of the story.

Without meaning to, she was now caught on the loyalty fence with one foot on her mother's side. Quinn's mother had broken apart her mom and dad early on, so Mom wouldn't be too happy knowing her daughter was consorting with the little wench's son. But then there was Quinn. Had they never met up at Mulligan's and gone home together last night, things might be clearer in her mind, but they had, and now she felt a connection to him she couldn't shake. Quinn was a good guy with a good heart.

And damned sexy too.

They made love easily, slowly underneath the sheets, face-to-face, quietly so no one would hear them out in the hall, and truth be told, it was almost as if she'd known him much longer than two days. His body and hands struck a balance between familiarity and discovery. She felt like she was getting to know him while also sensing she'd known him forever. How was that possible? She'd definitely have to be careful not to fall any further for him. Already, his touch and kisses were becoming indelible in her mind, and his hands knew exactly what her body needed, as though she'd shown him herself. But how could he possibly?

Seeing him hovering over her during daylight, he took on a new, crystal-clear aura. Without the slight influence of alcohol and the dreamy canvas of the star-studded night sky, everything about him was vibrant and sharply-defined. His deep brown eyes shone clearly underneath thick brows, his trembling body glistened with a fine mist in the light, and his half-open mouth muttered shiny words about how gorgeous she was, how utterly perfect, how he couldn't resist, and how they should take advantage of every moment they had together while he was here. Because soon—they'll have crossed paths and never see each other again.

This time was much slower, much more about exploring, about touching, raking her fingers down his chest, his stomach, feeling the muscle underneath his skin. She'd never touched a body so taut and athletic before. Bodies like his only appeared on TV, books, or magazines, but now, he was here with her, and she couldn't believe how beautiful he was.

Quinn was fascinated by her, too, though she couldn't understand why. A man like him could have any woman he wanted. She could just imagine Irish women all over the world appearing at his rugby games, waiting afterwards for a chance to give him their numbers, or going home with him to see if he looked just as good outside his uniform as he did in it. And yet, he gazed at her body as though it'd been fashioned by angels. His hands cupped her breasts, and his fingers dug in gently and roved over her form as though molding her out of clay.

She might have even cried, as his head bowed and his cheek brushed hers, as his body rhythmically, deliciously crushed against her. Lilly had no trouble climaxing like she sometimes did when she was alone, which was all the time. With Ben, she'd always had to figure it out herself afterwards. He'd never had the patience to wait for her. The waves rolled right off her and through her, encouraging Quinn to do the same, and he did, spilling into the condom he'd hastily put on then collapsing in an airy sigh. Even the weight of his body felt familiar to her, and her arms wrapped around his warm body as she relished the moment, since she might never feel it again.

I don't want to leave, she thought as she lay in his arms. If I let myself, I'd say to hell with Miami and beg him to stay and take a chance on us. But that was ludicrous, of course. They'd known each other two days. She'd end up regretting it; they both would. Their timing sucked, because as strong as the pull was between them, they both needed to explore and fulfill the passions they had outside of the bedroom first. Who knew? Maybe their paths would cross again and they'd have another chance. If it was meant to happen, it would, right?

Closing her eyes, she took a long breath, blew it out, then said, "I should probably go downstairs before they come looking for me."

Pulling back, he stared into her eyes for a few seconds, then kissed the tip of her nose. "Until we meet again then?"

She smiled. "Hopefully sooner than later."

A minute later, she sat on the edge of the bed, watching him finish getting dressed and tuck his mother's journal under his arm. "I'll look for you later," he said, stroking his finger underneath her chin. "Going to see the bookstore and the flower shop Mam wrote about. Maybe find that bridge she talked about so much, but she didn't exactly leave me a map."

Lilly said nothing. She knew where that bridge was—it had been a special place for Lilly and her father to take morning walks to see the creek—but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to divulge its secrets to Quinn. She nodded, smiling sadly. "Wish I could go with you, but I've work still to do."

"No worries. I need the alone time anyway." They stepped into the hall. He kissed her softly, then headed toward the front door while she headed toward the kitchen. When she glanced back at him, he was turning back a moment to see her too.

They both smiled.

In the early evening, after she'd tended to her garden, Lilly sat at her laptop, trying to remind herself that she'd had a life before Quinn O'Neill came to town. What was it again? Ah, yes, furthering her baking career by entering a contest without her mother and all of Forestville knowing. There was something powerful about having a secret that no one, not even the town's gossip queen, Avery Benson, knew about. As if to remind her, her email chimed, and for once, it wasn't from Bed, Bath, & Beyond, Bath & Body Works, or Williams Sonoma touting its deals of the week. It was from Guy Santoli, head pastry chef of L'Appetite Boulange:

Mio caro, Lilly!

We are delighted to welcome you into our boulangerie and pâtisserie family! My assistant, Lola, will be setting you up with accommodations in a lovely Brickell apartment in beautiful Miami, Florida and sending you pertinent information for your residency. Please come ready on October 16th to pour your heart and soul into this wonderful opportunity. I was delighted with your baked treats and cannot wait to meet you in person! If you have any questions, do not hesitate to call L'Appetite Boulange at (305) 555-9270.

See you soon!

Guy Santoli

"Oh, my God. It's really happening," Lilly muttered at the bright screen. She'd be leaving in less than three weeks. It was truly a moral imperative that she break the news to her mother, so she could find a baking replacement in time, but oh, my God—she was going!

She stood and danced a little jig around the room, but no sooner did she feel like running out of the building to tell Quinn about the email did she slowly sink onto her comforter like a deflated balloon. How ironic was it, that the moment she got a call giving her the wonderful news, no sooner did she receive an email welcoming her to Guy Santoli's inner circle, than a wonderful man strolled into town—one who might actually be perfect for her.

It was cruel and unfair timing.

Which only made her want to take advantage of her sparse time with him even more. While half her brain nagged that it might not be the best decision—God forbid you fall for him right before you have to leave him—the other half said things like, Fuck it. Go have fun with him while you can!

Before she could change her mind, she changed into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, slunk her arms into a nice, comfy wool sweater and bounded downstairs. Quinn had said he was going to drive around town visiting places his "mam" had mentioned in her diary, but when she pressed her nose against the stairwell window, craning her neck for a view of the parking lot, she saw his rental car was back.

Downstairs, she knocked on his door and waited. She knocked again, thinking how much her mother would kill her if she saw Lilly disturbing the guests, especially these guests. There was a groan and a shuffling noise, and then the door clicked open, and holy hell, Quinn's brother, Con, was gorgeous in his own lanky, green-eyed, bare-chested right. If she were a saucier woman, she'd have thrown caution to the wind and taken them both.

"So you've settled on the better-looking brother, have you? Finally came to your senses." Con raised one arm against the door frame and yawned into his bicep.

"I'm...uh...so sorry to disturb you. I thought maybe Quinn was here," Lilly said, averting her eyes to gaze down the hallway then discovering that her eyes had a mind of their own, as they sprung back to Con, standing there in his boxers and nothing else. Obviously he had a bit less modesty than his older brother when it came to answering his door, but didn't these Irish boys ever sleep naked? Wouldn't it be nice if they ever answered the door full monty?

"Sweetheart, I'm already disturbed, so no worries there, and...my brother, eh?" Con raised his brows and nodded cheekily. "So you prefer boring, wimpy men then. It's alright, Lilly. Your secret's safe with me." He smiled a rascally grin that reminded her of Han Solo from all the Star Wars movies her father used to make her watch when she was little.

When Quinn had read from his mother's journal, and then mentioned Ken, her father, her eyeballs had almost popped out. Yet she'd failed to say anything, not only to protect Quinn from knowing what Lilly's mother thought of Maggie Phillips stealing her man, but also to protect her memories of her father. She could only imagine what Quinn's mom might have said in her journal to justify throwing Lilly's father over for Grant O'Neill. Truthfully, she didn't have to imagine too hard. Her father hadn't been overly passionate or funny or adventurous. He'd been on the nerdy side, no doubt about it. But Lilly and her mother hadn't cared. Because while her father had often been serious and quiet and socially awkward, he'd also been warm and giving and tried to show them everyday how much they were loved. Yet now, Lilly had to admit, she'd always sensed on some level that her father had been waiting for something, or someone, to return. She'd dismissed the feeling as nonsense, but knowing what she did now, she could see how her mother, sensing that same thing, would have been cut to the bone.

"Lil?"

The sound of Con's voice startled her back to the present. "Sorry. It's just, Quinn mentioned a few spots he planned on visiting but I saw your rental car. Do you know where he went?"

Con studied her more intently, as if he could draw out the truth of Lilly's feelings for his brother with the strength of his mind. Then his expression cleared and he was back to being his laid-back self. "Probably brooding in a corner or skulking somewhere. I'm sure if you play a violin loud enough, he might find his way to you." Con yawned again and tapped the door frame. "I really have to get back to bed, though. I'm bushed. You're still in time to change your mind. Oh! And this might belong to you..." He ambled over to the nightstand, plucked something off, and handed her a tiny silver hooped earring.

She felt both ears and indeed found one earring to be missing. Her ears also felt warm and flushed. "Wow, thanks. That's not embarrassing at all." She laughed nervously.

"No worries. See you later, Lil." He flashed a sexy smile then closed the door.

"Jesus," Lilly muttered under her breath and headed to the living room. One sweeping glance around confirmed the Delfinos sitting on a couch by the bay window and a gay couple from Phoenix sharing tea across from them. She waved at everyone then retreated to the kitchen. Doing her best to blend in, evade Mellie's questions and act like she wasn't doing anything special, she packed her small picnic basket, a couple of lemonades from their guest fridge, and headed out, wondering, briefly, if Quinn would even be happy to see her if she were to run into him.

Finding him was easy. He was sitting on the front stoop, reading his mother's journal. "Hey!" Lilly said breezily, as though she hadn't been looking for him everywhere.

He looked up, pleasantly surprised. "How's the craic?"

"The craic is great! How's your craic? I mean..."

Quinn stood, gazed down at her, and for a moment, her stomach flipped, thinking he wasn't going to acknowledge their history, as brief as it was. But he smiled, whipped her into a long hug that felt both intimately breathtaking and comforting at the same time, and whispered, "Been thinking about you."

Relief washed through her. He wasn't going to pretend they hadn't made love twice.

That deserved a reward. She squeezed his arm with her free hand, then pulled away enough to look into his eyes with the dark, long lashes. Damn him for having prettier lashes than her. "Been thinking about you too. In fact..." She hesitated. She was about to share one of her secret, most favorite spots with him. "Did you find the bridge?"

"The bridge?"

"Yeah, the one your mom wrote about. You were going to look for it today," she reminded him.

"Oh, no, I didn't. You'd think a bridge over a river would be easy to find, but no go."

"That's because it's over a creek," Lilly said.

He cocked his head at her. "You know where it is?"

She nodded. "I can show it to you now...if you want."

His face seemed to progress from stunned, to happily surprised, to wonder and joy. "That would be amazing. Is that picnic basket coming with us?"

"Indeed, it is," she said, sauntering down the steps toward her car, parked on the street.

He followed her like an excited puppy. "Why didn't you tell me about the bridge before I spent an entire day looking for it?"

Lilly looked back at him over her shoulder. "I wanted to make you work for it." She smiled, not telling him the truth—that something had made her hold back. Something that had since gone away. She'd made love to this man twice now and things felt different. He wasn't going to snow her. The deed had been done, and he was still interested in her.

"Ah, so that's how it is," he laughed. "Alright...alright."

Climbing into her Honda Fit, they pulled out and drove off toward an area she hadn't been to since before her father died. Going to Langley Creek would open up some fresh wounds. The drive only took about five minutes, but she had to drive off-road, over gravel patches, and through a tunnel of trees. She stopped, cut the engine, and stared ahead at the small wooden bridge spanning across a small river valley. "That's it right there," she said, watching Quinn's eyes light up. "The bridge your mom dangled her feet over."

Slowly, he got out of the car and closed the door, his eyes on the old bridge. "How do you figure?"

"Well, there's only a handful of bridges in Forestville. One is half rotted, two are for car traffic, and this one—this is the only secluded one, the kind a kid might come to if she wanted to be alone." Lilly stared out at the bridge, remembering the picnics she shared with her father here. She'd often wanted to ask him why he'd looked so sad, but somehow felt it wasn't for her to know. So she'd just twirled and pranced and acted goofy just to make him smile, and that had been enough. "My dad and I...we used to come out here," she confessed. "It was one of his favorite spots. And now that I think about it...that makes sense."

"What does? What makes sense?" Quinn asked, beginning a slow walk toward the bridge, the closer end of which was shrouded in the heavy shadows of two large oak trees.

He still had no idea that his mother and her father used to be boyfriend and girlfriend—lovers. He had no idea his mother had split up her parents before they were married, that her father might have brought her here because he remembered good times with Maggie, before she left him and ran off with that O'Neill boy from Dublin. Lilly wasn't sure she was the right person to tell him either.

"Nothing," she said, stepping onto the bridge, hearing it crackle and creak underneath their weight. "Just that all the town kids have spent time here at some point in their lives." She walked halfway over the creek and sat, dangling her legs over the roped-off edge. "See? The perfect place for dangling."

Quinn followed suit and slid his legs off of the edge of the bridge. They faced a beautiful sunset that illuminated the sky in a miasmic swirl of pinks, oranges, and purples. "I can't believe I'm here. Wow...it's not the Pacific, but it's something," he said, resting his arms against the taut ropes. He cast watery eyes on her and gave her a reaffirming nod. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Quinn," she said and turned to watch the sun fall slowly in the sky. "You want to see the Pacific?"

He nodded. "I know it seems odd, given I'm from Ireland and have seen plenty of water."

"Or maybe it seems perfectly right. That an Irish boy who'd even consider putting down roots in America for even the shortest of times would still want that soulful connection to the water."

He stared at her as if she'd just unveiled the secrets of the universe. "I hadn't consciously thought of it that way, but you're right. I want to see what the world outside of Ireland has to offer, yet I want a bit of familiarity, too. Maybe that's why being here feels a little like being home. Maybe that's why Mam was able to settle in Ireland so easily."

She nodded. "Makes sense. So you'd visit the water often then?"

"Not as much as Con, but one of my favorite places was about forty minutes from Dublin, a pretty little fishing village by the name of Howth that had amazing views of the Irish Sea. I'd take the DART, walk the pier out to the lighthouse, explore St. Mary's Abbey above the village. On Sunday, the town held a farmer's market, and I'd buy produce for The Cranky Yankee."

She laughed with delight. "Your family restaurant?"

He nodded.

"So you helped run it?"

"After my father died, yes. About two years before Mam passed." He stared out at the creek, a sudden faraway look in his gaze, and she knew grief had taken hold of him again.

Reaching out, she took his hand. "I'm sorry. Losing both your parents so soon. It can't be easy."

He smiled, lifted her hand to kiss it the way he'd done the night before, then released it. "No. Not easy. But the truth is, my family's suffered quite a few tragedies in Dublin. That's why I think it will do all of us good, my three other brothers included, to get away for a while."

She blinked. "But you said you're only planning on staying a week. I mean, I know you said you might stay on longer but are your other brothers planning on joining you at some point?"

"It's more that I'm hoping they will. You see, Brady, Sean and Riley are more tied to Dublin, and are needing a bit of convincing to leave, even for a brief time. That's partially why I'm here. To get the lay of the land, and determine if this is what Mam would have really wanted. To come back here. Home to Green Valley."

"Sorry. I'm not following."

"Based on what I've read of Mam's journal, I want to spread part of her ashes here in Green Valley. Despite some reluctance on their part, my brothers will come around to that, provided I'm sure, after seeing this place, that it's what Mam would have wanted."

"And what do you think so far?"

"I think she would. I'm not as spiritual as Con, but even I can feel her here. And Con's said the same thing. This is where she'd want to be, and we all want to do right by her."

"You will, Quinn. I've no doubt of that."

He smiled. Then, clearly feeling overcome with emotion and needing to get the conversation back on safer territory, he gestured to the basket she'd brought with her. "Planning to seduce me with more of your sweets, Lil? Because I assure you, it's not necessary. I'm already at your mercy."

God, how she wished that were true. "Okay," she said, picking up the basket. "I'll just take this back and—"

He snatched the basket away from her. "Now, now. Let's not be hasty. I said it wasn't necessary, but it's certainly most appreciated. Seems I'm always hungry around you."

His comment had its intended effect, making her shiver with desire, but she forced herself to say, "Let's eat before it gets too dark."

Opening her basket, she offered him a variety of leftovers from their kitchen, still mostly fresh, and he delighted in eating them but only if Lilly fed them to him—first with her hands, then using only her mouth. When she tried passing a slice of dilled cucumber using only her lips, he took it but it fumbled and fell to the planks.

"Agh, see what a mess you made? Let me get that," he said, eyeing her chin. "You have a cucumber seed right there." And then his tongue was sliding slowly across her chin, as he lapped up the seed, if in fact there was even a seed. She rather hoped he was only making that up so he could run his tongue across her.

Either way, it blazed a trail across her skin that lit her up inside. It was amazing what this man could do to her, the electricity that would spark across her arms and legs and down into her belly. All these years, she'd come here with her father, but now, the bridge had new meaning—she was here with Quinn, a man on a mission to know his mother—and because of Lilly, he was one step closer to that goal.

Suddenly, the massive arms embracing her in the kiss gripped and moved her toward the edge of the bridge in a quick but controlled way, though luckily, she caught a glimpse of his smartass smile, and she realized he was only playing with her. She shrieked anyway. "Quinn! Oh, my God! Don't do that!"

He laughed and pulled her back to safety, laying her against the planks, and hovering over her. "I would never let you fall for real, Lil," he whispered, lowering his face, kissing her gently in the cooling autumn evening air. Because of the kisses that followed, because of thoughts that she might not ever find a man as playful, sexy, or sweet as this in Miami, she missed the critical moment when the fiery ball of sunset disappeared below the valley's hills.

"What are you doing to me?" Quinn asked between gasping soft breaths.

She held his face, watching the way his lips moved when he spoke, feeling her heart crunch when he said it, and knowing, fully well without a doubt, that she would not come out of this unscathed. She was falling and falling hard. "I was about to ask you the same."

# Eleven

He wasn't being careful.

Though he'd told himself many times not to let things with Lilly go past a certain point, Quinn was letting it go past a certain point. And God knew he wasn't ready. He wasn't.

He needed to figure out whether to return to Dublin, explore places still unseen, or listen to his gut, which was telling him with every hour that passed that Green Valley was his home every bit as much as it had been his mam's. Something about the place called to him, made him want to settle in and explore everything it had to offer, and after he did a bit more of that, he was hoping his brothers joined them to spread Mam's ashes, but also just to experience the area's beauty for themselves. Knowing Con already felt the power of this place and went wherever the wind blew him anyway, Quinn had no doubt he'd agree to stay longer. Brady might appreciate a relocation since his world had fallen apart, and the twins might be open to a long holiday here at the very least.

How fantastic would that be if they all came and stayed awhile?

It would make him happy, but of course, things wouldn't be perfect.

Not without Lilly here.

Before they'd left Langley Bridge, she'd told him about the wonderful opportunity she had to intern with a famous pastry chef in Miami. Her excitement had been palpable, even as she'd worried about how her mother would take the news. Quinn had hugged her until she'd squealed, overjoyed with happiness for her, but he couldn't deny he'd felt a twinge of inexplicable sadness, as well.

It was already his fourth day here in California, and he still needed a roadmap to navigate the choppy waters of his uncertainty. Had part of him actually thought he and Lilly might have a future together? Rubbish. The last thing a bloke in his position ought to be doing was getting involved with a woman. Especially one leaving so soon.

And yet—he couldn't keep his distance. Not when failing to do so meant more times like yesterday, making love in the morning, then sitting together on the bridge over the creek, talking quietly and feeding one another.

This morning, instead of heading out immediately to do more exploring—hell, he hadn't even seen the house his mother grew up in—he'd stayed in, hoping to get some more time with Lilly. If that wasn't a sign he was headed for disaster, he didn't know what was. No sooner did he have the thought than Lilly found him in the living room. She was trying to restrain herself, but he could tell she was virtually vibrating with excitement, something having to do with the secretive smile on her lips.

"There you are. If you're not doing anything today, then go pack a bag. Your brother too."

He should've put the brakes on right there. He should've said he already had plans, and those plans didn't—couldn't—include her, but he didn't. How could he? She was so excited by whatever it was she was scheming, that he hated to disappoint her.

And so, he went and fetched Con, who'd apparently fought with Dara the night before, and had yet to get out of bed. "Let's go, maggot."

"You're the maggot."

"You are, sleeping all day in your maggoty bed."

"Same bed you slept in, you dry shite," Con said with the enthusiasm of a sloth.

"Lilly wants to take us somewhere." Quinn ripped the comforter off his stupid ass brother and gave him a playful shove.

"Feck off, ya bugger." But eventually, Con did sit up, look around and brush the sleep from his eyes, and within half an hour, they'd packed an overnight bag, as Lilly had instructed, and met her outside by her car, sun shades drawn tightly over their eyes. "Will this involve thinking?" Con yawned.

"Not really," Lilly said.

"Walking?"

"Not unless you care to walk to the ocean from here, or on the beach when we get there," Lilly said brightly, throwing her bag into the car, along with a small cooler full of drinks into the trunk.

"Ocean?" Quinn narrowed his eyes in the morning sun, early fog burning away, giving way to a beautiful, wine country day.

"The Pacific. You said you wanted to see it." Lilly smiled, relishing the astonishment on his face, because how could he not be astonished? This woman had everything—brains, talent, astounding beauty, compassion, and she knew how to pack a picnic basket, and she listened to every word he said. That was way more than he could say about Rita, a woman he'd dated steadily back in Dublin and who'd loved the sound of her own voice, that was for sure.

It was a short trip, only thirty minutes to the shore, but when they arrived in Jenner, a small coastal town at the mouth of the Russian River, Quinn's eyes gravitated toward the majesty of the wide open ocean. The car stopped short of a rocky cliff, and everyone climbed out with mixed sighs of awe and wonder. The salt, the breeze, and cool air all hit him.

"Holy..." Con murmured next to him.

It wasn't so much that the ocean was wide and all-encompassing, it was more the feeling of insignificance that struck him more than anything. He was nothing, just a speck of meat and bones living on a big rock, which was really a tiny pebble in the vast universe. He tried to make sense of things, but in the grand, overall view, he was nothing. They were all nothing—a tiny collection of cells. His heart could quit on him this very moment, but this ocean would keep roiling and churning, frothing and crying its salty tears against the rocks below forever.

"You're speechless," Lilly spoke quietly behind his shoulder. Her hand came up and rested on the middle of his back. It felt wonderful to have her hands on him. Even Con had nothing to say, but a smile, when Lilly returned to the car, saying. "I'll go get the blanket."

"Mistress of picnics, that's what you are. You should have your own television show." Quinn winked after her, then noticed the look his brother was giving him. "What?"

He watched her sashay away in tight leggings that hugged the curves of her hips and ass. God, he wished he could flip her over on this sandy cliff and lay his head right on that thing, if it weren't for Con tagging along.

They spent the morning and afternoon lying on the blanket, talking about anything and everything. It'd been a hell of a long time since his last vacation, probably five years during a break in rugby season when he and Rita had gone to Manchester for a few days to visit her family. It had felt like a vacation then, since he never went anywhere, but thinking back, it was just a blip. But this—this was true bliss.

Resting his head on Lilly's flat belly, as she sat up on her elbows and tossed blueberries into his open mouth, he realized his brother hadn't said much since they'd arrived. Con was a free spirit who loved his yoga in spite of the razzing of his brothers, who drank fancy teas, and who loved hiking and romps with nature. For all of that, he had a sharp mind and glib tongue. He could win any argument just by outlasting his opponent, and he was a natural when it came to smooth-talking the ladies. The ocean, however, had silenced him, only not in the worrisome way his grief had of late. Granted, Quinn had known his brother was drawn to the water, but he'd never spent much time with him by the ocean. He'd never seen Con so mesmerized by anything in his life.

Quinn could almost convince himself that he and Lilly were alone here and to his amazement, as if reading his mind, Con got up and began walking along the edge of the shore.

Who knew the lad could be so damn thoughtful.

"Alone at last," he growled to Lilly, who giggled, but there was a shadow in her eyes that didn't belong there given the beauty of their surroundings.

"What's troubling you, Lil?"

She looked startled, as if not quite believing he'd read her emotions so accurately. "I was just thinking about my internship. Four days have passed since I got the news and my mother still doesn't know anything. I don't know why I'm so stinkin' scared of facing her."

"You need to be assertive, Lil. You're what—twenty-two, twenty-three?"

She smirked playfully and tugged on his hair. "Twenty-seven."

"Eh, ya, you definitely need to say fuck it, and do what you want, say what you want, like you do with me." Giving her a roguish smile, he braced himself for another smack on the head. This woman loved to smack him, not that he minded.

"That's easy for you to say, Quinn. Your mom didn't have an iron fist. Yours told you to go live a life, fly and be free. Not my mom. You have four brothers to carry on your parents' name, but my mom and dad only had me. They put all their eggs in my basket, so to speak. If I don't take over the bed-and-breakfast, who will?"

"I see what you mean," he said, trying to be supportive.

"But you're right, I need to tell her soon. I have no choice. My biggest fear, though, is what if I decide to be selfish and hurt my mom, and in the end I don't succeed? What if I get all the way out to Miami and find out it was all a fluke? That my audition muffins were a one-time deal, that I can't recreate the same brilliance again?"

"Lilly, Lilly," he interrupted her. "That's bullshit, and you know it," Quinn told her. She was looking for excuses not to succeed. "Stop living the life your mam wants for you, and start living your own."

"Strong words coming from the man who doesn't know where he's going from here," Lilly cooed.

Ouch. He tightened up at her words, but she was right, and he couldn't blame her for making that connection. Lilly had one up on him in that she knew where she was headed. Her life was planned out for the time being, whereas him? Nothing. He needed direction, and he needed it soon.

"Is he okay?" Lilly asked, looking at Con who was down the beach some ways, now sitting cross-legged and staring out at the ocean as if in a meditative state.

"Con's fine, Lil. And you're right, I don't know for sure where I'm headed from here, but once I do know what I want, you can be damn sure I won't let anyone stop me from getting it."

"But what if, Quinn," Lilly continued with her fearful talk. "Once I tell my mother, once I hurt her by leaving, there's no going back. The damage is done. What if I finish the internship, open my business, and discover that I can't handle the orders? Like, what if I get too many?"

Quinn rolled his eyes. "Lil, do you hear yourself? You're scared you'll be so successful, you won't know what to do? For crikey's sake, you cross that bridge when you get there. If—when—you get to that point, because you will, because your sweets, muffins, and what not, they're fantastic. If you get to that point, you hire help. Eventually, you want to get to the point where you're not the only one baking all the damned time. You've taught someone else how to recreate them the same, exact way you make them, and then you can walk away, go on vacation, see the world, whatever. But you'll know that your muffins are being made exactly the way you like them."

"Nobody can make them like I can," she said not-so-humbly with an air of mock importance. "At least, I like telling myself that."

"Sweetheart..." He shook his head. He'd tried telling his father the same thing about The Cranky Yankee. "You know why most small businesses fail? Because owners become managers, bakers, doers of everything. They refuse to give up control, and before they know it, they're exhausted while everyone else is on vacation, and they can't figure out why. Trust me, coming from someone who saw it in my mam and dad every day...train others to work for you. They make your lovely products exactly the same way you make them. And poof—you're free to live."

"Is that how you do it?" she said in a mocking tone.

"Yeah, that's how you do it."

She stared out at the waves a bit, seeming to think about what he'd said. "Have you given more thought to what you want to do next? And where?" she asked suddenly.

"Haven't figured that out yet. Some type of business, I'm sure." He paused, thinking about really, truly living in Forestville. Could he do it? So far, everything he'd seen was peaceful, beautiful, charming, calm—a world of difference from bustling Dublin, but then again, he'd always wanted to move to the countryside to raise a family...some day, that is. He just never considered America before Mam passed. Besides, Green Valley was a hop, skip, and a jump from big city living.

"What are you thinking?" Lillian's soft question didn't bother him. It was just that he had no answers.

Honestly, he thought of how he had absolutely nothing to offer Lilly right now, even if they ever considered staying together. He needed to become stable, though Quinn always had a great way of rising to the occasion when he was called to it. He may be standing at a crossroads now, but he wouldn't be for long. Whatever he did, he'd be successful at it. He wasn't worried about that. It was knowing that Lilly needed to chase after her own success and was scared to do it that worried him. It was thinking about what might be possible between them, if only he was more settled, that made him sad. Even if he was ready to settle in Green Valley today, he had very little save for his proceeds from the restaurant and his mam's life insurance money, which would be split five ways, but even that would run out after a couple of months. She deserved way more than that.

"I'm thinking how grand it is that you have this opportunity all laid out for you, how you have your niche, you know? Last thing you need is getting tangled up with the likes of me." He sat up suddenly, cross-legged, resting his elbows on his knees. He was getting entirely too comfortable around Lilly, even thinking about what if they were together.

Even through his peripheral vision, he spotted Lillian's drawn eyebrows. "What's the matter?"

"With what," he stated, more than asked. He kept his eyes focused on the water. Below them, surfers tackled waves, sitting around in groups, talking, enjoying the afternoon. Keep a safe distance, Quinn.

"I don't know. You just sat up like you were mad or something."

"I'm not mad." He gave her a gratuitous flash of smile. "I'm good."

They were silent for a short time after that, and she reached for a bottle of wine and some glasses, as if to look busy. He hated making her feel like something was wrong between them, but he wasn't stupid either. In the short time they'd known each other, they'd gotten close. He was strongly drawn to Lilly, and he knew she felt the same way. Despite their agreement to live only for the moment, every moment they spent together increased the hold each had on the other. If he didn't put up his defenses quickly, he'd be breaking her heart and possibly his own, and another heartbreak right now was more than he could handle.

"You must be really looking forward to Miami, huh? Beaches and tanned bodies and lots of culture, so I hear. You're going to be a big success out there," he said, doing his best to keep the conversation focused on the positive—the future.

"Quinn?" she said softly, abandoning the wine and glasses to crawl up to him and sit cross-legged beside him.

"Hmm?"

"Are you pushing me away right now?"

Women and their emotional radars. "What? Why do you say that?"

"Because that's how it felt just now. One moment, you were resting on top of me and we were having a nice conversation, and then the minute I asked you what your plans were, you sort of freaked out."

"I have not freaked out."

Just then, Con approached.

"Con, have I freaked out?" Quinn called to his brother ten feet away, even though he couldn't possibly know what Quinn was talking about.

"You know what would be cool?" Con said. "Opening a surf shop out here. Maybe giving lessons."

What the hell? Quinn knew Con had gone on surfing runs before. There were great beaches in Ireland for it in Donegal, Sligo, Clare, and Kerry, all places Con had wandered to at some point. But what did he know about opening a shop, even though it was one of his mam's crazy journal ideas. Mam definitely wasn't the only dreamer in the family.

He opened up his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—when Con wandered away again murmuring to himself. With a sigh, he looked at Lilly, who had stood and was packing up the wine and glasses she'd only just pulled out.

"What are you doing, Lil?"

She shrugged. "Giving you what you want. Some distance between us, right?"

When he said nothing to deny it, she nodded. "Alright. Then, I guess I'll go get the bonfire stuff."

He watched her walk away and just as he'd always thought it would, the sight shot a wicked pain through him. "Hey, Lil. I wasn't pushing you away," he said, standing and following her, knowing he was lying but not knowing how to explain what he'd been thinking without entangling them even deeper in an already complicated emotional web. "I really, truly just wanted to hear more about your Miami plans. I'm excited for you, because I don't have anything like that going for me. You understand that, right?"

When she reached the car, she pushed her back against the side door. "Yes, of course. I just felt for a second there that you were keeping your distance. But I get it, Quinn. I do. We said we'd only have one night together, then we broke that rule. Then, we spent half the day together yesterday, and now we're together again. My fault, I know, for dragging you out here, but—"

"Hey. You did not drag me out here. I wanted to come." He took her hands and watched her blue eyes read his face for sincerity. "I've loved every second I've spent with you, but you know this isn't easy what we're doing. Well...at least it's not for me."

"You think it's easy for me?" Her eyes widened, her face full of surprise. "Quinn, I don't just entertain every man who comes to town, if that's what you're thinking. I'm not used to loving and leaving, hitting then quitting..."

"That was not what I was suggesting, Lil. I'm just saying I can only speak for myself."

"Because I don't," she went on, her hands a flurry of defensiveness. "I rarely see any men living out there."

"I see," Quinn said, "so you were attracted to me, not because you were drawn to my irresistible charms, but because I was one of the only men you ever see? Great, now I feel better." Simultaneously, he scoffed and laughed.

"No. Ugh!" She dropped his hands, popped the trunk, and went to work pulling out the lighter fluid, a bag of firewood from the bed-and-breakfast, and some paper for kindling. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Quinn," she said, whirling around to face him. "You are amazing, and I'm having the best time getting to know you. I feel like I'm drawn to you. If that weren't true, I wouldn't have to..." She stopped, mumbling something to herself.

"Wouldn't have to what?" He helped her with the firewood, stacking it all against his chest.

"Nothing, forget I said anything. Let's just have a good time, can we? I rented a room just down the cliff over there." She pointed toward a small hotel down the road. "We can make the bonfire, get sloshed if we want to, and just..." She turned to him with a glassy look in her eyes. "And just keep enjoying our time together. Can we?"

"Yes," he said definitively, putting the wood on the ground, so he could take her hands and fix her windy hair behind her ears. "Yes, of course we can. I would love that very much." It was true. He wasn't saying it just to appease her. He really loved the idea of another night together.

He just worried. For so many reasons.

That he would get wrapped up in a relationship when he wasn't ready was one. That now Lilly seemed to think he wanted no strings attached from the way he'd acted, when nothing could be further from the truth was two, and three—if he didn't hurry up and decide what he wanted to do with his life from this moment forward, he might lose an amazing opportunity with this wonderful woman, and losing out on life's opportunities was not something he ever wanted to experience again.

# Twelve

Much later, even after their bonfire dinner was over, Con still wasn't ready to leave. In his meditative state, he wanted to stay out all night, staring at the ocean, so Quinn took the blankets, wrapped one around his brother, wadded another one into a pillow for him, and threw some more kindling into the fire to keep him warm. "Call me if you need anything, maggot."

Lilly agreed to leave her car with Con, in case he needed it. Then she and Quinn walked down the road to the rented cottage on the cliff.

Checking into a small room facing the ocean, Lilly thanked her lucky stars for knowing other proprietors of bed-and-breakfasts in the area. She'd always wanted to stay here at the Whispering Winn, and the first thing she did was open up the wooden shutters facing the black of night and water. A cold wind blew in, prompting Quinn to start a fire in the fireplace, and before long, they were wrapped up on a rug before it.

Lilly would have been fine with sharing the room with Con and Quinn, with the three of them falling asleep, no hanky panky, no nothing, just three people sharing a room overnight, but now that they were alone, the night became all the more magical. Maybe it was because of their near-argument back on the beach, because stress was piling on them, or because they both seemed to be feeling the effects of the ticking clock, but Quinn was hell-bent on focusing on her.

Drawing her in.

Tasting her, feeling her.

She knew he wanted to explore everything her body and mind had to offer before he no longer had it. Laying on her back, she watched him slide down the length of her torso, kissing every inch of her, even breathing in the scent of her bonfire smoke-tinged skin. She knew where he was headed, and she did nothing to stop him.

Ben rarely went down on her, and even when he had, he hadn't known what to do when he was there, only licking her with the same rhythm over and over, as if that was all it would take. But Quinn relished the gifts her body had to offer, made himself at home between her legs, inhaled her scent, varied his movements, some fast, some slow, dark eyes glancing up at her every so often, so he could gauge what she responded to, what she liked, and what he still had to do to get her there.

He used his fingers, achingly slow at first, then faster while changing the degrees of intensity in the way he licked her, devouring her like a starving man presented with some rare fruit until the sensations built slowly, and her legs tightened. He never gave up until he'd brought her to that pinnacle, and even after she came in rolling waves more powerful than the ones outside the open window, he stayed there, softly kissing her and laying his head against her thigh.

She could have drifted into sleep for the rest of the night, but she wanted him to feel good too. "What can I do for you?" she asked sleepily, groggily, in a foggy stupor of happiness.

He crawled up between her legs and kissed her softly. "You've already done enough."

As sweet as he was, as much as she knew he would have given up a chance to orgasm just so she could fall away in peaceful slumber, she retrieved a condom and slid it on him. Then she wrapped her legs around him and drew him in, using her hands to pull his hips into her. She let him slide into her, love her, pound her, fast and strong, so he could finish on the hardest, highest note possible, and right when she gave him a smile—a sincere, I can't believe you're real smile—he lost it and came.

And that's when it happened. Undeniably. Unequivocally. It didn't matter that they'd only known each other a few days. It didn't matter that she'd fought it or that they'd soon be parting.

She fell in love with Quinn O'Neill.

Lilly had loved before, but not like this. It scared her suddenly, the fear snaking around her like the Pacific wind filtering in through the windows, but luckily, Quinn was there, arms enveloping her, protecting her in his warm cocoon of reassurance and peace, and before she could have any more thoughts, she fell asleep.

Lilly got to sleep with Quinn all night long, and for a girl who hadn't slept all night with a man in several years, that was nice. The night was everything it should be—sexy, loving, peaceful, and had made her feel safe and happy.

In the morning, she awoke on her side, Quinn holding her from behind, still asleep. Soon, he woke himself, kissed her and scratched her back lightly, but they didn't make love again. Though it would have been perfectly fine with her, it was nice to know they could be near each other without needing sex again. It was reaffirming to know that they simply had a bond and common interests, and their quiet time didn't need to be filled with moans and groans every chance they got. It showed her that Quinn didn't have a one-track mind either, that he could be perfectly happy lying next to her under the thick blanket, spooning his warm body against hers. And it showed her that she didn't have a one-track mind either. After his painful comment about latching onto the first guy who came along Green Valley, she spent the better part of their bonfire last night wondering if he was right, if her attraction to Quinn O'Neill was simply because she needed closeness.

But what would happen down the line—let's say if we got together? Once closeness wasn't a pressing need anymore, would we still have enough in common? It was hard to tell. She hadn't known him long enough and wouldn't get the chance to either.

Unless they kept a long-distance relationship.

It could happen. Her best friend, Corinne, who moved to Seattle three years ago kept a long-distance relationship going with her now-husband, Jay, and it worked perfectly fine for them. It hadn't been easy, but it was doable.

The thought kept playing in Lilly's mind even as they dressed, went out to find Con, who had indeed slept all night on the beach, had a light breakfast, then packed up. Once behind the wheel of her car and on the road back to Forestville, however, what was doable in Lilly's mind had changed a million times over.

What am I doing, entertaining a long-distance relationship? Way to stick with a plan, Lil. She shook her head, arguing with herself the whole drive back to Forestville, while Quinn gazed out the window at wine country, and Con slept in the back. And right when she thought Quinn was doing a fabulous job of keeping his distance again, his hand slid over the center console and scratched her thigh with a pinky nail.

Lilly side-glanced him, and he smiled, stretching out his hand. She let one hand off the steering wheel and slipped it into his. No, he may not be her boyfriend, he might not love her the way she loved him, he might not be torturing himself with possibilities including one in which they tried to make things work despite the miles that would separate them, but he was a damned nice guy who cared about her, and that alone was a good thing.

Later, even as Lillian got back to work at the Russian River House kitchen, she couldn't stop thinking about him, the desperation she'd felt when they'd made love, the way Quinn seemed to have attempted consuming and possessing her as much as he could in the time they had together. She had captured the moment too, internalizing the color of his skin, the lines dimpling his cheeks, the sound of his groans when it all became too much for him.

In the middle of a killer set of banana walnut muffins she was baking and another of blueberry lemon poppy seed, she paused, zester in right hand, as fresh lemon oil from a huge Meyer's lemon misted into her nose. She heard her mother arriving through the side door, interrupting her reverie, talking on the phone, then ending the call, as she reached the kitchen.

"Okay...yeah, no kidding. Okay...thanks for telling me, Ave." Mom shoved the phone back in her purse and strolled into the kitchen to survey how things were going. Mellie and Cook had taken off for lunch, and for once, Lilly didn't go with them. Having spent yesterday and this morning on the California coast in Jenner, she was behind now and needed to catch up.

"What's Avery saying?" Lilly asked, nervous about where such a question would lead. It wasn't that she loved instigating or perpetuating gossip, but this time, she was afraid it was about her.

Her mother leaned back on the counter, as Lilly continued peeling off thin strips of fragrant lemon skin to throw into the batter, giving her muffins that added boost that pushed them over the edge.

"Do you have something you want to tell me?" her mom asked.

Lilly's veins turned to ice. Her hand shook slightly. She would never get over feeling like a little girl around her mother and supposed that, even when she turned forty years old, Mom would have the ability to make her quake in her boots. "What do you mean?" Lilly replied.

Sighing, Mom began taking bowls and measuring cups and placing them into the sink. God forbid she just relax for one second. "What I mean is, something is going on with you, and you haven't told me, told anyone."

Lilly swallowed the lump in her throat and kept her eyes down. Realizing that doing so might give the impression that she was guilty of something, she switched to an easy smile and shrug instead. "Actually, I was going to tell you today." She could hear her voice shaking slightly. Folding in the last of the zest and incorporating it all into one, delicious batter, Lilly scraped off the edge of her spatula and set it down on the counter.

She faced her mom, hands inside her apron's pockets. "Mom, I got great news a few days ago..." Registering her mother's confused look and head tilt, Lilly figured she ought to make this quick and easy—like ripping off a Band-Aid. "I entered a baking contest on the Food Network, totally as a fluke, thinking it wouldn't amount to anything, but after several rounds and interviews, turns out..." She slapped her arms against her sides and gave it all she got. "They picked me!" She grinned sheepishly. "I won an internship with Guy Santoli of L'Appetite Boulange."

Mom's face went blank, almost as if she didn't believe her. "You what?" she muttered, blue eyes disappearing into a confused grimace.

Okay, this is not going well.

"I won an internship. With one of the best pastry chefs in the country. I start in two-and-a half weeks. I'm going to be living in Miami for six months. So...we should probably start looking for someone to make the muffins while I'm gone."

Silence. Nothing from Penny Parker. For at least a minute. Lilly thought she would collapse, wished she could start over, this time mention what a great opportunity this is.

"I can't believe you've been keeping that from me...for how long?" her mom said in a flat tone.

Lilly's hands shook. The pitch in her voice was higher. Be assertive...this is your life, she could hear Quinn cheering her on. "I've known since Saturday. It wasn't like I wasn't going to tell you, it's just that I've been deciding whether I want to go or not." Total lie, but at least it would excuse her silence. Though Lilly did feel guilty that at least three people knew about her good news before her mother did. "How did you find out?"

"I didn't," Mom said, and Lilly's stomach sank into her toes. "I had no idea of this. It wasn't even what I was talking about."

Lilly groaned. If that wasn't what her mother was alluding to, then what the hell had she been talking about? Her heart pounded against her ribcage, as she considered all the possible acts of defiance that her mother might be upset over. Then, a light turned on inside her brain. "Oh."

That.

"I was talking about the fact that everyone's seen you with Quinn O'Neill."

"Everyone? Who's everyone, Mom?"

"Beverly saw you two driving down St. John's Road. What were you doing heading out that way?"

"I told you, and besides, you know from Avery and everyone else in town, that he's here visiting because his mom grew up here. He wanted to see the Langley Creek Bridge. She wrote about it in her journal a long time ago."

"Journal?" There was a sharp interest in her mother's eyes, and Lilly understood all too well what she was getting at. Hide your mam's journal, she wanted to warn Quinn all of a sudden, before my mom fakes needing to clean your room and tries reading it, looking for clues leading to her breakup with Dad. "What else did she write about in her journal?"

"I don't know. Not like I've read it." Technically true. Though Quinn had read a portion to her, she wasn't about to tell her mom that or any more of what she'd learned. Lilly shouldn't have even told her about the bridge. She hadn't meant to violate Quinn's trust. He'd shown her nothing but sweetness from the moment he arrived. Then again, if her mom was hurt over a woman who broke her and Dad up, she supposed she couldn't blame her either.

Talk about a rock and a hard place.

"You're the one always telling me to go out and meet guys, Mom. And for fuck's sake, I'm twenty-seven years old. I can see whoever I want." She smacked the lemon down hard.

"Yes, you can see whoever you want. And apparently, you can curse whenever you want too. I don't know what's gotten into you, but that's fine," she said, as Lilly thought of the one, hot thing that had gotten into her lately. "Totally fine by me, but...why him, Lillian? Of all the men?"

"Of all the men, Mother?" She folded her arms over her chest. "How many men come through here? Besides, he's a very nice, classy man with strong family values, as a matter of fact, and a great head for business. You would like him if you would just get to know him."

Her mother quietly picked lint off a dish towel. "If I know anything, it's that people are cut from the same cloth, so if he's anything like his mother, he won't care who he hurts. He'll do the same to you—leave right when you start falling for him."

"Wow." Lilly shook her head. This was all crazy, not to mention paranoid, of her. "So, you think he's going to hurt me the same way Maggie Phillips hurt Dad. But aren't you glad she did, Mom? If she hadn't, you wouldn't have had him back."

Her mother grimaced. "You mean, the way she hurt me."

So, that was it. This was personal between Maggie and her mother. "I respect that, Mom, and I'm sorry that she hurt you, but Quinn is a different person. And besides, you don't need to worry about him breaking my fragile little heart because I'll be in Miami."

Her mother scoffed and threw up her arms. "Right. And if he's anything like his mother, I'm sure he's encouraged you to go, leave town, abandon me when I need you most."

Lilly thought of how Quinn had actually encouraged her to do exactly that. How he'd marveled at the wonderful time she was going to have in Miami before she'd gotten upset at him, momentarily, over the way it seemed he was pushing her away. "Are you kidding me?" she said, throwing the tray of muffin batter into the oven and letting the door close with a sharp tap. "I knew I was going to Miami before I even met Quinn, so how could he be responsible for convincing me to leave? You're not even making any sense!"

"You just said yourself that you received the news a few days ago, but you hadn't decided what to do until today!" Her mother gloated in momentary victory. "So which is it?"

"I was kidding when I said that."

"Kidding? That's a weird way to kid, don't you think?" she argued.

Lilly braced her arms against the sink, breathing deeply to calm herself.

"Honey—" her mother began more softly.

"Well, okay, not kidding, per se. I just didn't want to hurt your feelings by making you think that I had held onto a secret for days, so I just said that. But the truth is, I'd already made up my mind before Quinn and his brother walked through the door."

Her mother's voice was calm and even. "Lillian, you know I need you here. Who's going to make your muffins?" Before Lilly could retort with a rash diatribe about how it's her life, her decisions, and how her mom should just deal with it, she saw the tears at the corners of Mom's eyes, and realized... Mom knew that most people came to Russian River House because of her famous baked goods, because Trip Advisor recommended the establishment based on all the reviews about muffins and little else.

Lilly was her secret weapon—and she was about to lose her.

"What's going to happen to Parker House if you go?" Mom asked, pulling out one of the last of her bullet points. "Your baked goods don't just draw people here, but to Parker House as well. The winery is barely holding on. Phillips Winery monopolizes wine tastings around here with their fancy festivals. You know that. We'll go down before you know it."

Although losing business to Phillips Winery was always a concern, this was the first that Lilly had heard of Parker House "barely holding on." She suspected her mother was dramatizing that as much as she was dramatizing how the family B&B would crumble to dust if Lilly were ever to leave. "I understand your concerns, Mom. I really do, but I need to do this," Lilly said gently. "It could lead to more opportunities. I would really love to open my own bakery someday soon." Lilly noted the hurt in her mother's eyes, but she couldn't backpedal now. She was all the way in. No turning back. "I know when I was younger I wanted to take over the bed-and-breakfast, but my dreams have changed. I can't stay in Green Valley forever, Mom. I'll wither away." She knew those last words would especially hurt her mother because a blind person couldn't miss that Penny Parker had withered quite a bit since the death of her husband. "You're here, Grandma and Gramps too, Nancy, Mellie, Cook, and everyone, of course, but I need more. And I'll be back. I hope I'll always have a home here."

Mom said nothing.

"I'm going to do this," Lilly said, walking up and pressing a hand against her mother's shoulder. "But I would be thrilled if you would support me on this decision. I'm happy about Miami. I'm happy they picked me out of five hundred entries. And I would hope that you're happy for me too."

For a long while, Lilly stood there watching her mother's face contort into a miasma of emotions. It didn't seem like she was going to go gentle into that good night. She would do everything within her power to convince Lilly to stay here and help run the bed-and-breakfast, like a good inheritor of the family business ought to do. When this conversation was over, Lilly was so totally meeting up with Quinn at Mulligan's, where he said he'd be tonight to watch the game.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," her mother said finally, wiping her eyes. "I can understand you leaving for a while. Maybe I have been hoarding you. What can I say, I want to keep you for my own. You're my girl." A small, defeated smile swiped across her mom's face, but as quickly as she saw it, it disappeared. "But I can't understand you seeing Quinn again," she said, blue eyes blazing. "And as Ken Parker's and my daughter, I would hope you could understand why."

# Thirteen

Mulligan's was more alive tonight. Perhaps because two important football games were on at the same time, so The Cat's Meow didn't have enough seating for everyone in town who wanted to watch them. Sitting with Con, Quinn didn't want to offend Paul by suggesting his place was usually slow, but he was curious to hear his take.

He swigged back the rest of his black stuff. "Eh, Paul?"

"Aye, Quinn." Paul wiped down a section of counter that had already been wiped several times.

"The other night was emptier than a whorehouse during a chlamydia breakout, and now, there's a few cats here. Explain that." Quinn turned to watch the people in the tavern—a group of five women in their thirties who kept eyeing him, giving each other knowing looks, and a few scattered men watching the game between the Dolphins and Jets.

"Ah, your guess is as good as mine. Way I figure, the games are on, but some folks like to watch in quiet, so they come here." He shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV. So that was it. Quinn could tell that Paul was tired of trying to figure out his low sales and just didn't care anymore. "To be honest, if I could sell this place right now and retire, I would."

Dara swiveled in her seat and murmured over her shoulder. "What he means is, if you want to take it off his hands, he's open to it." She winked at Quinn, went back to whispering things in Conor's ear, then glanced at her father who gave her a chastising look.

"That's not what I'm saying at all. Stay out of it, lass." Paul poured himself another beer and focused his attention back to the game. "Though I wouldn't be opposed to it," he mumbled.

Looking around at the mostly empty tables, Quinn considered, Hmm, maybe... Ever since he'd first visited Mulligan's, he'd thought this place could do with some updating. It had a great wooden floor and just needed new booths, new tables and paint, some updated artwork on the walls, and definitely more modern light fixtures. If Paul hired a cook, he could put out some fantastic, easy plates and attract more customers, but as it was, all he served were drinks and frozen cheese sticks.

"How much would you want for it, just curious?" Quinn asked, not at all convinced he'd want to buy it, but it wouldn't hurt to know.

Paul cocked his head and shrugged. "Let's see...we're a fully licensed 2,500-square foot establishment. I would have to do a comparison online and see..."

"Just a ballpark. I won't hold you to it."

Down the bar, Conor craned his neck to stare at his brother. What, you want to buy this place? his bright green eyes seemed to ask.

Quinn shrugged, giving him a wide-eyed look. What? I'm just asking.

"Alright. My guess would be something around $80,000."

"Ah, come on, Paul," Quinn chuckled. "Your land alone has got to be worth that."

"Well, like I said, I have to do some research. Why? You wanna buy it?"

"I have no fecking clue, Paul. Just asking. I honestly don't know. Looks like you could get some pretty decent sales. After all, you're right near a busy highway cutting right through wine country, and this town seems to be pretty keen on its American rugby—eh, football. There's more than enough people over at The Cat's Meow to cleanly divide between the two of ya."

While everyone watched the next few plays once the Dolphins reached 1st down, Quinn pulled out a clean napkin from the dispenser. "Pass me a pen, please, would ya?"

Paul pulled a pen from over his ear and rolled it along the counter toward Quinn. Immediately, Quinn began working some numbers on the napkin. His share of the sale of the restaurant, plus his share of the life insurance money...plus if he got a reasonable business loan or even borrowed off the house...

After a quiet while, Paul tapped the counter and looked up at the photo of Maggie Phillips and Grant O'Neill. "Wouldn't that be something? You taking over this place that your father helped open?"

Quinn stared at the old photo. His father had been good at what he did, but he'd never listened to Quinn's ideas for taking The Cranky Yankee up another notch. Quinn always felt he could have helped the family restaurant more than his dad gave him credit for, if only he hadn't been so proud. He really did enjoy managing the place after his father died, though there was much he couldn't fix. Too many problems engrained in the fabric of the business's framework that would require an entire reboot and too little capital. Buying Paul's place, however, would give him that reboot. Besides, his mother left behind boxes and boxes of recipe cards. He could easily help develop an authentic Irish menu with the help of a cook. Maybe Lilly could recommend a good one. "Aye, it would."

Two women from the corner table sauntered up to him and perched their rumps on the stools either side of him. "Are you from Ireland?" one asked. She was brunette with big brown eyes, perfect makeup, and a beautiful smile. Classic American accent.

"I am." Propping his fist against his hip, Quinn leaned back in his seat to get a better look at them. Nowhere near as beautiful as Lilly.

The other woman to his left giggled. Blond and brown-eyed, she was busty and clearly a love veteran who knew how to trap a man using her charms. "We love your accent. We could hear you talking all the way over there. Say something else."

"Something else." Quinn gave them his practiced smoldering grin. It wasn't every day he was flanked by two American hotties. "How's the craic, ladies?"

"The what?" the blonde laughed.

"Craic, the goings-on, the banter...you know?"

"I have no idea what you're saying, but just keep talking. I'm Bernie." The blonde held out her hand with long, manicured nails.

He shook it gently, kissing the top of her hand. "Bernie? A man's name, eh?"

"Yes, but that's where my manliness ends. You, however..." She pursed her lips, casting a glance at her friend opposite him, who buried her face in her arm and giggled while shaking her head. Bernie lifted her chin at Paul. "Hey, Paul."

"Evening, Bernadette. How's your mom doing?"

"Starting a new line of pottery, hoping to sell them to a restaurant in San Fran."

"Wonderful. Please give her my best." Paul nodded, going back to the game.

"And I'm Monica," the other woman said, shaking Quinn's hand as well.

Quinn could see Conor dying to cut in and partake of the flirt fest, but Dara clung to him, giving the two women less-than-enthusiastic looks with her sharp eyebrows. Apparently, they'd worked through whatever they'd argued about.

"Evening, ladies, name's Quinn O'Neill, newly arrived from Ireland. Over there is my brother, Conor. Lovely country you have here." He smiled, taking quick glances at their low-cut T-shirts the moment they turned to wave at Conor. Fantastic hills and mountains.

The bell hanging on the front door chimed, and everyone turned to look. In from the blustery autumn night blew the familiar form and face of Lilly Parker. His heart began beating a bit faster. Unwinding her scarf from around her neck, she glanced around, eyes landing on Quinn flanked by the two cougars. "Oh, hey Bernie," she said with a blunt expression, turning to leave. "Quinn...I see you're busy."

"Lil, wait," he said, getting up from the stool.

"You two know each other?" Bernie asked, drawing an imaginary line between Quinn and Lilly. "Thought you just arrived."

"Remember they're staying at Penny's place down the road? Nana told me about them yesterday. I told you," her friend said.

"Oh, that's them?" Bernie asked.

Quinn left the catty banter behind. Lilly's disdain was written all over her face, and he just wanted to address it quickly before she got the wrong idea. "Lil, wait for me." He followed her out the door into the parking lot.

"Lilly?" he heard one of the women mutter to the other.

Lilly whirled around, snaking her scarf back on. "I didn't realize...I didn't mean to..."

"I thought you were working tonight," Quinn said, realizing how bad that both sounded and looked, as though he had taken advantage of the fact that she was busy to go hang with other women. "I don't know those birds. They just came up to me and started talking to me."

"That's fine, Quinn. It's not like you're not allowed to talk to other women," she said, shrugging in that clearly disturbed way women did when they insisted nothing was wrong. "I understand."

"I don't think you do. I'm actually..." He held onto her shoulder to make her stop walking and reached for her hand. She let him take it. "Really happy to see you. Come in and talk." But her worrisome expression told him that something had shifted in her again, though he didn't know what it could be. "Are you alright?"

"I need to talk to you," she sighed, worry at the corner of her eyes, "but not inside there. Too many people."

"Er...there's only like ten people in there, Lil."

"Ten too many. In this town, everyone talks, and I don't want anyone hearing me."

"Let's take a walk then? Just...wait for me." Quinn ran back inside, grabbed his jacket, and slapped a twenty dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change, Paul. Conor, text me later. Let me know you're not floating in a river somewhere, eh? 'Night, everyone. 'Night, ladies."

"Leaving so soon?" The blond woman pouted, disappointed that her cornered mouse was getting away.

"I'll see you around town. Be here for a while." Quinn saluted them with two fingers to his temple then blew outside, meeting up with Lilly. They walked slowly down the sidewalk toward a small park with a water fountain offering up a misty spray in the breeze. "So, what's up? You look out of sorts."

"I am...out of sorts," she muttered, hands in her pockets. She didn't want to hold hands or look at him, that much was evident. "Quinn..." she began, a churning quiet storm turning her blue eyes steel gray. "In your mother's journal, did you read anything about another boyfriend, someone she knew in Green Valley before meeting your dad?"

He thought back to all the times he'd read through Mam's journal. "Not a boyfriend as such. She mentioned that bloke who took her to see Star Wars and didn't drive her down the coast like she wanted to one night. Wasn't Ken the name? Why, do you know him?"

"Yeah, I do. I did. Quinn, Ken was my father—Ken Parker."

Quinn stopped walking, felt his lungs squeezing out a gasp of air, as they both hung opposite each other waiting for more oxygen intake. "Whoa."

"I know."

"This is sort of Star Wars-ish too, I have to say. Lilly, I am your father..." He imitated Darth Vader's deep, breathy voice, then remembered that she seemed perturbed from the moment she walked in, and returned to normal. "I mentioned Ken before. Why didn't you say something then?"

She paused underneath a pine tree and looked at him with tears in her eyes, nodding. "Quinn, there's more. I don't know if you know this—I don't know if your mother mentioned it in her journal, but your mother was engaged to be married...to my father. Not only that, but your mom broke my parents up when they were going out in their early twenties, then your dad came along, whisked her away to Ireland, and my parents got back together."

"I see."

And he did. Suddenly, it was all very clear, why everyone was so cold to him, why Mam's family had shut her out. She hadn't just been casually dating other men when she'd met his dad. She'd been promised to another. She'd wreaked havoc on two families by making her choice to move to Ireland.

"Quinn, according to my mom, my father was never the same. She hurt him very much when she left him for your dad, then when she left for good, she hurt everybody."

This explained why his grandfather was sour with him too, pretended not to know who he and his brothers were, but really? Still? To go to such an extreme just because she fell in love with someone else? Quinn couldn't understand it. Wasn't family supposed to forgive you, no matter how crazy you were? No matter how cross he was with his daughter, he still should have found a way to talk things through with her. "There was no reason to shut her out," Quinn said, walking ahead of Lilly. He needed to think this through.

"But Quinn, this whole town is like family. She hurt a lot of people by leaving."

He spun around to face her. "You're the one who's going to hurt a lot of people when you leave, Lilly." Damn, he couldn't believe he'd said that.

"What?" she gasped.

"Nothing, forget I said anything."

"You think I'm doing the same thing as your mom? Quinn, you're the one who told me to go, follow my heart, go up against my mom. I can't believe you're saying this."

He couldn't believe he was saying it either. What did it mean? That she'd be hurting him when she left for Miami? That all the encouragement he'd been giving her was bullshit, and what he wanted most was for her to choose Green Valley, to choose him? "Look, I'm sorry. All I meant was, we're no one to judge. If my mother made a choice, there was good reason for it, and that's all anyone needs to know. Whatever happened to forgiveness?"

A lamppost behind her illuminated her silhouette, making her look like an angel—a quiet, stunned angel. Her hands slapped her sides, as though she had no answer for that.

He felt her frustration and helplessness in spades. It was suffocating him, the idea that he didn't know what he wanted her to do. He just wanted her, and he couldn't have her.

"Ah, what does it matter? She's gone. Dead. Nobody has to worry about what Big, Bad Maggie Phillips did to anyone anymore. She's gone." To his shock, tears threatened to build up and spill, and he turned away from her to blink them back.

"I know, and...I feel the same way too. It's not your problem what she did. It's just that—augh—I have to keep hearing about it from my mom, from Avery Benson, even Cook and Mellie are starting to talk about it."

He whirled back around to face her. "Do you have to listen? Can't you ignore them? What are you saying, Lil, that you don't know who to be loyal to?" He wasn't sure why this was hurting him so much, why he was acting like a jealous boyfriend, except that maybe he'd grown to care for her more than he thought he had, despite his deepest efforts not to.

"I did ignore her! I just had a fight with her tonight, and it was because of you."

"Me? So now I'm to blame for any trouble between you and your mam?"

"That's not what I meant, Quinn. I just meant that I'm starting to stand up to her. I'm on your side, but I'm on theirs too. I guess...ugh, I guess I just feel trapped in the middle. My mom asked me not to see you anymore. She says you're going to hurt me, leave me, same way your mom did. I don't believe it, Quinn, but it makes this harder just the same."

Quinn felt his blood starting to boil. What the fuck did Penny Parker know about him? Nothing. What a presumptuous woman to think she knew anything about him. To judge him just because she was bitter that his mam had left Ken Parker back in Green Valley for a new life in Ireland. The best man won, fair and square. "Sometimes, when you follow your heart, you hurt others. Tell your mam that."

"Believe me, she already knows that, Quinn. And so do I."

He stared at her, her expression filled with hopelessness, the same emotion that had invaded every pore in his body, making him feel weak and helpless, which wasn't to be borne. "Ah, what does it matter?" His hands flew to his hips. He could feel his irrational, snotty self coming to the surface.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hurt blossoming on her face.

"You're leaving, Lil. Whether I stay here or go back to Dublin, how can I hurt you if we're not together?"

"Oh. So that's it? That's how it's going to be? You get angry at me, that way you have a contrived reason to stay away from me? Good decision, Quinn."

He simmered, wondering why he couldn't just come clean and tell her how he felt—that he might be falling for her. No, that he had fallen. He was in love with her. "Lilly, I'm not the one confused by my feelings. You just said you felt torn—on one hand, there's your mam and all her friends, and on the other—there's me. I'm sorry you feel that way. I never meant to come between you and your well-established life. All I've cared about since I got here was being with you and making you happy. As happy as you've made me."

"And you did. You have. I just..."

Just...but... Why did those words have to end everything she said? Was she listening to the bullshit about his mam on purpose, just to make it easier for herself? He understood family. He understood how important it was to have one's parents' complete respect, but his mam had at least given him the gift of freedom and choice without guilt, to go and choose. He just wished Lilly could experience the same with her mother.

"Listen, for whatever it's worth," he said, staring her in the eyes, reaching out for her hand. He shook it lightly for emphasis, so she would listen and listen good. "I didn't know your dad, and I don't know what went on between him and my mam. And guess what? I don't care. It won't change my feelings about you and me, Lil. I really care about you—a lot. And I was considering—foolishly, it seems—about possibly staying here for good. Paul was talking...he's thinking of selling the pub..."

"And what? You're going to buy it?"

Quinn stared at her expression for a long time. There was a touch of excitement mixed with fear in her eyes. Like it was all sinking in and getting real.

"Quinn? Are you really thinking of staying here?" she asked, twisting her eyebrows.

He hesitated. If she knew Quinn was considering staying in town, would she change her mind about her internship? Would she still go to Miami, but return to Green Valley afterward? His own selfish desires aside, he didn't want to be responsible for her loss of flight. He wanted her to soar, to explore, and see the world. He wanted her to discover the options life had in store for her. Though he'd started to believe that Lilly was the perfect woman for him, he didn't want to be responsible for her getting stuck in Green Valley.

That was her mother's job.

But what about love, the other part of his brain scolded. What if together you can be happy, have a place in Green Valley, but also explore the world together?

The possibility sounded amazing, but he couldn't forget the friction that had already been created between Lil and her mam because of Quinn. His mam had chosen love and lost her family as a result, and right now, the thought that he'd ever be the cause of Lilly having to make that same choice was too much for him to handle.

Besides, he wasn't even sure what he wanted to do or how his brothers would affect his decisions, so he couldn't let the possibility that he might stay here influence her one way or the other. "No, I don't see why I should," he said. "I thought I had something for me here in Forestville, but this is all turning out to be so complicated, Lil." He felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter. "Say what you will about my mam, but when she met my dad, she knew. They knew. They had even more standing between them than we do—my mam's engagement to your dad for one—but that didn't stop her. She didn't hesitate because of what others thought." When she winced, he realized he'd landed a blow without meaning to. God, he had to get out of here before he said anything more to hurt her because that's the last thing he wanted. He began walking away. "You and I are just on different paths, Lil. And it looks like neither one of us is willing to make the leap to get on the same one. That should tell us something right there. And I think what it's telling us is to accept our time together here is coming to an end."

# Fourteen

She shouldn't have said anything.

She'd dumped too much on him at once. Now he went and disappeared, and who knew where he was going? Turning around, Lilly stared down the path in the direction she'd come from and headed back to the Mulligan's parking lot. However, she didn't want to leave yet. Maybe if she waited long enough, Quinn would come back and talk to her like a civilized person instead of running away at the first sign of conflict. As it was, he'd pretty much dropped a bomb before running away. Yes, they were on different roads, and yes, neither one had made any kind of leap to get them both on the same one, but they'd only known each other a few days.

Just because they hadn't declared their love for one another and already decided what to do about it didn't mean what they did have wasn't worth working through. It hurt her that Quinn would say that, even as she knew that neither of them knew what they were saying half the time when it came to dealing with their feelings for one another. Just that they felt and felt strongly for one another, and given several complicating external factors, didn't know what to do about it.

Risking odd looks, she walked to the tavern door, pulled on the handle, and heard the chimes, as she entered the humid warmth of the little pub. Everyone craned their necks to look at her, especially Conor, who gave her a confused glance, and she chose a stool at the end of the bar for some peace and quiet.

Paul shuffled over and wiped the area in front of her. "You okay there?"

"Fine."

"Don't sound fine to me. What'll you be having? On the house." He nodded.

Lilly registered the kindness in the older man's face, his tight-lipped grimace that reminded her a bit of her father. "A Guinness, I guess. When in Rome..."

"Excellent choice. One pint of the black stuff, coming right up." He tapped a spot of air in front of her nose, happy with a job to do, and went off to retrieve her drink.

Lilly sighed, kept her eyes off the corner where Bernie and friends were probably talking shit about her. They'd always been on the snooty side, or maybe, being older, they had always just intimidated the hell out of her.

Maybe Quinn's walking away was for the best. Maybe it was life's way of reminding her to stay focused. That bigger and better things awaited her in Miami. She might meet a hot Latino man who would sweep her off her feet and sing Enrique Iglesias songs to her. But it's Irish boys I've always loved, she thought. Their saucy smartass banter—the craic, she thought—and the way Quinn kissed like a love god from Venus and laughed like Danny Boy drunk off his ass.

She felt the air next to her being displaced and turned slightly to see another swoony, beautiful smile directed at her. "Told you I was the better brother." Con's bright eyes smiled.

"Hey," she mustered.

"You okay?"

"I will be. Your brother's mad at me," she said, noticing for the first time how Conor kept a close watch on her as she talked. Even after only a few words, he was tuned in and focused on her. A good listener, just like his brother.

"Eh, he's an idiot. My brothers and I tried leaving him on the doorstep of a sorority house of nymphomaniacs back in Dublin, and even they wouldn't take him." He settled into the stool next to her, and Lilly couldn't help but crack a smile. That makes me worse than the nymphos. Paul returned with her drink. On the other side of the counter, Dara began taking dirty glasses back to the kitchen to load in the dishwasher, giving Lilly a knowing smile.

She let out a calming breath. "That can't be true," Lilly said, hugging her Guinness close. "They could have at least kept him around as a muse, if not a love slave." She smiled sheepishly, thinking of Quinn without his clothes on. His chiseled body. His arms, including those vein-roped forearms she loved gripping.

"Aye, that's true, but even then...the poor maggot." Conor signaled Paul for another beer then turned to Lilly again. "Listen, I don't know what happened outside, and I might joke about you both and all, but the truth is, it's been nice for me...seeing my older brother with a girl he fancies. You've really set him aglow, and I don't mean since our mam died, I mean for the first time in a long time."

She noted the sincerity in his solemn cheeks. "Thanks." She allowed herself a smile. "That really means a lot."

"It's true. Quinn is the eldest, so he's always done the responsible thing, ya know? Rarely have I ever seen him do anything for himself. It's been a long time. Coming here was for him, spending time with you is for him. Maybe he's just a little freaked out by it, that's all, but he'll come around. He's not as stupid as he looks."

Lilly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "I guess you're right. But I screwed up, I think."

"How so?"

"I said some things about your mom that I didn't mean. It just didn't sit right with him."

He processed this a while, tapping on the bar and nodding. "Ah, feck him. He'll come around. He really does fancy you. You just can't mess with an Irish boy's love for his mammy, that's all." Con pulled his beer toward him, tilted it back, and swallowed about half in one swig. "Did he tell you about our grandfather? Our mam's dad?"

"Just that he stopped speaking to your mom."

"More than that. We tried calling him before we left Dublin, to let him know that his daughter died. His daughter. And you know what that fuckface said? He didn't have a daughter named Maggie. Can you believe that shite?"

Lilly stared at Con. She'd always known that Phillips Sr. had a hard edge about him, but she couldn't imagine someone being so horrible to their own grandson. "Wow, that's really cruel."

"Yeah, and yet it didn't stop my brother from wanting to come here. That's how much he loved Mam. He wanted to see the town so adamantly."

And yet, he'd been spending half his time with Lilly. She felt horrible guilt for the things she'd said outside. Horrible for even considering that Maggie had done what she had for love but had done it easily or carelessly. That it hadn't weighed on her that she'd be hurting others even as she did what had been so obviously right for her.

She wondered if she should mention what she knew about Con's mother to him, but then decided it wasn't right. She'd only mentioned it to Quinn because she felt there should be no walls between them, no thorns in their blossoming friendship, but if Quinn wanted to, he could inform his brothers about the liaison between their mother and Lilly's father.

Con stared nostalgically into his drink. "One of the last things Mam told us was to go and live our dreams. Thing is, none of us—least of all Quinn—knows where to begin. At least, he didn't until coming here. So give him some time, Lil. He'll come around." Con flashed a sad smile at Lilly, bumped shoulders with her. "He'd be an arse not to."

Then, he went back to watching the game.

He was right, of course. Not about Quinn being an arse, but about him going through a lot right now in the wake of his mother's death, not exactly the best time to start a new relationship, much less make sense of one. She needed to be patient. Quinn also stood at a crossroad, deciding where to go from here, a feeling Lilly should be empathizing with. Up until a few days ago, she wasn't sure what to do about her life either. She really couldn't blame him.

"Thanks, Conor," she groaned. "But he might not want to talk to me again. In case that's true, wish him my best, will you, please?" She looked at Conor, trying to recapture Quinn's face in his brother's. Recalling that they were only registered at the B&B another two days, hot tears rose into her eyes at the thought of never seeing Quinn again. She fought them back with the palms of her hands, and Con laid a quiet hand on her shoulder.

She had no right to cry. Her very own brain had tried to warn her against getting too close to Quinn, but she hadn't listened out of desperation to connect with him, to find happiness for one, fleeting moment. The consequences just hadn't mattered. Lilly wiggled off her stool, strung her purse over her shoulder, and adjusted her scarf, readying it for the cold night.

Conor gave her a small, knowing grin. "You'll see him again."

She smiled sadly. "Thanks for the talk." She poured the rest of her beer into Conor's half empty glass then twiddled her fingers at Paul. "And thanks for the beer," she called to Paul and Dara, who was putting away dishes.

"No problem. Say hello to Penny for me," Paul muttered, toothpick wobbling between his teeth.

"I will." Lil gave Con one last smile, cast a quick glance at Bernie and friends in the corner, gave them a small wave, then poured out the door. As she turned the corner toward the parking lot, she smelled it before she spotted something on the hood of her car—jasmine. A fresh bunch tied together into a neat bow with a long blade of grass.

Like getting hit with a gentle wave, her heart swelled. Picking up the flowers, she scanned the area for Quinn but he was nowhere to be seen. She entered her car, blooms in hand, and placed them in her lap while she turned on the engine. The whole drive home, Lilly wondered what to do. She understood how much the name Maggie Phillips must grate on her mother's ears, but what if Quinn were that one man—that one, special someone—who comes into your life, and if you don't jump at the chance, never comes back again?

Could she risk losing him?

More than once now, he'd indicated he was thinking about settling in Green Valley. He'd even given thought to buying Paul's pub. Just because she left for Miami didn't mean he might not decide to do it.

Briefly, she thought of Quinn settling down in Forestville while she was gone in Miami and him hooking up with Bernie or one of her friends. Ugh, no. Even though she had no right to Quinn, she felt possessive. What was so great about Miami anyway? Green Valley was familiar, and she'd be pleasing both her mom and Quinn by staying. Maybe she could open a bake shop here without doing the internship. It was nice knowing she'd been picked—maybe that could be enough for her?

Ugh, but I was picked out of five hundred entries!

No—she knew, in the bottom of her heart, that she couldn't dishonor her father's memory, and it was Dad who'd always encouraged her to follow her dreams. But he wasn't around anymore, and now Mom kept Lilly's wings tidily clipped. Yet thanks in part to Quinn, Lilly had finally told her mom what she planned to do. So no, she couldn't pass up the internship in Miami on the chance Quinn might decide to settle here or even want something more from her. She could, however, honor what they'd come to mean to one another in the here and now, and if given the opportunity to do so, stand up for him. It was only right. After all, he was a stranger in a strange land, one who'd come to her for friendship. If she didn't stand up for him when it counted, then what kind of friend was she?

Clearly, he still cared, or else he wouldn't have come back and left her the flowers.

She had to do something.

Driving home, not wanting to get there too quickly and face her mom again, Lilly chose the gentle curving side roads toward the B&B, noticing perhaps for the first time in forever, the sign for Phillips Vineyard & Winery perched at the next intersection. She could hardly believe the story of Richard Phillips, Sr., if it was true. Of course it was true! Con had no reason to lie, and she had to stop mistrusting what the O'Neill boys said.

Suddenly, she slowed down and knew just what to do.

# Fifteen

Something about early morning walks always made Quinn feel ready to take on the world. It began in his rugby days when he had no choice but to wake up at the crack of dawn and get to practice, taking shortcuts through the woods by his house. He always used those thirty or so minutes to mentally prepare for the long hours ahead, think about what he would accomplish, how he'd slog through the day's rucks without penalty.

After driving around aimlessly last night, wallowing in his shock and sadness, he decided to end the night early and get to bed before midnight for the first time in weeks. But now, the deep purple and tangerine skies in the east rose over the sleepy valley, calling to him. Having no purpose for the day, aimless in his plans, Quinn thought it a good idea to get out of his cozy room at the B&B and find one. After all, he and Con only had two more days before they were supposed to either head back to Ireland or call for their brothers to bring Mam's ashes with them.

Forgoing his rental car, he threw on his jacket and went off on foot, sneaking out before Lilly could see him. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her. It was that he just needed some space, time alone to think about the news she'd delivered last night.

Her father had been his mother's boyfriend—fiancé, to be exact—a man from a prominent wine family in this region. Yes, he could understand Lilly's mam being resentful that Maggie Phillips had almost cost her her husband, but the fact was, things had worked out in the end.

Before too long, Quinn's morning stroll took him to the path that led to the bridge. Though he'd explored many areas, taken photos, and hung out at Paul's tavern quite a bit since he'd been in town, the bridge was definitely one of his favorite places. The sun was already out but would soon be shrouded in darkness again. Rain was on its way, and here he'd gone out without an umbrella.

Oh, well. It's just water.

He climbed the hill, headed toward the bridge, and made it onto the wooden planks over the river below. Slowly, he took a seat and, just like he and Lilly and his mother before them had, let his legs dangle over the edge.

His mind played back images of the past five days. Everything he'd experienced, mostly with Lilly. Everything he'd learned about his mam.

According to Lilly, this bridge had been one of her father's favorite spots, and in all likelihood that was because he'd come here with Quinn's mam. If that was the case, then obviously Mam had cared enough about Ken Parker to take him to a place that was special to her even if she had chosen another man in the end. It was the way of the world. Feelings were fickle. Hearts were broken all the time, and most often not intentionally. Hell, in some ways, Quinn could be viewed as the Ken in this whole messy situation with Lilly; he was the man she cared about but ultimately needed to leave behind in order to fulfill her dreams. Did that mean that some time in the future, when Quinn found another woman to love, one he ultimately chose to have a family with, that he wouldn't be able to give that woman his whole heart, because some part of it would always belong to Lilly? Would he, just like Ken, come back to this bridge again and again to reflect on what could have been?

He swiped his hands over his face. Gah, he was driving himself crazy with all these thoughts. Sitting there, thinking about it all, storm clouds rolling in, Quinn thought, Let it rain. Right on me. It wasn't like he had any place to go, and his mind could use a good cleansing. When it was done, he'd get back on track. Finish seeing the rest of Green Valley through his mam's eyes. Then he'd call his brothers and tell them what he'd known to be true from the beginning.

They needed to spread Mam's ashes here. It was what she would have wanted.

He'd just gotten to his feet when he heard gravel moving, and an engine shutting off. When he craned his head back, he saw someone had arrived to invade his private space. "Hullo?"

Moments later, pretty legs in a jean skirt came around the corner. Legs he loved and rarely got to see, since she was usually wearing jeans.

"Thought I might find you here." Beautiful, radiant, gorgeous with her golden hair back in a messy knot. She looked like she'd just plucked off her apron and decided to go for a stroll as well.

"Lilly," he said, his heart and brain cells taking flight upon seeing her. "You found my secret spot."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Her smile was mischievous and peace-imparting. "My town is full of secret spots."

"Well, you'll have to show me a few of them." He smiled back, but then it dampened when he thought about how she wouldn't be here much longer, and he may not be either. She may never show him all of Green Valley's secrets, and the thought depressed the shit out of him.

She crossed her legs and sat next to him, holding onto the ropes. "It's about to rain," she said, glancing up at the darkening skies. "Are you okay?"

Stomach a ball of jumbled nerves, he slid his hand over the planks and risked taking her hand. Her fingers intertwined with his. "As good as I can be given our argument last night. I'm sorry for that. It was a surprise, what you told me, and I've been struggling with it. Struggling with the knowledge that many in this area, the area where I believe we should spread her ashes, consider my mam to be a pariah."

She caressed his fingers, the warm touch sending shivers though his body. "Not everyone. Just a few select people who are hurting. And quite frankly, who need to get over it."

Startled, he laughed. "Is that so?"

"It is. And I'm sorry if I communicated a different message last night."

"It's okay. Communication has been a bit of an issue for us all along, hasn't it?"

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was a bastard for implying nothing was meant to happen between us because we haven't made it happen. Love's more complicated than that."

"We're in love?" she said softly, raising an eyebrow.

He drew in his legs and swiveled to face her bright blue eyes. "Aren't we?"

Lil blinked then turned away, blinking some more, trying to hide, Quinn realized, the fact that tears had filled her eyes. Reaching out, Quinn cupped her chin and turned her head until she was looking at him.

"I know nothing's changed between us. That we're still walking on separate roads. That we've only known each other a week. But this is me, Lil, walking my own path but looking at you and telling you, I love you. And no matter what happens, I'll never regret it."

The tears in her eyes brimmed over.

"I love you, too, Quinn. No matter what."

They didn't kiss, they didn't move, they barely even breathed, not wanting to disrupt the power in the words they'd exchanged. An eternity seemed to pass while they looked into each other's eyes. Finally, the clouds overhead moved in with the wind, making strands of Lillian's hair dance in the breeze around her face, and she blinked. Quinn stroked his fingers along her jawline, and she closed her eyes to soak in his touch. The first few drops of rain were cold but seemed to shock them out of the solemnity of the moment. They both laughed and jumped to their feet.

Quinn was about to run back to the car, but Lilly grabbed his hand and ran in the opposite direction just as the sky opened, and the rain began to pour. "Where we going?" he cried.

"You wanted secrets, right?" she yelled, tugging him along, running down the footpath into a thicket of trees and around a bend. Hidden in the woods was an old shed, nothing out of this world, just a worn, faded red wooden structure. She tugged at the side door, and it easily gave way, banging against the side from her adrenaline rush.

The inside smelled musty, of old ropes and sawdust, both scents that Quinn loved. They reminded him of his grandfather's boat shed back in Killiney with the views of Bray Head and the Great Sugar Loaf. He shook off the rain from his jacket and hair, stumbling over an old barrel oak against the siding. "Fancy meeting you here. Come here often?"

Lilly laughed and stumbled with him, falling against his warm body into a pile of sandbags. "No," she spoke in a deliberate teasing tone. "But I have a feeling if things go as I suspect, this just might become one of my new favorite secret spots." Her warm breaths puffed against his cheek, and suddenly, without any thought or expectation, they were kissing like it was what they were meant to do all along.

Feck rules, feck boundaries and consequences. Sometimes life just threw lemons at you, and you had to know what to do with them—make lemon meringue pie. Quinn pressed his lips against her hard, drinking in her moist soft mouth. His body ached, focused on the moment she'd hinted she wanted to come, and he couldn't wait to get her there. Their arms worked in effortless motions to slide off jackets and shirts, while his fingers slid beneath her bra straps, and his lips sucked up inches of her skin along her neck and collarbone, working their way down. She pressed one hand to her bra, keeping the cups close to her heaving chest.

Don't rush, slow down, mate, his heart shouted to himself, but his groin was giving all the orders now. When his lips reached the upper curves of her tits, she released her loose bra. Quinn marveled at the deep blush around her nipple. He brought his lips up close, but paused barely a hair's width away. He exhaled slow with his warm breath, waiting for just that right moment when the chasm between tease and torment collided.

She moaned when his mouth finally closed over one nipple, and he sucked, feeling the ridges of her areola harden over his tongue. Her hands guided his head, her fingers slid back and forth through his hair, as one of his hands found its way into the back of her skirt to cup her ass, and the other lifted her breast higher to his mouth. Suddenly, it dawned on him why she'd worn a skirt, and he laughed deep within his chest. No panties. Her intentions were clear, all barriers removed. He dragged his hand from her smooth ass, gliding his fingers between her cheeks, closer to her wet lower lips, running two fingers across them. Her head fell backward, and her body gave in.

Rolling her over, laying her back against the sandbags, he sat up and gazed at the wonder before him. Her beauty was amplified by the pummeling of the rain on the thin structure. Her shimmering eyes stared back at him, wanting, needing him.

Her knees spread like a flower blossoming, but it was her sapphire eyes beaming up at him, her chest heaving with anticipation that made him want her like nothing he'd ever known. Reaching up the length of her legs, his fingertips caressed her creamy skin from her thighs to her ankles.

"What are you going to do?" she panted through a quivering smile.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" His fingers traced back up her thighs.

"I think..." She pulled her skirt up slowly, taking her time to reveal what would surely drive him mad any minute now. "You're going...to discover more deep secrets," she finished.

"I would surely love that, with your permission, mademoiselle," he said.

When she finished pulling her skirt up all the way, spreading her legs wide, she said, "Permission granted, kind sir."

He recorded the moment in his mind to recall in quieter times—and then, he went down. Everything else was a blur from there on, a whirlwind of memories that would last him many a year to come. From his lips descending on her glistening core, licking, pushing, guiding her to the edge, to the moment she surprised him yet again by flipping around and pushing her ass upwards, inviting him to enter her, to the moment he lamented not having a condom, and she threw caution to the wind and said she didn't care, because she was on the pill anyway, to the blissful moment when he pushed down his jeans, released himself, firm and ready, then plunged into her wet warmth—desperate bodies clinging to one another.

"Oh, Quinn," she cried, meeting his every thrust into her with a back-push of her own, working herself into a frenzy while bent over, pressing down against his body to get an extra push. She reached between her legs, her fingertips lightly grazing his balls, gently caressing them, then her fingers moved to her own sweet spot, flicking and rubbing to his every thrust.

He needed to look away in order to keep up, to wait until she got to that blessed moment before him, so that he wouldn't explode before she did.

"Quinn...look at me. Look at me, baby..." she urged.

God, that was it. Especially when she called him baby. He felt her muscles contracting around him, felt the gush of warmth around his body. He let go and burst in powerful spasms. And then they fell in a gasping, sweaty heap on the sandbags. Only then did he register the chilled air inside of the shed. Lilly shivered, though from cold or happiness, he wasn't sure, but he reached for his jacket and covered her shoulders with it.

A renewed warmth permeated him. "I love you," he whispered into her ear, pleased how natural it felt to say it now.

Through closed eyes, a smile materialized on her face. Slowly, she turned and laced her arms over his shoulders, planting a soft kiss on his lips. She smelled of sweat, love, and sweetness. "I love you, too," she said. Her eyes brightened and shone as blue as the Pacific. "No matter what. But..."

He frowned. "But?"

"But you were wrong. About being a bastard for implying if something was meant to happen between us, we'd make it happen. About saying love's more complicated than that. You were right, Quinn, the first time. Your mom didn't let fate or circumstance dictate who she loved. She made a choice, and we can make a choice, too. I choose you. If you choose me, it's just a matter of making it work."

He stared at her, awed by what she was saying. What she was offering.

So he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do with his life. So it would be hard to see Lilly leave soon. So they'd have to work around a long-distance relationship. So fucking what? There were harder things in life. He'd waited this long for the right woman to come along. What was another six months?

"I choose you, Lil. I choose us."

Once the rain died down, they emerged from the shed and slipped into Lil's car. In contented silence, they drove along the main road, and just as he was thinking how unpredictable his life had become in the last few weeks, she make a sharp left turn down a tree-lined road and passed a sign that read: Phillips Vineyard & Winery.

"Er...where are we going?" He raised an eyebrow and felt the sudden drop in his stomach. "I'm not sure I want to go in there, and I thought you said you'd never set foot here."

She glanced at him with a smile. "Don't worry, Quinn. It's alright. Trust me."

He did trust her—that was the problem. He trusted her so much, she had full control of his emotions right now, and he didn't care to do anything about it. His mam once told him that he'd know when the right woman came along, because she'd control his destiny and lead him to greatness. Considering he hadn't had the balls to come around this plot of land yet, no matter how many times he'd looked at it on his phone's map, here was Lilly Parker, going against everything she's ever known about the Phillipses, driving up the main path, bringing Quinn—like it or not—straight to his family's door.

And he let her.

They stood before a massive white house in the foreground of sprawling fields of rows and rows, as far as Quinn's eye could see. Definitely a different vibe than standing in front of Parker House. This was an expansive estate, one that made Quinn's lungs stop breathing for almost a whole minute. As they walked up to the main entrance, Quinn handed Lilly his mother's journal. "Would you mind holding this for me, please?"

She scoffed playfully. "Men," she said, shaking her head and taking the journal from his hands. "The same around the world. Does this mean you trust me not to take a quick peek now?"

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "It means I trust you with everything I am, Lilly. If you want to read Mam's journal, go right ahead. I'm happy to share it with you, knowing Mam would have loved you as much as I do."

Oh wow. Talk about Irish charm. And it wasn't even an act. It was just a part of who Quinn was.

In the foyer, they stared at the magazine-like surroundings—arched ceiling with cherry wood beams, white walls covered in photos of wine bottles, clumps of grapes, and the people who have worked here for ages.

Quinn peered into a black-and-white photo of two young women standing with an older lady and gentleman, the same one as in the photos in Mam's storage box—Old Man Phillips. Next to the photo was a bright colored photo of the same people, only the older woman was missing. His grandmother, Quinn assumed. She was a beautiful brunette with perfect 70's hair and a tailored women's suit. Her smile was a lot like Conor's and made Quinn want to go rip his brother from his bed to bring him here for a look.

"Good morning, welcome to Phillips Vineyard and Winery," a young female voice rang through the space. In a white skirt, pleated purple top, and short jean jacket, she was the picture of California casual. An air of familiarity surrounded her visage. Quinn figured she might possibly be a distant cousin. "Are you here for the Harvest Brunch?" She motioned for them to enter.

Lilly followed her deeper into the enemy's lair. "No, we have an appointment with Suzanne. Should we wait in the foyer?"

"Oh no, just come with me," the woman said brightly, but then her face contorted into one of slight confusion. "Wait, are you...Lilly Parker?"

"Yes, hi." Lilly smiled and looked to Quinn for silent solace.

"Oh, wow! I've heard so much about you, but we've never actually met. Is it true you're going to be on the Food Network working with Guy Santoli?"

Lilly nodded, pausing to look at an enclosed case of a selection of wines. "All true. I leave in about two weeks."

"Well, good luck! I'm totally jealous and so happy to finally meet you. I'll let Suzanne know you're here. Give me a minute."

"No problem," Lilly said, giving Quinn a satisfied smile.

"Why are we here?" Quinn asked. "You want to get me excommunicated, don't you?"

"No, I want to get you in-communicated. Quinn, don't be mad. Suzanne knows you're coming. We already spoke, yesterday."

From around the corner, a woman paused in the glass hallway, letting rays of sunlight pour all over her. Quinn's heart picked up speed. He was about to meet a relative—his aunt, a woman he hadn't even known existed only recently. "Jesus, Joseph, Mary...she looks like my mam."

The woman crept closer, her eyes fixated on Quinn. She had a look of absolute elation and relief on her face, as her hands crossed over her heart. "Dear God...you are the spitting image of your father," she said.

Quinn wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing, considering his father was responsible for leading innocent Maggie Phillips away, but from the smile of astonishment on her face, he gathered it was a good thing. "Are you...my mam's sissy?"

She reached Quinn, smiled at Lilly, then went back to examining Quinn's facial features, as though he were a sculpture made of clay. "I am. Suzanne Phillips, I'm so pleased to meet you. Walk this way, please."

A bit cordial for a family member, thought Quinn, watching the woman turn on a dime and head back down the hallway. He exchanged side glances with Lilly, who suddenly seemed nervous, terrified, and nauseous all rolled into one.

The view of the courtyard was splendid, with white tents set up with Chinese paper lanterns, a busy staff preparing the long tables underneath, and a fairly large staff bustling about, preparing for an outdoor event. As they strolled through the beautiful house, Quinn hoped no one would recognize him, talk shit behind his back, or worse—throw him out. He hadn't even had the chance to shower, shave, and look presentable.

It wasn't until they entered a spacious office with an amazing view of the vineyard, did Suzanne close the door, whirl around, tears spilling over lashes, and fall into Quinn's surprised arms. "Dear, sweet Maggie's boy," she said, clinging to his shoulders, shaking and wracked with sobs. "You've come home."

# Sixteen

Suzanne finally pulled away and reached for the tissue box on her mahogany desk. Lilly thought she looked like a businessy sixty-year-old Bette Midler. "I loved my sister so very much," she said, holding Quinn's hands then reaching out to touch his face. "Your mother was very special to me."

Quinn's face warped, as he struggled with what to believe. If she was so special, then why didn't you guys want her back home? Lilly could almost hear his thoughts. He shook his head, his mouth agape slightly, and for a moment, she thought he would need to sit down.

"I don't...I don't understand," he finally hammered out.

Lilly reached for a leather chair in the corner and brought it towards him. "May I?" she asked Suzanne.

"Yes, of course!" Suzanne pulled forward a chair for herself and another for Lilly, rushed over to the window facing the parking lot and street, and peeked through the blinds. "Of course, of course..." If Lillian didn't know better, Suzanne almost seemed to be keeping watch, making sure someone didn't arrive at the exact moment that she was harboring the son of Maggie Phillips and Grant O'Neill right in her very own walls. "I have to go very soon," she said, taking a seat opposite Quinn and crossing her legs. "We have a big event going on today, and the whole family is due to arrive any moment."

"It's okay. We won't take but a moment. Thing is..." Quinn said, shaking his head. "If you loved her, like you say you did, why did nobody want her back home? She tried several times to get in touch with you."

Suzanne's face twisted into a knot. "No, love. My little sister was always stubborn. By God was she stubborn. I just never understood why she would abandon us the way she did."

"She didn't abandon you. She simply got married and moved away. I mean, isn't that a perfectly normal thing to happen?"

"No, dear. She never even called when our mother died several years back. How could a daughter not call, not come home after something like that?"

"But she did!" Quinn assured her. "I have it here. I have her journal that she kept. It was private, and I only found it recently, but it says it right here..." Quinn opened his hand for the journal, while Lilly worked to fish it out of her bag. She plucked it free and handed it to him. While Quinn flipped to the right page, Lilly exchanged sad smiles with Suzanne, grateful that she had agreed to meet Quinn on such short notice and secretly as well. "See, look at it right here." He began to read—

Well, that's it then. I called Dad when I heard the news that Mom passed. I told him I wanted to come home and see him and my sisters, and what did he say? 'We don't have a daughter named Maggie. You must have the wrong number.' Click, he hung up on me. Some family, huh?"

Quinn brushed the tears from his eyes. "It was right after I was born, twenty-eight years ago. She goes on to say that that was her last attempt. After that, she didn't call home anymore, but she did try first, Suzanne. She did. My mother wouldn't just abandon her loved ones."

Lilly kept quiet during the whole discussion, feeling like a fly on the wall, but more than ever, she agreed with Quinn. Richard Phillips had made it difficult for Maggie, for whatever reasons he felt were right.

"Goodness, I had no idea," Suzanne said, palm to her chest. She bent her head and pushed the tissue to her mouth. "But it doesn't surprise me. My father has always been a lockbox of secrets. And now she's gone. I'll never see her again. I can't believe it." She dropped her face and began to sob into her hands.

Quinn reached out and hugged her across the chairs. He said nothing, just held Suzanne, and Lilly felt hot tears rising into her eyes as well. She couldn't imagine what it'd be like to have family so close, yet so far.

Suddenly, the older woman stood and walked over to a small cellar she kept in her office. It was like a closet with a few steps leading down. She paused at a dark cabinet and removed a set of keys from her pocket, thumbing through them until she found a small, gold one. Pressing it into the keyhole and turning, she reached into the back of the cabinet and wrapped her hand around a golden bottle of what Lilly guessed was chardonnay. "Here, take this please. I would invite you to stay a while longer, but everyone is arriving, and my attention is needed outside."

"Sure, no problem," Quinn mumbled, still stunned, reaching out for the bottle of wine. Lilly leaned over to get a look and saw a gold family label with the name Maggie's Valley right on the front. "What's this?"

Suzanne locked up the cabinet, closed the cellar door, then shuffled over and placed a red, manicured fingernail on the label. "A long time ago, my father named some of his wines after my mother and sisters. This was Maggie's. After she moved to Ireland, he pulled them off the shelves—every last one. I found them one day, while looking for some old menus I wanted to revise, in a big box in the trash. Took them home. Still have them all, but I keep one here with all my special labels." She smiled and gestured to it. "You can have it."

Lilly watched Quinn shake his head and break down right there in the middle of Suzanne's office. "Why didn't you talk to your father, convince him to let her talk to you all or visit?" Quinn demanded to know. "You were on my mam's side the whole time, but..."

"But I didn't do enough, I know," Suzanne interrupted. "You've never met your grandfather, Quinn. It's his way or the highway. I'm sure you've heard," she said to Lilly.

Lilly widened her eyes and nodded. She didn't feel this was the time nor place to talk about it, but she'd heard of Richard Phillips' hard ways her whole life, seen him at church and town meetings, but she'd always been intimidated by him. "Thank you for your time, Suzanne. I can't tell you how much we appreciate it," she said, handing Quinn a tissue.

He pressed it to his eyes then quickly tossed the tissue into a trash can by the desk. "Yes, thank you for this. I'll take it home to show my brothers. You have four more nephews, you know."

"Goodness!" Suzanne said, standing and showing them to the door. There, she paused and reached up to caress Quinn's face. "Yes, but I bet none of them have Maggie's smile like you do. Thank you for coming by, Quinn. I'll try talking some sense into my father. It's the least that I owe you."

They thanked her once again and headed out. Lilly wasn't sure if she'd done the right thing by stopping by the winery last night and talking to the first family member she could about Maggie O'Neill, but she was glad it'd been Suzanne and not Beatriz or Old Man Phillips himself walking through the foyer. When they reached the cool outdoor air, and Quinn took a long, cleansing breath again, pulling her in tight and muttering a "thank you" into her hair, she knew it'd been the right choice.

As soon as they returned from Phillips Winery, Quinn told her he'd be calling his brothers about extending his and Con's stay in America and mobilizing the others to join them to spread their mam's ashes. Later, he told her Brady and the "wee ones" were making plans to arrive in America in just over a week.

Lilly laughed. "How wee are we talking?" she asked.

"Twenty-three, both of em—twins." She smiled, imagining two younger versions of Quinn. She couldn't wait to meet the rest of the O'Neill men.

For the next week, Lilly worked and met with Quinn, worked and showed Quinn around, worked and snuck Quinn into her room every chance she got. When she was working, Quinn and Con took their time exploring Green Valley and the surrounding areas.

On Thursday morning, when her mother announced she and Mellie and Cook would be leaving for the day, attending a bridal show in San Francisco in the evening, Lilly checked the register. The only guests who'd stayed on from the day before were Quinn and Con, and the next wave of guests wouldn't be arriving until the afternoon. She still had baking to do, but for the first time, it looked like she might actually be able to work and play at the same time. Thrilled at the prospect, she knocked on Quinn's door, greeted Conor with a handful of two chocolate chip muffins, and asked for Quinn.

He emerged freshly-showered in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt like he was going somewhere special. Although she had seen his eyes every day for almost two weeks now, she still got giddy upon seeing him. And by the huge grin on his face, it seemed he was equally glad to see her. "Are you doing anything right now?"

He cocked a brow. "I can think of one thing I'd like to be doing."

She laughed. Little did he know how similar their thoughts were. "Well, I've been meaning to try a few new recipes before heading out to Miami. Want to keep talking in the kitchen, or were you going somewhere? By the way, you look nice," she said, kissing him again. "Really hot, actually."

He chuckled. "Nah, not going anywhere. This was just my last clean shirt."

"Well, it's fine by me. Come on." She clasped her hand into his and guided him down the hallway. When they reached the kitchen, she pointed to a stool and said, "Sit."

Quinn barked deeply like a Rottweiler, which made her laugh, as well. "Yes, madam."

"It's ma'am. Say it like this, like a cowboy—ma'am. You're in the good ol' U.S. of A. now."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, drawling like a proper Southern gentleman wearing spurs and a cowboy hat.

"There you go! That was awesome!" She giggled, pulling out a bevy of assorted ingredients and laying them all over the counter. All of a sudden, a vision of her and Quinn cooking side-by-side in their own kitchen formed in her mind. Staring at the sugar canister, she lightly traced her finger across the lid. "Quinn? You mentioned you'd considered buying Mulligan's Pub, but you haven't mentioned it since. Was that just a whim, here then gone?"

He'd been playing with a frozen pack of mango pulp, but when she asked the question, he froze and looked up at her. "It wasn't a whim, and the idea's not exactly gone but..."

Upon hearing the qualification, she held her breath, wondering if he was about to tell her he'd decided to move back to Dublin. Wondering what that would mean for them.

"But when I think too long about it, the idea of actually buying the pub makes me nervous. I have lots of ideas, ideas I told my dad about, only he didn't believe in them, and I can't help wondering if he was right not to. Plus, while I really enjoyed the work I did managing the family restaurant in Dublin, what if it was because I didn't feel I had any other choice? What if I invest all the money I have in my own place and a few months later, I realize it wasn't what I wanted after all? And what about my brothers? I'm close to them, Lil. One or two might decide to stay in America with me, but what about the others? To live that far away..."

His voice trailed off when he realized she was smiling, not because his fears were silly, but because they mirrored all the 'what ifs' she'd run through her own mind over the years.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. It's just...you sound just like me. That day on the beach in Jenner. Second guessing yourself. Cataloging the 'what if's'. Do you remember what you said to me then?"

"I said a lot of things that day," he admitted.

"Yes, you did. Very wise things. But probably the wisest thing you said was 'For crikey's sake, you cross that bridge when you get there.' The same applies to all those questions you just threw out, Quinn. If it's really your dream to open a restaurant, do it, then answer each of those questions only when you need to."

He leaned into her and pulled her hips against him. "You know, that is very wise advice. I should listen to myself more often."

They kissed, and suddenly, frozen coldness touched her cheek. She shrieked.

"What is this anyway?" Quinn said, holding up the frozen pulp bag.

"Mango. I wanted to try a mango-coconut cupcake recipe. Thought it would be tropical enough to impress Guy Santoli, though I just know the ingredients over there will be better. In Miami, I can find some key limes to add a little zest to the frosting, but for experimental purposes, this will do." She picked up the mango packet and sliced it open with a sharp knife, then broke off a little corner piece and held it to Quinn's delicious lips. "Open," she said.

He reeled her in with his arms and opened his mouth just enough for her to see his tongue and make his lips look plump and inviting. She kissed him, softly at first, then a little deeper while feeding him the piece of frozen mango pulp. "Mmm..."

"You like it?" she asked.

"I like you," he replied. "I like this game. What else you got?"

Lilly thought about it. She'd never had sex in a kitchen before but had always wanted to. "I have lots of things I can make you try," she said, reaching across the counter for a jar of California orange honey. Cracking it open, she leaned into Quinn, noting the way he bit his lip, looking amused, and reached behind him to grab a strawberry.

"I like the way you think, little darlin'," he said, continuing with his cowboy theme.

With a paring knife, she hulled the strawberry then scooped it through the surface of the orange honey, bringing the sinful treat to his lips. He sank his teeth through it and closed his eyes, reveling in the exquisite combination of flavors. Unable to just watch, Lilly pressed her body against his chest, between his open knees, and covered his mouth with hers, tasting the sweetness on his tongue and lips.

They went through several food tests this way, from marshmallow to chocolate to peanut butter and banana, and every kiss got sweeter and sweeter. The dress shirt was lovely and all, and really did look smashing on him, but it had to go. After slowly unbuttoning it, she pulled apart the halves to display that ridiculously awesome rugby chest of his that drove her crazy, dipped a finger into the jar of orange honey again and drew a line from his neck all the way down to his waistline.

"So much for a shower," he muttered through another kiss.

"We can always take another one. In fact, I think we should put that on our list of things to do next," she said, her whole body on wet fire. God, she was going to miss him when it was time to go, but more and more, she felt—no, knew in her heart—they could actually do it: date long distance while she was in Miami then figure out where to go from there.

"I love this idea, and since you haven't actually gotten around to baking anything, I suggest...we go fulfill this shower idea right away." He kissed her cheek, grazing his lips all the way to her ear, making her skin prickle with heat all over.

"Let's go," Lilly said seductively. "But first..." She took a step back, slipped out of her T-shirt and jeans, leaving on her bra and panties underneath her pink and black apron, and raised her arms out wide. "How do I look?" she asked.

"Good enough to eat," Quinn said, his eyes roving over her, nostrils flaring with restrained desire.

But then, Lilly heard the familiar jingle of keys on the side kitchen door. "Quick!" she said, reaching for her clothes and doing her best to throw them back on in the two and a half seconds she was afforded before her mother came waddling into the room with arms full of bags. "Mom!"

Mom stopped cold, her eyes flitting from Quinn to Lilly and back to Quinn, who'd abandoned his stool to stand.

"Mom," Lilly said, stepping into her jeans. "I thought you were heading into San Fran."

"I've texted and called you like eight times," her mother said, and a moment later, Avery Benson appeared, along with Cook and Mellie, all carrying the same boxes of goodies, supplies, banners, and tablecloths they had packed for the bridal show. "I wasn't feeling well and decided to skip the expo. Figured we'd pick up groceries on the way back."

Avery's slim form appeared in the doorway, amazed, bemused, and she let her bags plop with a loud thud onto the kitchen floor. Her wide eyes took in Quinn standing half naked in the middle of the Russian River House kitchen. "Well...well...what do we have here?"

Catching Lilly's eye, Quinn reached for her hand in solidarity, but something inside Lilly froze. Maybe it was because her mother and Avery were standing there, judging her, or maybe because it was difficult to rewire a brain that had spent a whole life fearing them both, fearing the judgment that came with living in a small town, but she couldn't take his hand. "Alright, you've seen enough," Lilly hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You can go now."

"I can go?" her mother sassed. "You're in my kitchen."

"Um, this is my kitchen, for your information. The only thing you ever do in it is drop groceries."

"I see. I love your new attitude, Lillian. Where'd you get it? Ireland?"

Lilly glared at her mother. "I didn't get it anywhere," she said. "And we weren't doing anything wrong. I'll clean up now. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry? God, she hated the sound of her own voice sometimes.

"Weren't doing anything wrong? Could've fooled us, Lillian," Avery said. "Next thing you know, you'll be gone and never speaking to your mom again. Some people are just influential that way. And just as disloyal." Avery opened up boxes and began pulling items out to put away.

Lilly couldn't believe what she was hearing. How embarrassing! Quinn would never want to live here now that he saw firsthand what some people were like. Lilly knew she should say something, stand her ground and defend Quinn. He hadn't done anything to deserve this hatred, and besides, he'd been a paying customer for two weeks now too.

Anything, say anything, her brain screamed at her.

But Mom had her where she wanted her—her gaze a magnetic hold of guilt. Lilly would perpetually feel eight years old whenever she was around. Her mouth couldn't move, and she knew she would live to regret it.

Tell them. Tell them you love Quinn. That you're together and intend to stay together.

By the time she got around to forming a sentence encompassing what she felt, Quinn had slipped out of the kitchen.

# Seventeen

Unbelievable. Quinn stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. "Get up," he barked at Conor, still in bed, surfing on his phone in his underwear. Was that how he planned on living his whole life? "Get up." He smacked his foot through the sheets. "We're leaving."

"What? Why?" Con sat up in bed, alarmed by Quinn's harried entrance. Since Con was little, he was usually quick to react and please Quinn, being three years older, so Quinn took advantage of his rank over him every so often.

"We've been here long enough," Quinn said, throwing open his suitcase in the armchair and slamming his balled-up shirt inside. "We'll get a room at a cheap hotel on the road."

"What happened? Why are you half naked?"

"Nothing happened. I'm ready for a change of scenery, that's all." He almost yelled but kept his disdain under his hat under tight restraint. It wasn't Con's fault that Lilly couldn't face her mother's judgment.

"So that's how it is?" Con stared at him motionless. Quinn could feel resistance coming. "You decide we cremate Mam's body, we do it. You decide we come to America, and we do. You decide we spread Mam's ashes here, and that's the plan. Now you're ready for a change of scenery, you snap your fingers, and I'm just supposed to jump? Is that how it works? Everyone operates on your timeline?"

Ouch. "No, that's not how it works. You're welcome to stay if you like, but I'm leaving. I know when I'm not wanted, and I'm not about to beg." Quinn stomped through the room, collecting random articles of clothing off the floor.

"Is this about Lilly? About the Phillipses? What?"

"No, it's about the fucking Pope, you maggot. Yes, about them. I'm tired of trying, only to be set aside," he huffed.

"You need to give them time, you dry shite. We're the new men in town. Two weeks is not an eternity. You can't just barge in here with your big man self and expect people to fall in love with you. This isn't the RLI."

It was so like Con to mention Quinn's rugby league in such a disgusted tone. Then again, he wouldn't expect someone who'd never amounted to anything to understand. "I don't expect anything, that's the problem." Quinn paused, hand on hips, to unload on his little brother. "I've let the wind push me wherever it wants. Mam says, 'Come help me with the Yankee. I need you,' and I go work at the restaurant. Rita says, 'Let's up and visit Manchester,' and I go, even though I really want to take her to Paris for the weekend. I come here, and meet Lilly, and think about buying Paul's pub, only Lilly's leaving for six months, so I push the idea of the pub aside."

He was ranting, and he knew it, but perhaps he'd held this all in way too long.

"Like Mam wrote in her journal," he continued addressing his quiet, perplexed audience, "she didn't know what would happen, where the wind would take her... In the end, she accepted her choices, but she gave up her passions, and after that she didn't expect much from anyone. That's why she told us to go find our passions, Con, because she didn't want the same to happen to us. Don't you see that?" he stressed.

"What are you talking about?" Con shrugged, like that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Mam loved her life."

"No. She loved us. Not her life. Didn't you read all she wrote? Her dreams were bigger. Not once did she mention she wanted to manage an ailing restaurant in the suburbs or live in a house too small for us. But she was too proud to face her family again, to hear our grandfather say she fucked up. So she stuck it out."

"You're mad, I swear it. What's this got to do with anything?"

"What it's got to do with is that Mam accepted it. These people snubbing here."

"Quinn, what choice did she have?"

"She had a choice. She chose to stay away. She could have faced them. Stood up for herself and made them accept us. Not that they would have, but she should have tried harder. What does someone have to do to prove themselves worthy in Green Fucking Valley? Own a fucking vineyard? What, like the O'Neills are not worthy of association with the Parkers and Phillipses, because we're not wine family? What makes them so fucking special?" He charged into the bathroom to collect all his items, grabbing toothbrushes and contact lens case and mouthwash and throwing them into his travel bag.

"Actually, we are wine family," Con reminded him, sticking his head into the bathroom. "Or have you forgotten what you told me about Mam's sister, Suzanne. A woman you met, I'll remind you, because of Lilly." He raised his eyebrows over bright greens. "Quinn, is that what this is about? You're pissed at Mam because she didn't try harder to stand up for us, and you're pissed at Lil for doing the same thing?"

Quinn shouldered him aside on his way back into the bedroom. Sometimes he hated his little brother—especially when he was right.

"She lied to us, Con. Told us she had no other family when it wasn't true."

"To protect us, Quinn."

"To protect us or to protect her? Because then she wouldn't have to do the hard—"

"Where are you going?"

Quinn spun toward the voice in the open doorway. He thought he had locked the door, but apparently not. "Lilly, how about knocking? Jesus, Joseph, Mary, you scared me."

"Quinn, can we talk?" She wrung her hands together.

"Nothing you can't say in front of my brother." He turned from her and kept collecting and sorting his clothes. "Oh, wait. You don't have a voice of your own anyway."

Hurt flashed across her pretty face, making Quinn feel like an ass. But this thing, whatever they'd had between them, was over. If Lil couldn't even stand up for him in front of her mother and that other woman, then it had never even really started.

"That's not fair, Quinn," she said, her voice trembling. "I've changed a lot in such a short time, and it's because of you."

Quinn, Lilly, and Con all waited for something, staring at each other, until Con stretched his smooth, agile yoga-like body in his underpants. "Whew! Am I ready for a walk. I think I'll go take one right now." He moved toward the door, Lilly stepping out of his way.

"In your Y-fronts, snapper?"

Con looked down at his underwear, smiled at Lilly sheepishly, and stepped into his jeans, throwing his sweater over his bare body. He carried his shoes out with him. At the door, he paused, his bed head hair sticking up on top. "You're not too late. Better brother," he said, pointing at himself and winking back at Quinn. "That one's a chancer."

Quinn lifted his middle finger.

Once he was gone, Lilly entered the room like a fog of remorse and sat on the edge of the bed. "Quinn, I know I have to face her. And I have. But she caught me off guard just now."

"Doesn't matter." Quinn shrugged.

"It does matter. It matters to you and me both, but I'm getting there," she said, aimlessly smoothing out the edge of the blanket. "You have to understand...you...you arrived here at an odd time for me. I've been needing to pull away from this town for a while, building the courage. In retrospect, I think I applied for the Food Network internship hoping I would win, so that I'd have a legitimate reason to leave. But I was shocked when I won. Even then, I still had a hard time facing my mom. So imagine my shock when you came into my life, needing someone to stand up for you, when I can barely stand up for myself."

Quinn took in the pained conflict in her face. Knew she was right—she'd already been coping with changes in her life as best as she could. But he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal he'd felt when he'd reached for her hand in the kitchen and she'd crossed her arms.

"I wasn't prepared for you, Quinn," she continued, as if hearing his thoughts. Rising, she walked up to him and placed her hand on his arm. "But I'm doing it, little by little. I just need time. Please forgive me?"

Quinn sighed a huge rush of air. He wanted so much to give her the benefit of the doubt and be over this. But he could still hear the words he'd been spewing to Con before she'd appeared. How he'd blamed his mam for failing to stand up for them, the same way Lilly had failed to take his back downstairs, but also how he'd resented directing the course of his life based on other's needs rather than his own. He hadn't even known he felt that way until the words were out of his mouth. And yet here he was again, about to hitch his dreams to those of another person. Bottom line, the paths they chose to pursue would be influenced by whether they were indeed a couple or not. It was fine to make sacrifices for love when you knew what it was you were giving up, but when you didn't? No. They needed to be sure what they wanted from life before committing to one another. As much as it killed him, it was better they go their separate ways and do that.

"I do forgive you, Lil. It's fine. Just...let me go."

"No! Quinn, how can you say that? I don't want to let you go."

He clenched his fists, fighting back the urge to gather her in his arms and sweep this all behind them. He was so torn. "I didn't like being judged in that kitchen. You have no idea what it was like to stand there, and the one person I could depend on to say something—anything—dropped my hand and sided with my enemy."

"I didn't side with them. I didn't side with anyone, and that was a mistake."

"That's fine. I understand. It just...it feels awkward here. It would be best if I stayed somewhere else, at least for a while."

She watched him with fear brimming in her chest. "So you're just leaving?"

"I'll find a motel somewhere."

"But I'll see you again, right? You and all your brothers?"

"I—I don't know, Lil. I just need to think." He cupped her face in his hands and stared deeply into her eyes. "But no matter what happens, stop letting your mam and her friends control you. How can you ever expect to open your own business when you can't even stand up to your own mam in the house kitchen?"

He knew it was tough love to come out and say that, but she had a lot of growing up to do. Maybe in the future, if conditions were right, they could try again. Maybe they had just had a good time together and that was it.

Her eyes glossed over, forming a pang of guilt in his chest. "God, Quinn, I'm trying. You have no idea what it's like to live with her. She's always been strong-willed, but since my father died, it's gotten both better and worse. She can be harsh, I know that, but she—she's gone through so much, Quinn. She's tired. Broken."

"I understand that, Lil." He did, he truly did, but a tiger never changed his stripes, and something told him that she would always be fighting demons. She'd always be a small town girl at heart, and she'd always feel weird with the son of Maggie Phillips, as long as everyone felt that Maggie Phillips was the town outcast. "I have to go."

"You think I don't have what it takes, don't you?" Her blue eyes implored him, but he couldn't look straight into them. "Don't you? You've already decided—that I'm not right for you, that I have a lot to learn. I see it, Quinn. I see it in the way you keep shaking your head like it's not what you want to hear."

"Nothing's been decided, Lil. But I have to go now. Please just let me."

For a long time, she watched him pack his things, just stood against the window, seething. "Just so you know, it's because of you that I allowed myself the luxury of dreaming big, of imagining the bakery as a real place. When you talked business, about your family's restaurant, I could actually see myself opening one for real. You're even pushing me now. You're helping me grow, Quinn, and I'll always thank you for that." She slid across the room and paused at the door, as if hoping, waiting for him to say anything.

But he didn't know what to say. This was ending and ending badly.

The bubble had popped, the parade had been rained on. It was only a matter of time. God, she was beautiful, even standing there with tears in her eyes, and how he would have loved to cultivate a relationship with her had the timing been right, but alas—it wasn't meant to be. Just another heartbreak in his life.

Time to move on again.

He finished packing his and his brother's bags, did a quick sweep of the room to make sure he wasn't leaving anything in the closet or under the sheets, and then took a solid, long glance at the room that had been his home for two weeks. Pausing at the door to plant a last kiss on Lilly's forehead, he rushed out of Russian River House before he caught sight of her perfect doll face again and changed his mind.

# Eighteen

Her heart couldn't have ached more if he'd broken it with both his strong hands.

No "Goodbye, Lilly." No "Thank you for the times we shared." Nothing. Just a kiss on her head like a period at the end of a long, beautiful, if confusing, sentence. There was nothing she could say to stop him from leaving.

She could hear Quinn telling Con that everything had been packed. "So, let's go." The front door of the B&B closed, and her chest imploded with a million questions and regrets, as she stood staring at the empty room that had held the O'Neill brothers and all their things just a moment before. Now, it was just a cold space where her heart had been.

Wait...

He hadn't taken everything. In his haste, he'd left something brown and leather and very, extremely important sticking out underneath his pillow—Maggie Phillips' journal. Quickly, she rushed in and scooped it into her shaking hands, wondering if she should run out after him, but he'd already taken off, peeled out of the B&B parking lot, fleeing like a priest from his personal demons.

She wrapped the loose leather string around the journal and held it close to her heart. Chances were, he would notice soon enough that it was missing, and then he'd have to come back to her to get it, but only after suffering a bit. Yes, it was an evil thing to think, but he was the one who left in a rush, refused to listen or talk things through.

Closing the bedroom door, she headed upstairs to her room with the journal, closed her door behind her, and sat on her king-sized empty bed, book in hand. The urge to glance through its telltale pages was overwhelming. There might be insight there about her father, why Maggie left for Ireland, things that would help Lilly understand a tormented woman's train of thought.

Lillian knew once her eyes fell on the written words within, her brain would soak them up, simmer them a while, then serve them up in some form, one way or another—whether she agreed with Maggie's decisions or not. She could, of course, adopt a head full of morals all of a sudden and not read it at all—but then again, Quinn had clearly told her that he trusted her completely and that she could read the journal whenever she wanted.

She wanted to understand Quinn better. Right now, she needed to feel close to him. He was hurt and angry right now, but she knew he'd been right to place his trust in her.

Lilly went to her room's fridge, pulled out a bottle of chardonnay, and poured herself a chilled glass. Then, slipping into her sweater, she escaped to the outdoor terrace with the journal, sat on her lounge chair, the very one she and Quinn had made love on almost two weeks ago and breathed in the scent of jasmine and gardenia. Striking a match, she lit one of her outdoor lanterns on the side table, hung quietly for a few moments, listening to the silence of the valley, and began to read.

Hours later, Lilly went to see her mother. She knew exactly where to find her. Most of the time, they were both tethered to the bed-and-breakfast but when she was troubled, Penny Parker gravitated toward Parker House and the vineyard where her husband had worked alongside his family. As Lilly headed over there, the sky's patchwork of purple and yellow clouds set against the autumn orange background brought sad memories. Dad had died on a day just like this. His ALS had hit an all-time low, and the hospice finally made "the call" to deliver the bad news.

That had been heartbreaking enough. Add to that the last couple hours reading Maggie's journal and the slap when Quinn walked out of her life, and it was enough to make Lilly want to curl up into a ball and burst into tears. But there was no time for that. She had to find her mom to make things right.

She spotted her mother's emaciated form within the endless rows, talking with a worker, touching the cabernet grapes with loving tenderness. Lillian shuffled up to where she stood and panted an end-of-walk sigh. "Hey."

Her mother whirled, wiping her hand on the towel she'd strung from a loop on her jeans. "There you are."

"Can we talk?"

Mom nodded. "Let's go back to the veranda." She turned and walked slowly toward the main house, dragging her feet. She was definitely getting slower these days, which worried Lilly.

"I'm sorry for the way I left the kitchen earlier," Lilly said. After Avery's rude comments, she had slapped down her towel, torn off her apron, and stormed out, finishing dressing as she'd walked out of the kitchen. "But I want you to understand where I was coming from—"

"But?" Mom interrupted. "Lillian, when you apologize, apologize. There are no 'buts.'"

Lilly scoffed. "At least I'm apologizing, even though I didn't do anything wrong. I mean, aside from being half-naked in the kitchen, that is. I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

Mom raised an eyebrow in her direction. "You did more than that. You know what you did."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lilly asked, vying for her mother's eye contact and not getting it. "What do you have against Quinn? I know in your mind, he's the spawn of the devil, but he's not. First of all, he's not a clone of Maggie Phillips, and second—"

"What would you know of Maggie Phillips? You weren't even around yet, Lillian."

"I didn't need to be around. I can read. I read Maggie's journal about those days before she left for Ireland and the few years that followed. She wasn't an ogre, Mom. I know you won't understand, but she wasn't. She cared, and she had to hurt some people to follow her heart—"

Her mother stopped and faced her. "Stop telling me that you think you know what I feel. 'I know you feel this...I know you think that.' You don't know what I think." The wagging finger was up and doing what it did. "You aren't me, so please...keep this about you."

Mom continued walking, and Lilly fumed. "You know, Mom, you keep interrupting me, which just goes to show that you don't even respect what I'm saying."

Lilly's mother hung her head from exhaustion. "Listen, I don't feel like arguing with you. I do respect what you're telling me, but if you're going to try and convince me that there's nothing wrong with you seeing a boy from that family, you're very much mistaken."

"A man, Mom. We're not teenagers. We're grown adults, and we actually don't need your approval, though it'd be nice. Nobody knows why people do the things they do. We can only assume they have a good reason. It's called the benefit of the doubt. If you did something crazy, wouldn't you expect me to give you that same benefit?"

"Sure, but I've never done anything to make you mistrust me," her mom replied. They reached the main house and her mother headed for her favorite wood table on the patio. "Don't even try to compare me to that woman, because I won't stand for it." She huffed.

"Are you for real?" Lilly yanked out a chair and plopped into it. "Mom, there's three sides to every story. In this case, there was Dad's, Maggie's, and the gray area in between. The way I see it, you should be thankful Maggie broke up with Dad. It made him come back to you. Isn't that what life is about? Letting go of the things you want, and if they come back to you, then they're yours?"

"I didn't let go of your father, Lillian. He was ripped from me." Her mother's eyebrows formed a straight line. "Maggie knew Ken had a girlfriend and didn't care. She pursued him anyway. Then, when she got bored, she broke his heart, and yes, that opened the door for him to come back to me, but he was wounded. I was wounded. A good person doesn't go around wounding people."

"She was living her life, Mom, doing what she felt was right."

"At the expense of others' feelings? I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Look, I don't know what it is you're trying to tell me, but like I said, I won't be convinced. You can talk to everyone in this town, and they will all tell you that Maggie Phillips was no good. She was a tramp."

"She was a girl, Mom. Just like you at the time. She can make mistakes." Lilly played with the edge of a cloth napkin. "And she loved Dad greatly, but he was too controlling for someone like her." She shut her trap quickly. She hadn't meant to suggest that her mother was good for being controlled, but her mother had tolerated his set ways well. "Is that why you've seemed militant ever since he died? Now that he's not around, you figured someone has to give the orders? Because holy shit, I can barely breathe sometimes."

Her mother glared at her across the table. "I don't even know who you are anymore."

"Why? Because I'm speaking the truth? Because I'm not just sitting idly by while you tell me what you want me to do with my life? Because I'm telling you that, no matter what, I'm moving on with or without your blessing."

"I thought you came here to apologize."

"I did, but maybe I was hoping you'd offer one too. Should have known better." Lilly pushed back her chair and stood. She didn't know why she had even bothered to sit. Talking with her mom was like talking to a concrete wall.

"You were nice, and now you're just rude," her mother said, but Lilly would not give into the guilt trip.

"I used to be quiet, not nice. Don't mistake the two. Now I'm swallowing my fear of talking to you, and it's amazing how liberating it feels."

"Well, don't stop on account of me!"

Lilly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Stay calm. "I don't care if you agree with me anymore. It's my life, and I just came to say I was sorry." Lilly started walking away.

"Sorry, not sorry?" Her mother laughed, dismissing her with the wave of her hand. "Listen, if you don't forget that boy and that entire family, you'll live to regret it. Your father did, but he learned too late. Go to Miami. I don't care. Find a good man over there. I'd rather see you happy with a man who treats you well far away from home than you living close to me with a man who doesn't."

"Who says he doesn't?" Lilly held back her rage. Why did this bother her so much? And why was she about to defend Quinn O'Neill the way he wished she would have, even though he'd left? Because he still deserves it, regardless of the outcome. Lilly came charging over to her mother and squatted in front of her face. Evenly, she said, "That man has listened better and treated me better and wished more love and luck for me in the short time I've known him than you have in my entire life!"

She was keenly aware that Nancy and the staff was poised at the door to the patio doing a terrible job of pretending not to be eavesdropping.

"Well, if that's how you feel, then I don't know why you're still here. Go already. Leave early to Miami. I'm sure you can find another family there that will treat you better, since I haven't done anything for you all these years!" A buildup of tears rose into her eyes. "Since I haven't worked my whole life to make sure that my only child is taken care of, that she won't have to struggle her entire life like I have. God, how can you be so ungrateful?" Mom broke into tears and hung her head over the table.

Lilly reached out to grab hold of her shoulder. "Mom..."

"Leave me alone."

"All I meant...all I've been trying to say, is that I would like your support very much. I would like for you to be proud of me. I would like for you to trust me."

"I do trust you!"

"Then don't worry who I date, where I live, or what I do with my life. Can't you just be happy for me?" It was a simple enough question, but she knew, from the look on her mother's face, that it was asking too much. Lilly shook her head slowly. "You know, something I learned from Maggie's journal is that people always see the person who broke up a relationship as a villain. Even though she did what was right. She spared Dad years of unhappiness and maybe even a divorce. She gave you your marriage. She gave you me, and she gave me...my life. Finally, she gave me Quinn. Even if it was only for a short time, she gave me a man to love."

Lilly turned and headed out. There was nothing more to say. With or without her mother's blessing, she was moving to Miami. With or without Quinn's love as well.

# Nineteen

It was hard for Quinn to believe that he and Con had been in Forestville for almost two weeks. Hard to believe that, within that time, he'd managed to visit a multitude of places, see the Pacific Ocean, nearly developed an affinity for wine, and fall in love all at the same time. But it was time to undo the latter. There was no possible way it was going to work between him and Lilly, and he should have known that from the beginning.

The Motel 6 down the road was a far cry from Russian River House, but it would do just a few more days until the others arrived. While Con had gone off with Dara for a bit, Quinn laid on the uncomfortable, spring bed of his little motel room and stared wide-eyed at the popcorn ceiling that must boast the biggest water stain in California.

His chest felt heavy with regret.

Maybe he shouldn't have left the bed-and-breakfast in the fashion that he had. Maybe he should have stayed to work it out, done a better job of listening to Lilly, but he knew—just knew—that had he listened to her with a more open heart, he would have stayed, endangering his heart and complicating their lives even further. It was hard—hard as bloody hell—to walk away from those sapphire eyes on the verge of tears. Over the last two weeks, they had anchored themselves into his psyche, to the point that every morning, upon waking up, her eyes were the first thing he'd think about, her smile second, and the way she made him feel a close third.

Now all he could think about was how much she'd hurt him in the kitchen when she'd failed to stand by him. Not a good sign for times to come.

Soon, Lilly would be a superstar, appearing on that pastry chef bloke's show, kicking ass and taking no prisoners, making a name for herself in Miami and beyond. Soon, she wouldn't need him for anything, because after all, he had nothing to offer her. It was only a matter of seconds before the richest, most handsome fellows would spot her and come knocking on her door. A woman who looked the way she did, laughed the way she did, and could bake like a champion?

He wouldn't stand a chance. And why should he?

How could he expect a woman like Lilly to pin her hopes on him when he couldn't even make up his mind about what he wanted to do next in his life?

So what did he want to do, for fuck's sake?

Whether or not he was with Lilly, and for now it was best to assume he wouldn't be, what did he want to do with his life? Right here and right now, what called to him? But also, what could he see himself doing ten years down the road and still be happy? What did he want to do? If he could do anything in the world?

He wanted to run a restaurant.

That was the simple truth. Otherwise, he never would have entertained the idea of taking Mulligan's Tavern off Paul Brennan's hands. Granted, he could open a restaurant anywhere. Didn't have to be here.

But he wanted it to be here.

It didn't matter that he hadn't even seen anything else of America. Green Valley just felt right.

The way being with Lilly had felt right? a voice in his mind sneered.

Yes, like that. He wasn't sure whether that would be enough in the end to make things work between them, but right now, he could begin the process of tending to the other things in his life, and hope that as a result, what to do about him and Lilly would become more clear.

With a renewed sense of purpose and confidence, Quinn sat up. The first thing he was going to do was deal with the obvious anger he'd been feeling toward his mam. She'd always said family was king, but she'd failed to tell her sons they had relatives in America. And yes, ultimately her loyalty was to her husband and children, but to simply give up on the rest of her family after only one apparent attempt to reach out to them (though granted, it had been an attempt that had been devastatingly rejected) made no sense. He hadn't realized that's how he felt, not until he'd been railing to Con, but obviously part of him couldn't understand why his mam had done what she'd done, and maybe the only way he'd ever be able to understand was by facing his mother's past head on.

He'd start by finally visiting the house she'd grown up in, something he'd hesitated doing in case his grandfather still lived there. But he couldn't wait any longer. If he happened to see his grandfather today, so be it.

Reaching for the old journal on the nightstand and not finding it there, he realized, in his heated argument with Lilly, that he must have packed it away deep in his suitcase. He'd look for it later. Didn't need it for reference anyway—he'd already memorized the address after so many times reading it. By now, he could find it with his eyes closed.

Driving several miles out to Forestville Road, the palms of Quinn's hands began to sweat. What would he find when he reached his destination? All his life, he'd imagined his mother as a child in some faraway, dream-like house, something out of his imagination rather than a real place. Since she'd provided little context, he'd always filled in the blanks, imagining her living in a cottage out in a green meadow somewhere, like the houses in fairytales about little kids who visited witches' homes and got thrown into ovens. A quaint home made of cobblestone and brick with flowers in the flowerbeds and a smiling mother who baked cookies every night.

What he found when he turned the corner, rumbled down the gravel driveway, and cut the engine at a safe distance from the main gates wasn't too far off from that description. 739 E. Sunflower Road. A large, two-story yellow house sat there on a sprawling spread of green acreage of vineyards. On the front lawn of the property was a huge oak tree, and hanging from it, a tire swing. There were brightly-colored flowers, but not in flowerbeds, instead lining the house in a neat, clipped row of bushes. It was a thousand times nicer than the house he and his brothers had grown up in.

"So, this is it, Mam?" he whispered in the silence of the rental car.

This was where his mam had grown up.

Same house she'd lived in during secondary school, same home she'd lived in when she graduated and began college, when she dated Ken Parker, same house she came home to after meeting Grant O'Neill. Quinn could just imagine a young Maggie bursting through the door, excitement in her flushed cheeks, running to her room and closing the door quietly to prop open her journal and write about the charming, funny man she had met at Mulligan's. There was something comforting about putting a face to a question mark, replacing a cardboard cutout brain image with reality.

Mam grew up here. That's where she learned to walk, ate her meals, slept, and dreamed up all her crazy future ideas. That's where my life began too, in a way.

Damn, his mam had grown up with some fine threads, fine house, and fine money. She'd left it all behind for a man.

No. That wasn't right.

She'd done it for...

"Love," he said. "You did it for love, right, Mam?"

Only the whooshing of trees in the autumn breeze answered him. He closed his eyes and imagined her answering, "Yes. Family is king. But love...love is everything."

"You didn't know how to fight for both," he whispered. "Your family in Dublin and your family here."

Just like Lilly hadn't known how to fight for Quinn in that kitchen without irreparably hurting her relationship with her mam. For a few seconds, she'd frozen. And Quinn had crucified her for it.

He'd lashed out at her for faltering, even though Quinn himself had told her love was complicated. They'd wanted to believe their love would magically cure the problems they faced, but love was messier than that when a person loved many. When different types of family were involved.

He let the pain come. For the first time in a month, he did nothing to suppress the wave of tears that rose, peaked, and swelled over. His shoulders shook from the emptiness of loss, felt the gaping hole in his heart, as if someone had punched the breach into his chest then filled it with gallons of grief.

Mam hadn't told him about this house or her former life to spare him the pain of a place she'd thought he'd never be able to visit. He still didn't agree with that decision, but he could accept that she wasn't perfect and had tried her best. Again, just like Lilly had.

Quinn sat there for a long time until he realized it had probably been too long. For all he knew, someone had looked out the window and was even now calling the police after seeing a strange car sitting out front.

Did her family—his family, for that matter—still live there? Or was the house now occupied by strangers? Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he threw caution to the wind and stepped out of the car, crossing the wide driveway to reach the mailbox. God, he hoped there weren't any security cameras on him, and if there were and someone found out, he would just come clean and explain what he was doing.

I had to know who lived here. It was the truth and easiest explanation.

Reaching a mailbox made of colorful stained glass depicting bunches of grapes, he opened the little access door, keeping an eye on the front bay windows. There was movement inside the house, judging from the shadows flitting back and forth. Quickly, he reached in and felt mail inside. Thank God.

Pulling out whatever fell under his hand, he sifted through advertisements to find a business envelope addressed to Beatriz Phillips-Tulle. Superb, his aunt lived here, and not the nice one either. Panic gripped his chest, and he suddenly realized how wrong, how very wrong it was to come here. If his mother didn't mention her pre-Irish life to him and his brothers, there must have been a good reason. He was looking for trouble, and still, he had to know, so he could close the door on that chapter.

Curiosity compelled him forward.

One envelope after another read the same name. Carefully, he placed the envelopes back into the mailbox and closed the door. From inside the house, a dog began barking at the window, his sign to leave, but in case they never made it back, he wanted to show his brothers. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he opened up the screen and selected the camera app, then he began taking picture after picture of their mam's old house.

He wished Lilly were here to help him through this moment. She might even know some local trivia about the house, like what color it used to be or whether or not they'd built any additions in the last twenty or so years.

The last photos he took were of the tree swing. If he squinted his eyes hard enough, he could see his mother as a little girl sitting on the swing and kicking higher, higher, into the air. He blinked, and the vision vanished.

There, that should be enough.

Jogging back to his car, he climbed in and turned the engine on, breathing a sigh of relief that nobody had seen him, even with the big black dog barking at the window. Quinn slowly pulled into the driveway, made a three-point turn, and backed out again, aiming to drive right off the property.

But just as he was getting ready to leave, another car rumbled into the long, gravel driveway—a Lexus from the look of the headlamps. If he could just drive out without making eye contact, that'd be great. Nerves flittered through him, as the car pulled up, crunching over the tiny rocks and slowing down right next to his window.

The furrowed, concerned brow of an older woman with similar cheekbones to his mother made him smirk and put his foot down on the gas pedal, but the woman's window lowered, her hand stuck out, and she asked him to stop.

So he did.

He lowered his window as well and threw on a quick smile. He knew exactly who she was, as well as the elderly man sitting in the passenger seat looking rather spaced-out. The woman with dyed ash blonde hair stepped out of the car, leaving the driver door open and approached his window. "May I help you?" she asked, peering inside.

Her green eyes, the crow's feet around them, and the blushed cheekbones were shocking to gaze at, like looking at an older version of his mother's ghost. His aunt, Beatriz—alive and in front of him.

The moment her eyes landed on his, her whole demeanor changed. A shadow of darkness seemed to move over her like an eclipse of a very caught-off-guard sun.

"Hullo," he said, doing nothing to hide his accent. "Was just stopping by to see this house. Hope you don't mind."

Beatriz Phillips curled one set of French-manicured nails around the edge of the window. "You have a lot of chutzpah coming here," she murmured in a way that made it clear that the old man behind her had not yet caught on to who he was. "You need to leave and don't return unless you're invited."

Something about the way she said it stopped him. So did the way she was looking at him, with a plea in her eyes.

She was suggesting, not so much that he shouldn't be there period, but that he should wait for an invitation. Which meant...there was a chance that he'd be asked to come by one day. That she believed maybe, just maybe there might be reconciliation. Maybe a relationship could be formed, maybe...they'd eventually speak to him.

Hope.

He nodded, understanding where she was coming from. "I'm very sorry. It's just that I wanted to see..." Where my mam grew up. He didn't say it. He only watched her face, waiting for the understanding to take over.

"Yes, I know why you're here, and it's distressing to say the least."

"Distressing for me, I would think," he ventured to say. "More than anyone. Maggie was my mam, after all."

"Shh..." She warned, glancing behind her at Old Man Phillips sitting in the passenger seat, staring blankly out at the vineyards. "Don't...are you looking for trouble?"

"No, mum."

"Then you best be getting on your way. Wait to be invited, that's how you do it." She gave him one last dour look before turning and sliding back into her car, punctuating her glare with a shake of her head.

"Who was that, Bee?" Old Man Phillips asked, his voice matching the one Quinn had heard in an unpleasant phone call just a few weeks ago.

Your grandson, Quinn thought, the words poised on his lips. Whether you like it or not.

But as Beatriz rolled up her window, her chastising look replaced with faux cheer, dismissing the whole encounter as perhaps a run-in with a lost driver just looking for directions, she replied, "Nobody," and drove past Quinn into her driveway.

# Twenty

Lilly hung up the phone and sighed.

Immediately after confronting her mother in the vineyards, she'd set out to find her replacement. After speaking with several bakers, she realized what a hard task it'd be to pick one. All of them sounded fantastic. All of them were more than qualified. She'd set up interviews for the rest of the week—that way, Mom, Mellie, and Cook could all try their goodies and decide for themselves who would be the best candidate to replace her.

The wave of relief that washed over her at that moment was freeing.

Everything would be taken care of.

The world would not fall apart without her there, as her mother had made it seem.

She was on her way. Time to move on.

If it hadn't been for Quinn, however, things could have ended differently. Internship or not, she might have stayed in Green Valley. She might have decided that Mom needed her more than Life did and given her internship away to someone else. She liked to think that wouldn't have happened, that she would have found the strength all on her own to face her mother, but the point was, she hadn't needed to. With Quinn's support, she'd done it, and even though he hadn't been by her side physically when she had, he'd been with her in spirit.

He was an amazing man. She loved him. And she wasn't going to let things end this way between them. She had to find him, and there were only so many places he could have gone to stay. Assuming he'd stayed in Forestville, of course.

But before she started driving to a bunch of hotels in search of Quinn, Lilly needed to take care of a couple of things first. While the thought of not seeing Quinn immediately, especially after what had happened earlier, twisted her stomach in knots, she was comforted by the knowledge that he wasn't going anywhere. His brothers weren't due to arrive for another few days. And she wouldn't be leaving for Miami until three days after that.

She had time to make things right with Quinn, and to prove she'd stand by him.

No matter what.

An hour later, Lilly drove toward Langley Bridge. It was a gorgeous October afternoon, the kind that bathed every hilly contour in golden autumn light and made Lilly want to bake up a pumpkin spice storm. She should enjoy the surroundings while she could, since Miami in the Fall meant hurricane season more than it did maple leaf season.

Driving along wine country roads, it hit her all of a sudden how much she was going to miss her hometown a week from now. Maybe she'd return here after her internship after all. It would all depend on what happened between her and Quinn, of course. Maybe that was wishful thinking but...

She glanced at Maggie's journal lying on the passenger seat. It contained the voice of a thousand regrets, and Lillian knew, even though life had gotten too busy for Quinn's mother to write in the journal past her first baby's birth, that Maggie had regretted not making her dreams come true.

"Even though we didn't know each other," she spoke aloud to no one, her voice filling the confines of the car, sounding alien to her, "I'm going to make my life count, Maggie. I'm going to do what I love and I'm going to fight for the man I love. Thanks for the inspiration."

If she listened intently to the silence, she could almost hear Maggie speak back.

Arriving at the bridge, Lilly parked the car and got out. A gust of wind blew through the valley, chilling her to the bone, so she pulled her sweater closer to her. Below the bridge, the water in the creek bubbled and rushed over the stony riverbed.

She wanted to take pictures of it and the surrounding area. She had other pictures, of course, but none taken after she and Quinn had been here, or spent that special time in the wood shed.

The memory of it made her arms tingle and her legs weaken.

No man had ever made her feel that way. No man ever would.

Pulling out her phone, she opened up her camera app and began taking pictures of the bridge, the surrounding trees, then she walked all the way to the wood shed and took pics of that too.

Pausing to stare at the spot where she and Quinn had laid down and made love formed tears in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. She refused to accept she'd never be with him again.

Finally, she returned to her car, bowed her head, and lost it. She cried not because she'd lost faith in making things work with Quinn but because she'd let him down in the first place. No matter how much she'd done to try and make him feel at home—from driving him and his brother to the Pacific, to taking him on a tour of her family's vineyard, to bringing him straight to his family's winery door, it hadn't been enough. That moment of truth mattered to him, and she'd dropped the ball. If only she could rewind the clock.

She couldn't. But she could spend the rest of her life making it up to him. Starting with creating a photo book documenting the town in which his mam grew up. She'd make several copies. One for Quinn and each of his brothers. And one for her.

Calmer and more resolved than ever, Lilly scrolled through the photos she'd taken. Then, pulling it toward her, she flipped through Maggie's journal, scanning her words again. Using little scraps of a napkin in her car, she marked important moments—the first time she'd kissed Grant O'Neill, the time he'd bought her flowers, and the time they'd stopped at the corner store to buy picnic items, and it'd started to rain, so he pulled her under the eaves, and they'd kissed for almost a whole hour.

Lilly put the car in reverse a minute then drove back to the main highway, hell bent on making use of the sunlight before it faded completely. Five minutes later, she'd pulled into Forestville Town Park and gotten out, smiling at the sounds of children milking the daylight for all it was worth in the playground. Two little girls swung as high as they could possibly go on the swing set, reaching for the sky.

Lilly watched them, remembering when life was simple.

She snapped a couple photos of the little girls playing, then she reread Maggie's words about her first kiss: And there, underneath the park gazebo, he asked if he could kiss me...and then he lowered his head, and our lips touched. Like magic, sorcery, and kismet all rolled into one.

Lilly knew exactly where the gazebo was, in the back of the park, because she'd hung out there many a time long ago. It was a perfect place for kissing. When she arrived, she laid the old journal on the wooden seating, probably where Maggie had once sat, stepped back, and framed the shot, taking pics of the whole composition.

Satisfied with her photos, she walked back to the car.

From there, she moved on to the flower market down the road, purchased a small bouquet of sunflowers from Mrs. Garcia, and thought of another great photo. Laying Maggie's journal on an old chair just outside the flower shop, she stepped back and framed another shot, taking pic after pic of the old diary in front of the store. Another historic Maggie-Grant spot.

After that, it was the bleachers behind Green Valley High School on the football field where their marching band was rehearsing for the big game this Friday. Lilly flipped open to the right page.

And right there, Maggie had written, underneath the second column of the bleachers, Grant asked me to run away with him to Ireland. It was the single most romantic moment of my life. We etched our names for all posterity to see. Ha! Such rebels.

No mention of her father.

No guilt over the pain they might cause him.

Lilly took this as a sign of how deeply in love Maggie had been with Grant. She smiled at the words and at her own ability to forgive and forget and searched for the etched names underneath the bleachers, enjoying this post-mortem game of scavenger hunt. It took a while, but finally, on the underside of the bleachers, carved into thin, shiny metal were the initials MP <3 GO.

Lillian propped the journal up between two perpendicular beams and framed the shot. The marching band's trumpet line blared the ending to a song, just as Lilly snapped the photo. The perfect finish.

"Gotcha."

Putting her phone away, ideas for the album tore through her mind like a tornado, swirling up a cocktail of creativity. Tonight, she would compose these together for Quinn as a gift. If she knew anything about manly men, most wouldn't take the time to compile the pics in any coherent way.

This way, he'd have a tangible memory of his time here in Forestville, of his "mam" and dad, and possibly of her too.

That evening, Lillian sat at her laptop, furiously working away at her photo project. She deeply regretted not standing up for Quinn at the most crucial moment and had to undo it somehow. This would be a start—a worthwhile peace offering. She wasn't perfect, but she was doing her best to do right by him.

Listening to Billie Holiday with a glass of wine by her side, she listened to the lyrics as she worked and thought about how difficult some people had it, how hard they'd struggled in their lives for a measly salary, and she felt luckier than ever to have the opportunities coming her way. So in some ways, this photo album she was creating using Mosaic was a testament to dreams—Maggie's dreams—and of keeping them alive.

She added in a few pics of them together for good measure, ones they had taken at the vineyard, at the hotel on the Pacific Coast, even the secret ones at Phillips Vineyard & Winery. For fun, she included the shots she'd taken of him and Con stuffing their faces full of her muffins, and another one—a selfie of her holding his mom's journal, and snuck that one in as well. Hopefully, he'd smile out loud when he saw them.

Finally, on the last page of the leather photo album, she wrote:

Love, Your Muffin Girl

– Lilly

Editing it one last time and putting it in her online shopping cart, she paid for overnight shipping, said a little prayer, and sent off the order. A happy face and thank you! popped up on screen. Lilly slowly folded her laptop.

"Well, that was that," she muttered.

Throwing herself on her bed, she stared at the ceiling fan above and wondered what Quinn was doing at this very moment. Had he noticed the journal was missing but put off having to come back here? Was he missing her at all? Because she missed him terribly.

She missed his joking way with her, his dark brown eyes and the swoony way he'd look at her right before he kissed her. She missed his lips. She missed his strong arms, remembering how safe she felt in them. But most of all, she missed him—all of him.

# Twenty-One

The morning after driving away from his mam's childhood home, Quinn looked out at The Cat's Meow, the park, and the Catholic church across the street, thinking how quickly he'd become accustomed to these sights in just a short time. Pulling on the front door handle of Mulligan's, the bell sounded, and he strolled inside.

"You're sure you'd be okay with it, mate?" Quinn asked Paul Brennan twenty minutes later.

"Wouldn't regret it for a second, Quinn. Would be handing her over to great hands." Paul winked at him and went back to wiping down the countertop.

How many times in one lifetime did bartenders wipe down the same bar? Quinn wondered. He reminded himself that if he was going to do this, he'd have to follow the same advice he'd given Lilly about not becoming a slave to the business.

"Alright," Quinn muttered, swigging back his pint. Setting the glass down on the counter, he paid his tab and headed back to the motel room to start doing the numbers. It wasn't until he rummaged through his travel bag, searching for the notebook where he jotted down ideas that he noticed something.

His mother's journal was still missing. He hadn't seen it in his suitcase last night. He dashed out to the car, checked on top of the seats and under them. He checked the trunk and the path from the car to the room, in case it had fallen out and was laying there.

"Dammit. Dammit, dammit."

He thought about texting Lilly, but being as they'd been living in the same house, they'd never exchanged phone numbers. Besides, after what had happened the previous morning, he didn't want their first contact to be, "Hey, do you have my journal?" That would make him a jerk more than she probably already thought of him.

He'd have to go back to Russian River House to get the journal. At least it would give him the excuse of seeing Lil again so he could apologize for the way he'd acted.

Without thinking twice, he got in his car and took the long and winding road back toward the bed-and-breakfast, marveling at what a fantastic day it was with all its golden browns, greens, and yellows. With the car window open, the air washing over him felt crisp and clean, and Quinn found himself wishing Lilly were with him. They could take a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, much like Mam had wanted to do with Ken all those years ago. They could have one of her infamous picnics. They could climb into the backseat and ravage each other with wild abandon.

Damn her, for leaving indelible marks on his heart. And damn himself for not being more understanding of just how difficult it was for her to stand up to her mother, especially when he'd known that had been a problem for her long before she'd ever met Quinn. Was it possible she could forgive him for the way he'd acted and the horrible things he'd said?

Maybe not, but it wouldn't be for his lack of trying. He was going to put his money where his mouth was, and do what he'd criticized his mam for not doing. He was going to fight for his family in all forms, and that's what Lilly was to him now. The woman he loved.

Part of his family.

When he finally reached the bed-and-breakfast, he cut the engine and stared at the quaint house and surroundings. Her car wasn't in the driveway, which meant she was probably running errands at the grocery store or fetching flowers for the guest areas. Sucking up his courage and running a hand through his hair, he made his way up the walk to the front door covered in fake cobwebs and spiders, knowing his interaction would most likely be with Penny Parker today, laughing at the irony of the creepy décor.

As expected, he was right.

Her blue eyes, which he could admit for the first time were pretty just like her daughter's, peered over the top of the counter. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

"Hullo, is Lilly here?" Quinn closed the door and noticed all the Hallow's Eve decorations that had emerged since he'd left. "Whoa, creepy in here."

"She's gone," Mrs. Parker muttered with a faint victorious narrowing of her eyes.

Quinn's chest deflated. He stared at her aghast. "Gone?" Had she left already? But she wasn't due to leave for another week! Did he piss her off so badly that she figured she'd just leave early?

"Yes, gone. Wasn't that what you wanted?" Deadpan serious question. Her raised eyebrows had it in for him. "For her to leave her hometown, go explore the world, spread her veritable wings? Well, you got what you wanted. Congratulations." She returned to working on her ledger.

Craning his neck around the column to the back, he scanned for Lilly there, not completely believing Mrs. Parker. Fresh faces of new guests all enjoyed a wonderful breakfast, some of them even slathered butter on what were surely Lilly's muffins.

But no Lilly.

"What? You don't trust me?" Mrs. Parker raised an eyebrow.

"Can you blame me?" He tapped the counter and headed toward his old bedroom to see if the journal was still there.

"I can blame you for quite a few things, yes. Is that what you O'Neills do every time you come to Green Valley? You wreak havoc and turn everything on its head?"

Quinn stopped and spun. "I don't know what you've been told or what you think, but I haven't turned anything on its head. Your daughter already had plans to leave before I even got here. If anything, I might have delayed her leaving."

"Flatter yourself, why don't you, Mr. O'Neill." Mrs. Parker chuckled with an edge of sarcasm in her voice, but Quinn detected a betrayal of tears at her eyelids.

"Has she gone—gone for good, to Miami, or do you mean she's gone for the day?"

"I told you she left. You can't go down that way. You've already checked out, and there are new guests there."

"Was anything left behind? Anything of mine? I think I left something here," he said.

"Not that I know of. We cleaned the room out, and all you left behind was a garbage can full of toilet paper. Way to save the environment, O'Neill."

"Sorry about that." He stood there, debating whether or not to tell her about the journal.

"Is there something else I can help you with today?" The hard edge returned to her voice.

Quinn opened his mouth to say yes, actually, did you find a journal belonging to my mother? But closed his mouth, thinking the better of it. Last thing he needed was to alert Penny Parker that the enemy's own, handwritten thoughts were close at hand if she didn't already know.

"No, that was it." He smiled as sincerely as he could muster. "And thank you so much for everything. In my hurry when I left, I forgot to mention how utterly charming and hospitable the staff here at Russian River House was to me and my brother. I will be sure to post a review telling the world about your friendliness." He turned on his heels, heading for the door.

How would he find the journal in the house, if he couldn't bring himself to mention it to the gatekeeper? Quinn sighed, glancing around the bed-and-breakfast living room, taking in its symmetry, vintage furniture, and all the new spooky additions before he never saw the place again.

"Quinn?"

Turning slowly, he stared at Lilly's mam.

"I know you didn't do anything wrong," she said, swiping at her eyes. "I'm just scared to lose my daughter."

He considered this change in tune. It made sense. He knew there had to be an underlying reason for her harshness when he hadn't done anything to offend her. "I understand, Mrs. Parker. I'm sorry for undressing in your kitchen. I'm sure that didn't help."

She shook her head, looking down. "In a small town, you either love it or you hate it. If you hate it, you rarely come back to live."

"I don't think Lilly hates it here, Mrs. Parker, but she's at that tipping point."

"And I don't blame her." Mrs. Parker gave a sardonic laugh and brought a tissue to her nose. "With an overbearing old hag like me for a mother?"

"You mean a loving mom like you?" Quinn said, giving her a contained smile. "It'll all be alright. Just trust her, and everything will be alright. You raised a good girl."

"Yes, I did," she said, straightening her composure. "And you? You staying or leaving?" she asked, sounding like she actually cared what happened to him.

"I'm staying for another week at least." Of course, he planned to stay for much longer than that, but she didn't need to know that yet.

"Well, good luck then," she said. "And Quinn? I'm sorry about your mom."

Her condolences were real. He could see that much from her softened expression and smile. "Thanks." He opened the door and walked into the fresh sunshine. Sighing, he marveled at how many different sides one person could have to their personality and what brought out the worst in them. It was satisfying, at the very least, to know that she had nothing against Quinn personally, though she really seemed to fear losing Lilly.

He couldn't blame her. He felt the same.

An idea occurred to him and he scuttled across the lawn into the parking lot, rounding the corner. Remembering the way Lilly had shown him when they snuck up to her room that wonderful night under the stars, he edged his way along the side wall of the establishment until he reached the side doorway. Finding the door unlocked, he slipped inside the warmth and headed for the side stairs.

Nobody was around, which meant he could climb the stairs quickly without running into anyone and having to defend himself. He cringed, imagining how quickly Penny Parker would change her mind if she knew the boy she had suddenly forgiven was now prowling around her house. Chuckling to himself, he reached the top steps of the third floor and approached Lilly's closed bedroom.

"Please, please be open," he muttered, placing his hand on the door knob and turning.

Locked.

"Fuck."

He reached up to feel along the top edge of the door frame, and sure enough, his fingers ran across a thin piece of metal. He plucked it off and looked down at his open palm. An interior door skeleton key. Without thinking much about it, before he changed his mind, he pushed the narrow tip through the hole in the center of the knob and turned to the right.

Open sesame.

Her bedroom brought back instant memories of that one, amazing night. For a woman who'd supposedly just left to live in Miami for six months, she hadn't appeared to have taken much. Her bed was littered with crumpled clothing, even a few freshly-laundered underwear. Though his curiosity tempted him to lift one and give it a good look, he resisted the urge to peruse Lilly's clothes while she wasn't around. He was hot for her, but he wasn't a creep.

Scanning the room, he didn't spot the journal anywhere. "Come on, come on..."

He searched everywhere he'd be if he were a leather-bound journal—on the desk, under the mountain of clothes, on her nightstand... He stopped. Her laptop was here. Why, if she had left for Miami, would she have left her laptop? Underneath the silver edge of metal was a little piece of paper. He tugged at it—a Post It Note with L <3 Q written on it.

So, not only had she not left yet, but she was thinking about him, eh?

He smiled.

A heavy weight seemed to lift off his chest just knowing that she was still around, that she was just as much in love with him as he was with her. He pocketed the piece of paper and went to her French doors to the patio. Unlocking and opening them up, it was like all of Green Valley had come home to just him. The rolling hills, the now-familiar rows and rows of vineyards, both from the Parker House and other town families, blanketed the land.

Quinn sighed. He wasn't sure what was more beautiful—this view underneath the stars or during the morning light. Light footsteps walked across the wooden deck, as Quinn inhaled the scent of gardenias and hydrangeas soaking up the sun. The aromas reminded him of Lilly. Whether her skin had smelled of flowers, or her flowers smelled of Lilly, he wasn't sure. Maybe they were one and the same.

Reaching her lounge chair, he pressed back against the rest and enjoyed the view.

A gust of wind raced through the valley, sending a fresh burst of dry leaves dancing all over the deck. Something fluttered next to him. On the wooden side table next to the chair, pages from a book flapped in the breeze. He spotted the leather brown cover—Mam's journal.

He distinctly remembered leaving it on the nightstand in his room. She must have recovered it for him then sat outside here reading it. And why not? It made for a fascinating story and he'd already told her he didn't mind if she read it. He scooped it up and thumbed through the pages, internalizing his mam's handwriting, noticing that someone had marked the pages—the gazebo at the park, the bleachers at the football stadium, the flower shop...all places she had spent time with Dad.

Lilly had marked them, of course.

She was just as fascinated with this voice from the past as Quinn was. After having lived here her whole life, he wondered how she'd felt seeing it through his mam's eyes. If doing so had renewed her appreciation for life by the Russian River where the land was fertile and the nights were magical. He wondered if once she learned that Quinn was going to settle here, if it would tempt her to return after her internship in Miami was over. Because he was no longer worried that telling her of his plans might unfairly sway her decisions.

He was doing what he wanted to make his own dreams come true. Part of that dream was that Lilly would be a big part of his life, but he couldn't control that. All he could do was apologize for what happened, tell her he loved her and would always support her, and then the rest was up to her.

# Twenty-Two

Ever since she could drive, Lilly had loved taking day trips to San Francisco to dream. She'd enjoyed checking out the competition by ordering treats from different trendy bakeries, jotting down ideas, then brainstorming what her own shop would one day look like and what she would serve within it.

Only difference was, this time, she wasn't dreaming about opening her first bakery in some big city thousands of miles from Green Valley, or even in San Francisco itself, but a bakery in Green Valley.

After much soul searching the day before, she'd decided it's what made most sense. A natural interim step to opening a second bakery in a bigger city, and something she'd never let herself consider before because she'd been feeling powerless and trapped, something she no longer did thanks to the fact she'd finally learned to voice her own needs.

Whether she and Quinn reconciled or not, she'd needed to decide what she really wanted to do after Miami. It was only then they'd have a chance of reconciling her dreams with his.

Once her internship in Miami finished, she would have $20,000 of Food Network prize money under her belt, which she could apply toward a new shop. She'd also have the invaluable experience of working with Guy Santoli, not to mention the ten years she'd spent baking for her mother's bed-and-breakfast. Her mother's...that was the first time she'd thought of Russian River House as her mom's and not hers too. She was ready for prime time, and there was no better feeling. She'd start in Green Valley. When she was ready to expand, she'd consider opening another bakery here, in San Fran. From there? Well, the world was her oyster. Or more appropriately, her muffin.

To solidify her plan in her mind, she'd decided to take this morning in the city for herself before she headed back to Green Valley to track down Quinn. And track him down she would. One way or another, she'd make him talk to her, and the beauty of the day merely added to her renewed sense of hope.

The sun was gleaming, the sky was blue, and it was a perfect day for driving with the windows down. The only thing that could've made this day any more red-letter would've been if Quinn was here, but they could plan a visit soon. Assuming they made up by the time his brothers arrived, Lilly could play tour guide to all of them. They could have breakfast near Ghirardelli Square then set off to find some great spots in town—not too trendy and expensive, but not too out in the boondocks either.

Inspired, Lilly headed to Ghirardelli Square and ordered a café latte with a few chocolate-covered strawberries—two milk chocolate with white chocolate stripes and two white chocolate with milk chocolate stripes. Ben used to hate when she'd start the day with dessert, always telling her that one day, the sugar would catch up to her, but there was no one to tell her otherwise, now, was there?

Quinn would've said, "Feck yeah! Start with whatever the fuck you want!" That was something she loved about him—he let her be who she was and never tried to change her.

After breakfast-dessert, she walked some of her favorite neighborhoods, dreaming of the perfect location for her second bakery. There was, of course, Pacific Heights with its multi-million dollar homes, but that was definitely out of her price range. Slightly less expensive but not by much was Cow Hollow, and she parked on a random street and started walking. This particular street had a bread bakery and a cupcake-only bakery but no general bakery where all kinds of goodies might be served.

Entering a boulangerie filled with coffee-scents and toasty, delicious-smelling warmth, she was ecstatic to learn that they still sold their most popular summer muffin, the Peach Cilantro, and she stood in a ten-minute line just to get one. It was fruity and sweet, and the cilantro notes worked perfectly well with the peach. Note to self: create something similar when in Miami with key limes, mango, and rosemary. Couldn't hurt to try.

She visited about five more stores in five more neighborhoods, including Western Addition, Laurel Heights, and Lone Mountain near the University of San Francisco. The more she searched, the more certain she became that she'd settled on the right path. Opening a bakery in the city would be a wonderful accomplishment. Someday.

But as much as she'd fought it, she was a small-town girl at heart. As much as she loved the big city, it didn't have the country charm of Green Valley. Maybe it was because she'd spent yesterday taking photos for Quinn's Mosaic album, or because she'd spent time showing him around, but her appreciation for her hometown had been refreshed. In her heart she knew she'd feel most comfortable starting her business small and gradually expanding. Doing so would also enable her to still have a personal life and build the support team she'd need to ensure that remained true even as her business grew. She felt her stomach tingle just thinking about it.

It was still early afternoon when she headed back home, planning to refresh before heading out to find Quinn. The moment she arrived, her mother was in a mood, exacerbated by the fact that Avery was there, as well, helping her mother file a box of old bills.

"Fine thing to leave us with only fifteen muffins this morning, Lillian," her mother said.

"I left you with way more than fifteen," Lilly assured.

"Actually, no. We have that many guests staying here, and you know everyone has to try at least two. So, you think you could have planned your trip a little better before you just took off leaving us short-handed." Mom pushed papers aside with force and huffed, resting her hand at her forehead, elbow on table.

"Mom, there were more in the freezer, about five strawberry basil and just as many lemon poppy. All you had to do was open it and look. It's not that hard to do."

"Those are summer muffins," her mother reminded her, "and you know by now, they want pumpkin and cranberry."

"Actually, I just visited a bakery today in Cow Hollow where they were still serving a summer muffin—peach cilantro. Mom, it doesn't matter. The point is there was more. Besides, as you know, I'm taking the whole day off. I'm just stopping in but I'll be leaving again in a bit."

Lilly turned and headed out of the kitchen. This was what she came home to? If she didn't know better, she would almost wonder if her mom was purposefully trying to drive her away. Either that, or Avery was, and her mother didn't have the balls to stand up to her best friend.

"Quinn was here," her mother said flatly.

Lilly froze in the hallway. Her heart stopped beating for a slow two seconds then resumed a steady cadence. Slowly, she faced her mom again. "What?"

"He was here. This morning."

"What did he want?"

"He was looking for you," Avery chimed in, sliding receipts toward her then shoving them into a file folder.

"And you told him I'd gone to the city and would be back later today, didn't you, Mom?"

Her mother huffed, studying Lilly in the eye, almost as if debating what to say or how to say it. Lilly's stomach sank when she saw the guilt and yes, even regret, in her mother's expression. "I told him you were gone. I think he took that to mean you were gone for good."

The words knocked the air out of Lilly's windpipe, so much that she had to swallow to keep from choking on dry air. "You think he did? And you didn't bother to tell him otherwise?"

"It's for the best, Lillian." Avery gave her an obviously fake sympathetic pressed-lip look. "Isn't that right, Pen?"

Her mother said nothing. From the looks of it, her mother almost seemed unhappy about this, like she understood she'd gone too far and regretted hurting not only her daughter, but Quinn too. But right now, Lilly was too upset with her to feel much compassion.

"Mother, how could you?" she whispered, then turned away.

"You're not upset, are you, Lillian?" Avery called. "You didn't really think of him as anything more than beefcake, did you?"

This made Lilly slow down.

She had a choice—she could march herself right over there and put that horrible woman in her place, cause a commotion near the guests, and upset her mom, who seemed to be on her side for once. Or...she could turn the other cheek. It didn't matter what Avery said to irk her—Lilly knew that Quinn, though handsome and boasting an athletic body, was, in fact, beefcake-quality, he was much, much more than that. He was funny, sweet, smart, charming, and even had a good head for business. Sexy as hell too.

Lilly took tentative steps towards the foyer. Then a few more, until she flat-out faced Avery Benson and her plump, cheeky face. "I don't know what Neil's leaving did to you," she said, using fire to fight fire. "But it's not pretty. You haven't spent one minute with Quinn O'Neill whereas I spent two weeks. So guess what? You're not qualified to have an opinion. So I suggest you shut your trap before you stick your foot so far in your mouth..."

"Lillian," her mother warned. "You've made your point."

"...that it comes out the other side," Lilly finished.

Avery's face dropped. The receipts fluttered to the desk. Forcefully, she plucked her sweater off the back of Mom's chair and wrapped it around her body. "That was completely uncalled for. Penny, out of respect for our friendship, I won't give her the time of day. She's your daughter. But I will say this. I wasn't going to say anything, but Bernie saw that Quinn boy coming out of the flower shop today with a full bouquet." Avery sneered a victorious grin. "Then she saw him entering Mulligan's later on with the same flowers. I wonder, if he knew that Lilly wasn't in town, why he'd be buying flowers. Hmm. Looks to me like he found someone else to give him a goodbye shag, since you weren't available, Lillian."

Lilly watched her mother's jaw drop open just before she whipped around to face Avery. "Oh, stick a sock in it, would you, Ave? Jesus Christ."

Stunned, Avery stared a moment at Penny, then throwing on her sweater, she picked up her purse, plucked her keys out, and entered the kitchen to leave the back way. "See y'all later."

Lilly seethed, her blood boiled, and eyeballs hurt from how badly she wanted to scream. She stormed out of the foyer, charged down the hall, raced up the secret stairs, and stumbled into her bedroom, slamming the door. God that woman was infuriating! Throwing her crap down on the bed, Lilly burst through the French doors and didn't stop until she reached the edge of her balcony railing.

There, mustering up every cell of frustration in her body, she let loose the mightiest yell, which echoed across the valley. Dogs barked, and doors unlatched, as folks peeked their heads out.

"Everything okay?" someone called from somewhere, possibly a guest down below sitting in their neighboring vineyard.

"No," she whispered, then she frowned and said much more loudly, "But it will be." Just as soon as she found Quinn. It sucked, knowing what her mother had done, but she didn't believe for even one second that Quinn had been bringing flowers to another woman. He loved her and despite their fight, he still did, just as she loved him.

A sound from inside her room made her look up, and then her mother stood at her French doors, holding something in her hands. Stretching them out in a gentle offer, she said, "This came for you today. Lillian, I'm sorry about everything Avery said. I don't agree with her. Well...not completely. I know how much he means to you. I know you two formed a strong bond in a short amount of time and I know you're going to go looking for him. Most of all, I know he loves you too. I saw it for myself in his expression when he was looking for you and when he'd thought you'd gone for good. Hell, maybe you'll move to Dublin after Miami!" Her mouth quivered even as she handed Lilly the package. "But the point is, it's your life, not Avery's and not mine, and I want you to know that, as scared as I am of losing you, you have my full support."

Lilly could hardly believe that after everything, her mom was finally trying to do the right thing. Lilly walked over to her mom and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom."

"It's true. I love you so much. You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me."

"You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me too," Lilly replied, genuinely meaning it, though she could now add a certain Irishman to the mix.

"So you can understand how sad and scared I am knowing you're going to leave me with Avery." Mom giggled against Lilly's shoulder, her laughs turning into half-chuckles, half sobs. "Anyway, I have to get back. And I know you have a certain Irish lad to find." She reached out and pinched Lilly's cheek.

Lilly smiled, watching her mother traipse through her room and out the door.

The package was still in her hand. Looking at it, she knew exactly what it was, and her heart tore open once again. The Mosaic photo album. She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the square, hardcover book, flipping through the photos she'd named "Where Life Began," because it was true. From the moment Maggie Phillips met Grant O'Neill, life had begun for her. Without knowing it, life had begun for Quinn too. Without his parents, there'd be no Quinn, no Con, no Brady, and no...what were his twin brothers called again?

Sean and Riley. The wee ones.

And without Quinn's parents, there would be no Quinn and Lilly either.

Keeping hold of the photo book, Lilly turned to grab Maggie's journal, frowning when she didn't immediately see it where she'd left it. Had her mother taken it? And if so, what had she done with it?

Panic began to swirl through her right until she saw the piece of paper that was lying where the journal had been. With a trembling hand, she picked it up.

And smiled.

Heading downstairs, she raced to her car and took off, driving the five minutes it took to get to the bridge, where Quinn had asked her to meet him. It made sense. It was, after all, the place he associated most with his mother, the first place he'd wanted to visit when he arrived in Forestville. It was also the place where he and Lilly had made their own memories, talking, getting to know one another, and declaring their love for one another before making love in the shed. She imagined him waiting for her, dangling his legs in the river. But when she arrived, he wasn't there.

Disappointed, she walked down the path to the bridge.

Then she saw it.

Lying on the wooden planks, in the spot where they'd sat together talking about life and laughing, was a bouquet of daisies. Tucked into the ribbon, a piece of paper fluttered in the breeze. Lilly pulled it out and unfolded it.

I love you, Lil. No matter what. Wait for me.

# Twenty-Three

Quinn slowed his car to make the turn toward Langley Bridge.

After waiting an hour for Lilly to show by the bridge with no sign of her, Quinn had left to talk to Paul Brennan at Mulligan's for the third time that day, but only after Quinn talked to all his brothers, including Con, about his plan to buy the pub and only after leaving Lilly the flowers he'd bought for her. By then, he'd known there was no way Lilly had left for good without telling him goodbye. She'd be back at some point, but just in case she got to the bridge before he returned, he'd left the flowers and his note. Now, things with Paul settled, knowing that he had his brothers' full support and that they'd be helping him with renovating and opening the pub even if it didn't mean they'd all stay in America for good, Quinn was determined to wait all day and all night for Lilly if he had to.

He turned down the road, driving the seventy or so meters before he saw her hazy form in the distance. In her hands were his flowers.

She waved tentatively. Heart beating hard, he parked next to her car. Without a word, walking as fast as he could, he made his way to her. Uncertain whether she was still angry with him, he stopped right in front of her, shoving his hands into his pockets when all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and kiss her. "Hi, Lil."

"Hi," she said.

He tapped the petals of one daisy. "I see you found the flowers. And my note."

"Yes. Yes I did." She hesitated a moment. Opened her mouth as if to say something. Then she shut it.

And launched herself into Quinn's arms.

They embraced and kissed with urgency, as if they'd been separated for years instead of two days. It would always be this way for them when they were reunited, he thought.

Eventually, their kisses slowed and lightened to whisper soft caresses until finally, he pulled back. "Lil, I'm so sorry about the way I behaved yesterday. I was angry and stressed out of my mind wondering what to do with my life, but I had no right leaving the way I did."

"God, no, Quinn. You had every right. I mean, holy crap, you looked to me for love and solidarity, and I couldn't stand up to my mom right then. I'm sorry, Quinn."

"It's alright." He came up to her and lifted her chin. What a doll face she had. He could never get over just how beautiful she was. "We're together now. And that's how I want it to stay. Even when it's not possible to be physically together, I want our hearts to be one. Is that what you still want?"

"God, yes! I won't lie. I'm still scared, Quinn. I never expected to fall in love right before going off on an adventure."

"I never expected to fall in love right after going off on one." Their lips touched again, and he soaked in the scent of her skin, the way her hair smelled. He tasted the saltiness of tears on her lips and cheeks and instinctively swiped across her eyelids.

She broke the kiss, pressing her forehead into his. "What have you done to me?"

"I can think of a few things." A hard slap bounced off his arm. He laughed. "Ow, woman! I could say the same, you know. I don't know what you've done to me, and it's a cruel practical joke of life that you're leaving just as I'm staying."

Light brown eyebrows furrowed over spectacular diamond blue eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I'm staying, Lil. I've been with Paul at Mulligan's and he's selling it to me. Once they get here, my brothers are going to extend their trip to help me get the place renovated and up and running. We'll have to change the name of it. Something like The Cranky Yankee but Irish, a little more upscale. I want to target a more professional crowd, young wine country tourists with money to spend."

A smile spread across her cheeks. "The Bubblin' Dublin?"

He laughed. "The Roguish Irish?"

He loved it when she clucked her tongue and smiled sexily.

"I like that. Hmm...what about The Stylish Irish? That sounds more trendy, doesn't it?" Her hand slipped into his, as her cheek rested against his chest.

"Not bad, not bad. We'll have to think about it. But Lil, I love that you want to be involved. I know you have commitments in Miami you have to tend to first, else I'll kick your arse, but...when you're done there, maybe we can talk about you coming home again. Can we do that?"

"I've already decided," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She tilted her face up to gaze at him. "This place, as much as it sometimes drives me crazy, is where I belong, Quinn. After I've had my fun in Miami, I'm coming back to open a bakery."

"Sweet. Guess we're both coming home to Green Valley then. Mam would be proud." He bent to kiss her. Nothing like a cool autumn wind to make one hyperaware of just how hot your bodies were or how warm her lips felt drawing in his. His arms wrapped around her. She seemed to lose herself in them, clinging onto them as she pressed her body against his. "I love you, Lil," he whispered into her cheek. "I really do. I know that might change, as your true colors come out and you get uglier with time, but—"

"Hey!" She smacked his butt with an even thwack of her hand. "Or when you're not rock hard anymore and your six-pack turns into a Guinness keg around your waist."

"Ah, touché, fair lass." He laughed, hugging her even tighter. "All joking aside, I do love you. And not just because you're gorgeous, but because you're talented, funny, and well, yes, because being with you means a free lifetime supply of breakfast muffins."

Lilly pressed her body even closer. "Nothing in life is free, Quinn. You'll have to pay for those muffins somehow."

"Will a kiss do?" He put everything he had into his kiss, cradling her face, and loving her, tasting her until he felt her body slump slightly in his arms. Making her weak in the knees. He loved doing that to her. "Not enough?" he chided. "Alright then, how about this?" Scooping her off her feet, flowers smashing against his back as she pleaded to be put down, he carried her all the way down the bridge.

"What are you doing? Oh, my God, Quinn, I swear, if you pretend to throw me into the water, I will never speak to you aga—"

Quinn smashed his lips onto hers to quiet her, a laughing smile against her muttering threats. He carried her down the path and set her down gently on the hood of his car, watching as her back arched in the sexiest way. He lowered his head to kiss her neck and chest. Once she moaned underneath his caress, her body bending up to him, he knew she was his.

"Make love to me," she said in a barely audible whisper, eyes closed.

There was no one around, as they were a couple kilometers from Forestville and the next town was a while away. He slid off her jacket. She shivered from the cold, or maybe it was from nerves, fear, love all rolled into one. He kissed her softly, thinking to reassure her, but that wasn't what she wanted. She nipped at his bottom lip even as she stripped his shirt off. She wanted him purely, unabashedly, and she wanted him now.

Her fingers worked at his button and as she pushed down his loose jeans, she kissed him, unbridled, without rhyme or reason. Quinn made quick work of her pants, unbuttoning and sliding them off her slender hips. A quick gasp told him her skin had made contact with the hood of the car, which was warm. "You okay?"

"A little hot," she murmured into his lips. "But you're hotter."

Quinn had never been more ready to love anyone, more prepared to slide himself into her softness and work her, fill her until she cried out in ecstasy. If he ever had a to-do list with a thousand things on it, all with high priority, making Lilly feel good would still be #1 on the list.

This time would definitely be a quickie, as evidenced by their frenzied movements, punctuated with moans and pulling at her shirt to stay balanced, since her silk-covered ass kept sliding off the car's hood. They repeatedly broke into fits of laughter.

"Get in the car," she ordered, tugging him by the hand toward the backseat. He opened the door and climbed in, groaning when he saw her slip her panties off. The sweet spot between her legs played peek-a-boo with him since she still had her shirt on, something he wanted taken care of immediately. "Lilly..." he groaned.

She slid onto the seat with one knee planted, as if waiting for him to get comfortable. "Lie back," she instructed.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, bringing the cowboy voice back into rotation and making her laugh. He was all too happy to oblige if it meant seeing that gorgeous smile. Quinn lay prone, gazing up at Lilly's flushed face, as she climbed and straddled him, leaned back and peeled off her shirt. She gave him a wicked smile and rested her hands behind her on his thighs. Holy shite, she was a vision when she sat that way, and he couldn't believe this woman loved him as much as he loved her. What had he done to deserve her?

"This won't take long," she said.

"I agree." Reaching up, he pulled down her bra for a better view of her nipples. Then he watched as this beautiful woman opened herself up, slid onto him and off again, slowly at first then faster, building and working them both into a higher level of intensity. Her fingers expertly worked herself in that way only a woman could—no man would ever know exactly how to do it. At one point, she seemed to get distracted by his chest and stomach, and reached out to rake her fingertips across his abs.

"How does that feel?" she asked through eyelids at half-mast. She looked so sultry, so unbelievably sensual and on-fire, he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hold himself back.

"Fucking amazing," he said through a hoarse whisper.

"I agree," she groaned. Her head tilted back, and her back arched ever so slightly, pushing her beautiful breasts forward.

"I love you, Lilly, most perfect woman. So much."

Her eyes fluttered into the back of her head and she cried out. "Yes..."

Only then did he allow himself to creep near the edge, but it was the flush spreading across her body, the tightening of her legs against his torso, that sent him reeling, arching, and releasing himself into her. And then in a crumpled, panting heap, she fell, ear against his heart until their breaths subsided.

Smile on his lips, the valley around them calm, Quinn knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he'd picked the right place to call home.

And the right woman to call his.

# Twenty-Four

Suitcase full of dreams, Lilly rode in the passenger seat alongside Quinn on this blustery October day. The fog was still out, the leaves swirled in the wind, and gray clouds hung heavily over the valley but at any moment the sun would break through, shining its light on everything it touched. It was a perfect day for new beginnings.

Yesterday, Quinn and his four brothers, who'd arrived several days earlier, had met Lilly, Paul, and Dara at Mulligan's. After shooting the craic, they'd clinked glasses in a final toast. Then, Paul had walked to the front door and whistled to get their attention. With a flourish, he'd held up a CLOSED sign, gave them a sad smile, then disappeared on the other side of the door to hang the sign. When he'd come back in, there were tears in his eyes, and Dara stood to give her father a hug.

Slowly, the two had walked to the bar and began taking down old framed photos, one after another, leaving the one of Maggie Phillips and Grant O'Neill. Then Paul had called the O'Neill boys over, wanting a shot of the five of them for posterity. When that picture had been taken, Quinn had asked Lilly to take one that included Paul and Dara. And then he'd made sure pictures were taken with Lilly in the mix. Every second of every day, Quinn made it clear that even though they'd be living on opposite sides of the country for the next six months, Lilly was indisputably part of his family now.

Within minutes, Quinn pulled up outside Mulligan's once more, except now it was the tavern-formerly-known-as-Mulligan's. He and Lilly would be having brunch there with his brothers. Lilly gave Quinn's hand a squeeze and smiled when he winked at her. Together, they plucked out shopping bags of goodies from the backseat. Lilly had made enough muffins of every variety to last both fresh and frozen a few days until her mother's new baker arrived next week, and she'd swiped a few in every flavor for the boys. In addition to the muffins, there were brioches, pain au chocolat, and buttery, homemade croissants.

"I like this one," Brady said fifteen minutes later in his deep, gigantic man's voice.

The way to a man's heart being his stomach certainly rang true with these guys.

Sean held up an orange-cranberry muffin, talking with his mouth full. "These are the fookin' best," he mumbled, shoving the second half of the muffin in his mouth.

"Thanks." Lilly handed him a glass of orange juice. "Wash it down with this, and you'll love me forever."

"I already do love you," he muttered boorishly, lacing his arm around her shoulder, chugging down the orange juice like a frat boy. He sighed and kissed her cheek.

As he scurried to the table to try another muffin, Lilly wiped the orange juice kiss off her cheek. She walked up to Quinn. "Your brothers look like they haven't eaten in weeks," she said.

"They probably haven't."

"Hey," Lilly said, squeezing Quinn's arm. "I need to go back for something in the car. A present for you."

"I like when you lead me to cars to give me presents," he said, giving her an evil, lecherous look.

"Not that."

"Damn."

She smiled. "Actually, I have presents for all of you, but I wanted to show you first."

He set down his glass of cranberry juice and followed her out the door and over to the car. "What is it?" he asked.

"Come with me and see."

Together, they made their way back out to the car. Lilly opened the trunk and pulled out one of the Mosaic books tied in a purple ribbon, along with his mother's journal. "Here," she said, handing both to him. "I made this for you. Well, this one," she said, pointing to the photo album.

"Aw, yeah? That's so sweet, Lil. Thanks." Resting his back against the car, he flipped open the book to the first page, and Lilly watched his reactions extra carefully. She didn't want to miss a single facial expression, a single sad smile, or a single lip press. "Whoa." He stared straight at the photos, many taken with his mother's journal resting, propped up, and held within screen shot of places around town. "Are these...?"

"The places your mom mentioned in her diary. Places she loved. Whether she went there alone or with your dad. I don't know...I just thought, since she never made it back...that maybe I could memorialize them somehow. Maybe it was a dumb idea, but—"

"Are you joking?" His eyes widened, still staring at the next page, eyelids reddening. "These are magnificent. Look at that, the flower shop where they stopped and he bought her the flowers. Is this the playground...and the gazebo?"

She nodded, hardly able to contain her smile.

"Amazing, Lil. Are those the school bleachers?" he asked, gaping at the photo.

"Yes. Those are their initials. Go have a look with your brothers sometime. Quinn, your parents really loved each other. They were married thirty years. There is no one who can mess with that, not one person—I don't care if it's your grandfather, aunts, or my mom—who can dispute that they had a connection. It was meant to be. You should be proud of that."

"I am." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to the last page. "Crikey, look at us." A laugh burst from his chest, dissolving his sobs. "That's a great picture. Thanks so much for this. You don't know what this means to me." Thick, muscular arms wrapped around her, and she inhaled the spicy scent of his skin. She was going to miss that scent in Miami, but they'd promised not to go more than two weeks without seeing each other face-to-face. It would mean a lot of flying for both of them, but being able to look up into those big brown eyes of his and feel him in her arms would be worth it.

"I'm glad you like it. I wasn't sure if I should go to those spots without you, but I was fascinated by her story, and Quinn...she's a hero to me. I just want you to know that."

He brought his mom's journal up and laid it on top of the Mosaic. "You're an amazing woman, with an even more amazing soul. Thank you, Lilly Parker, for being that way. And I have something for you too."

Her face lit up in surprise. "What is it?"

"Ah, you'll see. Come on." He jogged across the parking lot to the front door of the tavern and held the door open for her. As he led her to the bar, his brothers smiled at them, obviously in on Quinn's surprise. He paused at a plain door next to the bar, unlocked it and let it fly open. It looked like a huge storage room. "Wow, Quinn, you got me a closet? I...I don't know what to say." She suppressed a giggle.

He cast her a chastising smile. "Jolly joker. Imagine all this..." He spread his arms out wide and walked around the empty room, "opened up. We knock this wall down, and all this becomes an open space with just some columns separating the two stores."

"Stores?"

His arms fell to his sides. "Yes, a bakery. For you. If you want it. Right here. A third of this whole lot can be yours. I mean, I figured a third, because you only need a storefront, a counter, some display cases, a few chairs, then really, the back half from here...to here...would be kitchen space, ovens, steel work tables..."

He kept talking.

He kept talking and explaining, and all Lilly could do was stare at him with admiration. The more he talked, the more his enthusiasm grew, his eyes lit up, and Lilly could see it—his vision. Right before her very eyes, her new bakery took shape, as she pictured white iron bistro tables and chairs and a variety of goodies all encased in refrigerated air, the smells of coffee permeating throughout, and best of all, working alongside Quinn.

Yes.

It would be the perfect starting point. If it became a success, which it was sure to be, she could expand and open a shop in San Francisco just like she'd dreamed. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he'd thought this through. He wanted her success as much as she did. He wanted her to be happy. And she was. Her eyes welled up with tears, a sob catching in her throat.

"Hey...you okay? I didn't mean to upset you." He hugged her tightly.

"Not upset, Quinn. You just don't know how long I have wanted this."

His fingers gently guided her chin up. "So is that a yes? You want me to go ahead and remodel this side to be a bakery while you're away? I don't have to know right this second, I mean...I want you to think about it. It was just a suggestion, because I'm trying to plan ahead and brainstorm, and—"

Her lips crushed his, and her arms flew around his neck, drawing him in. His brothers all cheered, wolf whistled, and catcalled. He smiled as they kissed. God, she loved him so much.

When they finally parted, she said, "Yes. Thank you, Quinn. Yes to the bakery. Yes to working with you, side by side. Yes to making our dreams come true together."

After brunch, Lillian, Quinn and his brothers drove straight to Langley Bridge. As doors opened and shut, and feet crunched over dry leaves, the river bubbled below them.

Quinn led the way. Lilly hung back at the opening of one side of the bridge, while the O'Neill brothers spread out over the length of the structure, some staring down at the water, Con taking a cross-legged seat, and Quinn in the middle, holding a small metal box.

She didn't want to infringe on their privacy and thought it might be nice to take a few photos of the boys together from far away, but she saw Quinn raise a hand and wave her over. Swallowing, she took tentative steps closer but still waited a respectable distance away under the guise that she was taking photos.

"Alright, boys," Quinn mumbled, "It's time."

Lilly hadn't known for sure what they were up to. At least, not until now. Quinn hadn't clued her in, but from the moment they'd turned down this road, the whole family in tow, she'd suspected and felt honored to be a part of it.

Brady, the second eldest, the one who could double for a small Andre the Giant, swapped items with Quinn—their mother's journal for the small box. Quinn opened the journal to a marked page and looked up. "As you boys know, Mam wanted us to live our own lives, but she also wanted us to stay together, work as a family, and be there for each other."

The boys all nodded in agreement with bowed heads.

"And as you know, Mam had dreams—lots of them—that went unfulfilled. We'll all have a few of those, I suppose. But before she left Green Valley for Ireland, she wrote something very important. Let's read that aloud. I'll start." He cleared his throat and read from the journal, fighting a gust of wind that had kicked up and wanted to turn the pages. "I don't really care what I do with my life..." He handed the book to his little brother—one of the twins, Lilly wasn't sure which.

The twin read the next line, "...where the wind takes me, or how I spend it..."

The other twin accepted the book from his brother's trembling hands. "As long as I love and love well." He held the book in front of Brady, still holding the small box in his enormous hands.

Lilly took several shots from different angles, trying not to focus on their faces too much, thinking more about the lighting, their stances, and their hands. She could feel the pain of their loss without watching their faces.

Fighting back a sob, Brady read, "And when my time is over..."

The twin crouched down and held the book in front of a weeping Conor. "I pray that the wind brings me home to Green Valley again." His face twisted out a few tears, as the twin closed the book and stood, holding it against his chest.

Quinn stepped over to Brady and opened the lid of the box. "Well...you're home now, Mam. We love you." Reaching in, he scooped up a handful of his mother's ashes and waited as his four brothers did the same. Lilly prepared her shot, making sure all five were clearly in it. Then Quinn did it first—tossed his handful of dust and ashes over the bridge and into the river.

# 

# Thank you for reading What Love Can Do.

If you enjoyed spending time with these characters, be sure to check out Conor's story in

Book 2, The Way Love Goes. Here's a sneak peek!

### THE WAY LOVE GOES Excerpt

# ONE

The grand thing about the wide Pacific wasn't how majestic it looked on a cloudy November morning. It wasn't the roiling waves churning out froth when it was moody, nor the way it slowly engulfed the sun at the end of a long day. It was the attitude the ocean had when doing these things. At twenty-five years old, Conor O'Neill fancied that if he ever fell in love—ever told a woman who wasn't his mam those three magic words—it would be with a woman who had the same boss swagger as the Pacific.

The ocean didn't timidly ask, it didn't wonder where to go, how to live. It didn't waver aimlessly from country to country. It just knew what to do, how to be, and it did it unapologetically, whether it was peaceful or angry or somewhere in between.

As Con watched the waves from his beach chair on the veranda of his new surf shop in Timber Cove, California, he idly wondered: would there ever be a woman who could ground him and fill him with this same sense of wonder every time he saw her? A feeling of being home and recklessly free, all in the same breath? He tossed a pebble and watched it skip across the sand.

Unlikely. Con had dated plenty of wonderful women, but he hadn't met one yet who'd tempted him to curb his wandering ways. Maybe it was because his mam, who'd died just over two months ago, had been hard to live up to. The Queen of his heart had left grand shoes to fill. Or maybe it was because he'd seen for himself the heartache that came from being too attached to any one person, especially a spouse or wee one.

He'd seen how devastated his brother Brady had been when he'd lost baby Rhian, and then his wife Elizabeth when unimaginable grief had torn their marriage apart. He'd seen how his mam had mourned the loss of Dad. And of course, Con was still struggling with the death of his mam from a brain aneurysm at age fifty. Taken too soon. What more if he ever lost his own wife or child?

Too much heartbreak, he thought. Imagine putting all your eggs in one basket that way, so to speak. Though he'd loved his mam and dad, and he adored all four of his maggot brothers, maybe it was best not to contribute to the heartache that families often produced without intending to. Unlike his eldest brother, Quinn, who'd recently started the long-distance dance while his girl was in Miami, Conor figured he'd stick to doing his own thing, unencumbered and free, not causing any waves.

Unlike the Pacific.

One day at a time was his motto, and today he was waiting for the kids to arrive for Surfing 101. He'd only taken over the surf shop from his landlord three weeks ago and already he loved the crazy chiselers; the best part was that at the end of class, after he was through having fun with them, teaching them the difference between thruster and Malibu boards, they went home with their parents.

No bedtime dramas, no homework to deal with, just him and his music and his bottle of Parker House Shiraz straight out of the fertile hills of Green Valley.

And the ocean, of course.

The ocean he could always count on.

Noah was first to arrive. He was a smart dude, eleven years old, misunderstood by his mam and siblings. The middle child, he was largely ignored but always blamed whenever something went wrong. Conor could identify with that. Noah's mam began bringing him to surf lessons when it was suggested by his therapist that he could use an activity all his own, something to make him feel proud of himself.

His mam, a hot one always in ponytail and yoga pants, waved from her luxury sedan, as Noah trudged up the sand toting his surfboard. Like Con, he was already wearing his wetsuit. "Hey," he said.

"Ready for the waves, maggot?" Con bounded down the steps of the shop, plunging his feet into the cold, wet sand. He tousled Noah's shaggy brown hair covering his eyes.

"Why do you call us maggots? Don't you like us?"

"Maggot is a completely healthy term, Noah. It means brother, buddy, guy I love."

"I'm pretty sure it means fly larvae, Mr. O'Neill."

Conor gave a small laugh. "Con." He watched two more cars pull up, delivering two more students—one boy, one girl. "I told you, call me Con."

"Mr. O'Neill, did you see my scratch? Check this out." Noah pulled back his wetsuit sleeve to show off a nice long red line. "My cat gave it to me when I was wrestling with her on Veterinarian's Day. Mom says she's still a teenager, so she acts moody."

"So don't wrestle with her," Con said, even as he thought, Veterinarian's Day? Ah, the chiseler meant Veteran's Day, or Remembrance Day as it was called in Ireland, though it wasn't a bank holiday there. Conor smiled at Miquelle and Wenzel who came running up the sand toward them. "Alright, lads and lass, you're all here. Shall we get started?" He clapped once, to motivate them or himself, though, he wasn't sure.

Miquelle gave Con's leg a hug then spun her pink and yellow surfboard vertically, over and over like a revolving door. "My mom says you have a sexy accent, but my dad said you're an aimless loafer. What does that mean?"

"Sexy means I look smashing in a wetsuit. Let's go." Con looked out to the ocean and led the kids down to the beach. Another set of cars was arriving down the road near the giant rocks, but all his students had already arrived.

Miquelle laughed. She'd already caught on to his brand of humor in the short time since lessons had begun.

"She means, what's an aimless loafer," ten-year-old Wenzel said, dragging his surfboard through the sand, leaving a long trail in his wake.

"I know what she means, derpy head. I was just coddin'. It means..." He turned to Miquelle flanking him on his left, "that your dad doesn't know me very well. I'm actually quite the astute businessman in the form of an aimless loafer. It's part of my charm." He gave her a roguish smile.

At least that was what Con hoped he was becoming—an astute businessman. He'd always loved the ocean, but after leaving Dublin for Green Valley, he'd paired his overwhelming connection to the Pacific with his mam's childhood dream to open a surf shop one day. It made him feel closer to Mam, sure, numbing his grief a bit, but it also made him feel centered in a strange new land, something his brothers had found preparing to open a new restaurant, The Stylish Irish, less than an hour away in Forestville. The official opening would be on Thursday, and Con had no doubt it would be a grand affair, despite the fact that the O'Neill brothers hadn't exactly been welcomed by some folks in Green Valley, their maternal grandfather in particular.

No matter.

Con and his brothers were solid; no matter what stupid pranks and petty arguments they got into (and there were a lot), they were inseparable. Even with Con living an hour away, the five of them got together at least once a week to drink the black stuff, and Con had volunteered his share of hours to help with the restaurant this past month. He was proud of all his brothers, even if they, like their dad, didn't quite understand him.

To them, he would always be the flighty dreamer who was into strange stuff like yoga and meditation. Brady had all but rolled his eyes out of his head when he'd heard Con was going to open a surf shop, and the twins had joked that Con would be the next family member to go due to shark attack. But there wasn't a moment when Con didn't know he had his brothers' support.

His dad, on the other hand...

When you gonna finish one bloody thing? his dad had yelled at him two years ago in the back office of the family restaurant, The Crazy Yankee. See just one bloody thing through, Con? It hadn't ended well. They hadn't spoken for days after that, and then weeks later, the Yankee had been damaged in a fire, and Dad had died of a heart attack.

Hopefully, his dad could see him now. Mam had always been proud of him, defending him to the ends of the Earth. But Dad? More likely, his staunch Catholic father would berate him for giving surf lessons on a Sunday, it being the Lord's Day and all.

Con sighed and closed his eyes.

When he reopened them, renewed gusto took hold of him. "Okay, line up, feet apart, let me see those big stretches. Reach up, high to the sky, let's go..." He faced his class of three and stretched his arms out wide, then he reached up to grab the clouds in mountain pose, then touched the sand with his fingertips. The kids copied him, went through downward dog, warrior pose, triangle pose, and child pose, and all the while he breathed and listened to the waves crash in. Con was proud of his kidoodles.

Down the beach about twenty meters, a small party began gathering on the large rocks. A bride and groom, from the looks of it, their backs turned to Con's surfing class, the bride in the most elaborate scheme of a wedding dress he'd ever seen. Surrounding her, bridesmaids in light green dresses fluttered in the salty breeze, poised on smaller rocks, holding pink bouquets, as groomsmen all stood fecking around in tuxedos like a bunch of dressed-up goofballs.

Arm slung across his knee, awaiting all to get their shit together, was a photographer in his 50's with a tangle of thick gray hair and a pot belly divided diagonally by his camera bag strap.

The bride kept casting disparaging glances back at Con, her groom checking his fingernails often while everyone else worked to get organized. However, the most interesting of the motley crew was a fine specimen of a woman facing them down on the sand, orchestrating the whole lot with her hand flicks and commands. "There, right there...no...the other way." She looked over at Con and sighed in exasperation. "To your left. No. Hold on a second. I'll take care of this."

Con closed his eyes, pretending she wasn't on her way over, though what little he'd seen was hard to ignore. Curves, bam! Sexy chestnut hair pinned back in a chignon, bam! Flawless makeup, though a bit more than he was used to seeing on a woman, bam! But most amazing of all—her tall heels under the circumstances. How she was walking on the sand in those, Con had no idea.

"Let go of your stress," he instructed the boys and girl. "Forget that homework, forget that bully at school, forget your maggot siblings who don't get you. I get you. The ocean gets you..." Con breathed in... "Close your eyes and listen to the waves. Listen to the sounds of—"

"Ahem."

Con breathed out.

And cracked open an eye.

The classy pinup woman stood there, fist pushed into her hip. A quick sweeping gaze confirmed she wore no ring. She donned a fine black skirt with a frilly lacy blouse, one that plunged a bit at the top, revealing perfect, full breasts pushed into a tight, deep cleavage. The kids all ogled her then looked to Con expectantly.

"Hello?" the woman called with more than a tad of annoyance in her voice.

"Breathe, boys and girls," Con repeated, closing his eyes again. "Push out all distractions..."

"Can you hear me, or are you just ignoring me?"

Con peered through his slit eyelids at the irked woman. "Of course we can hear you. It's not like you're easy to ignore." He gave her a mischievous smile. "I was just waiting for you to be polite. May I help you?"

She huffed, pursing her lips. "Yes, actually. My clients over there are trying to take advantage of the dying light for their wedding photos. Would you mind moving out of the way for a bit while we get this done? It shouldn't take more than thirty or so minutes. Thanks." And just like that, she began walking off.

"Thirty minutes is all I have for my class!"

The woman stopped and turned around. "And I do apologize about that. However, the last thing my clients need are a bunch of surfers in the background of their commemorative photos, so could you please move a little further down the beach or maybe that way toward that shack?" She pointed to his little shop and cottage combo, The Big CeltHuna, thirty feet back on the sand.

"So...what you're saying is, you want me to teach my surfing class where there's no actual water." Con raised his eyebrows for full communication.

The woman, finer than all the ripe grapes in Green Valley, finer than all the paintings in Paris, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What I want," she said, taking calculated steps toward him, "is for you to please move before you ruin my bride's photos. Understood?"

"Hellcat..." Con broke his stretch pose and stepped slowly up to Miss Fancy Pants until he was inches away. God, she was insanely beautiful—a porcelain doll with dark hair, dark eyes, and those lips... "Your bride ruined them all on her own by wearing that dress, I assure you." Con chuckled to himself, then the children joined in the laughter, tucking their faces into their shoulders and giggling along.

"Did you..." The woman cocked her head and narrowed her lovely, lovely eyes. "Did you just call me 'hellcat?'"

"Sweet thing? Pussycat? Hell on heels?" He focused on the ruby fullness of her lips, the way she bit the inner lining of them softly, the way her breath hitched just right. He loved the effect he had on even the cockiest of women.

"I don't have time for games," she hissed. "Just move from the beach."

If all he'd seen in her eyes was disdain and demand just then, he would have found a polite way to tell her to go to hell, but as he studied her, Con saw the trembling of her lower lip and the shine of panic in her eyes. He also noticed the way her gaze kept fighting the temptation to rove over his body and the pretty blush that had suffused her face, which he was choosing to believe was from physical attraction, rather than annoyance. Poor lass was obviously just trying to do right by her client, although she really did need to learn to chill out a bit. Nothing life or death was happening, for feck's sake.

Still, before he gave her what she wanted, Con couldn't resist teasing her a bit more. "What's the magic word?" he asked like a primary school teacher. Behind him, Miquelle giggled in delight.

The fiery woman stared at him for a heartbeat or two, and he almost grinned at her stubbornness, wondering if she'd manage to choke the word out. "Please," she finally muttered through clenched teeth.

He smiled at her in victory. "Your wish is my command, wedding lady," he said with a gallant bow, then picked up his surfboard from the sand and hoisted it over his head. "Come on, maggots, let's move down the beach. I heard nicer people live down that-a-way." He glanced back at the wedding planner, who'd somehow managed to walk all the way back ten meters of sand toward the giant rocks in eight-centimeter heels without wavering or falling once.

Now that takes total class, Con thought.

And some serious boss swag.

The new spot on a curved stretch shielded them from view of the wedding party and turned out to be better for learning, as there were less rocks, and the sand was smoother. The kids paddled out wonderfully, popped up on their boards with ease, and caught at least one wave each. Only Noah was slow to catch on, but with a little practice, he balanced well and eventually got the hang of it.

Once the kids were thoroughly frozen from the frigid water, had hugged him and promised to watch professional surfing videos on YouTube for homework, and gone home, the sun began its descent, and the wedding party down on the rocks took their final snaps. Conor stripped off his wetsuit, changed into board shorts and a sweatshirt, cracked open a Guinness, and sat on his wooden railing to watch them pack it up.

Miss Sassy Pants was definitely worth a lingering look. Too bad her attitude was utter bollocks. Still, he'd spend a night with her if she were up for it. There was no way a woman with that much fire and passion for her job would be boring in bed. Though that'll never happen, he thought, getting ready to head inside and start dinner.

To his surprise, the woman in the distance headed back his way, walking that pro catwalk in the sand again. She drew closer, watching him carefully, and he noted calmer lines in her face. Conor took another swig of the black stuff, hopped off the veranda to go meet her, and put on a curious face. "Fancy seeing you back."

Impeccably dressed, manicured black nails, some sort of designer business bag slung over her shoulder, she turned up an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry about before. I realized I must've sounded like a total bitch."

"Noooo..." Con fanned her away. "Of course not. You're fine." Wow. A woman apologizing? So it was true. America was full of amazing new things.

She gave him a doubtful look. "It's just that we've had to reschedule this shoot several times now because of the fog, and when we finally got one clear day, I almost couldn't make it out here—I live almost two hours away—and the bride was having a total conniption."

She was venting, and Conor felt honored in a way to be the recipient of her trust. If only for a moment. "I understand."

"So, thank you. You saved my ass."

Conor's eyes mentally widened as he thought of other things he'd like to do to her ass. Especially while she was wearing that pencil skirt. But he brushed away the fantasy and focused on her deep brown eyes laced with a hint of green. Her skin was flawless, though she looked a bit older than his twenty-five. Twenty-eight, maybe? "Ah, you're good for it, Miss, eh..."

"Madlyn," she said, stretching out her small hand. "Sanchez."

"Madeleine Sanchez," Con repeated, taking her delicate hand in his and examining it. Fine skin. No pores. No blemishes. Perfect nails.

"No, Mad-lyn, like two syllables, like you're mad at Linn. Madlyn."

"But why would I be mad at Linn? Has she acted the maggot to me? Has she barked orders at me on the beach in front of several small children?" Con smiled and gave her back her hand.

"Ah, yes, again, I'm sorry. When I'm under pressure, I can get a little crazy." She backed away a few steps.

The classiest, most put-together, go-get-it woman he'd ever seen, one capable of apologizing, was about to walk out of his life, and then he'd never see her again.

"I'll let you go now."

"Listen..." Con's instincts took over. He couldn't let her go without a shot, though a woman like her seemed too high maintenance for a guy like him, but it was worth a go. "I'm about to make shrimp and rice, you look hungry, there's wine on the table, and you are the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on, and that is not a pickup line. That is the honest-to-God truth. You stole that poor bride's show, that's what you did."

She blushed and shook her head. "Wow, thank you."

"So, what you think? Dinner? I'm an excellent cook."

He knew there must've been a smile in that beautiful face somewhere, and finally, it came out to play. Even if she left right now, turned him down, if he never saw her again, at least he'd been rewarded by a stunning bright smile, perfect white teeth, and rosy cheeks.

"I can't."

His heart deflated. "Feck, it was worth a try."

"I mean, my clients are waiting for me. We took separate cars, but they'll wonder..."

"Ah, feck 'em."

She laughed, shaking her head, as if trying to convince herself more than him. "Plus I have to get back home."

"Where's home?"

"San Francisco. I'm staying at my cousin's so we can attend a Bridal Expo tomorrow. I have to..." Her phone chimed, and she pulled it from the front pocket of her bag to see who was calling. He heard a discernible soft sigh escape her lips.

"You have to what?" he asked. She probably had a boyfriend to get back to. A woman like her most definitely had a man, if not two or three, after her.

"Nothing. It's late, but thank you. I really appreciate your offer, uh...I didn't get your name."

"Conor O'Neill, the heartbroken and downtrodden." He raised his beer—a toast to a most remarkable woman.

She laughed, a bubbly sound that made him smile. "Pleased to meet you, Conor. I'm Madlyn, the sorry and late for getting home, Sanchez. But thanks again for acquiescing to my request." Her eyes roved over him quickly when she said it. She couldn't take it away. She'd checked him out, and he'd noticed. "Take care."

"You as well, Miss Sanchez." He'd have to look up what acquiesced meant over dinner.

Conor gave her a small wave and watched her walk off. Not only had she returned to talk to him, but she'd smiled, laughed, given him her name so he could always connect with her online, and now...he was treated to a view of her swaying backside in the black pencil skirt, as she expertly maneuvered her way through the sandy dunes.

A fine specimen.

Just before she reached the rocks, she paused.

"Come on, you can do it..." Con mumbled. He'd observed female behavior many times before with many women in different cities and countries throughout Europe. They were all the same, even the hellcats like Madlyn. They couldn't help giving in to their natural curiosity. It was a game, a lovely game, and he loved to play.

Then she did—she proved him right. Her head turned, and she took one last glance at him in the waning tangerine light. And just before she disappeared altogether behind the rocks, she gave him a sizzling smile, ending his night so perfectly, not even the shrimp nor Shiraz nor the view of his amazing ocean would be able to top it.

TWO

Driving out of Timber Cove, following Maria Bellevue and her doormat fiancé, Shane, on the PCH, Madlyn felt a little like Red Riding Hood running away from the Big Bad Wolf. Only in this particular story, the Big Bad Wolf had bright green eyes and an Irish accent, and she was fleeing, not because he wanted to eat her or steal her treats, but because of how badly she wanted him to do it.

Conor-the-surf-instructor—broad shoulders, narrow waist, and strong thighs on display in his wetsuit—had made her stomach drop and her knees tremble with desire even when he was being a wise ass. Then again, she hadn't been very nice to him either, especially when he'd started asking for magic words and making a fool out of her in front of those children. Now the kids would think it was okay to disrespect women and act all cute about it, as long as you were handsome and had an adorable accent. She'd only gone over there to apologize, not because he'd charmed her or because the memory of him in his wetsuit or his toned chest in that tight sweatshirt above tight-fitting board shorts had anything to do with it.

She truly hadn't expected him to respond with an invitation for dinner and drinks and more, which is what he'd definitely been offering her. Of course she'd turned him down. Not only was she older than him, but she was a professional businesswoman. A mother. A respectable woman in any light.

But...would it have been so terrible? To be someone completely different for just one night? To be with a man who made her feel achy and restless and womanly, things she hadn't felt in a long time, well before her divorce from Leo. Even better, Conor had something Leo never had, even when things had been good between them—a teasing, gentle humor and laid-back attitude that made Madlyn's tense shoulders want to relax and tight chest want to exhale the stresses of the day and simply...be.

Sigh.

Dinner and wine on the beach with a hot Irish guy did sound lovely, and Lord knew she needed a break from it all. Not just a break, but... She'd seen the way he looked at her. His eyes had devoured her, adored her. What a man like that would do to her in the bedroom! Holy smokes. And that one dimple that came out to play whenever he suppressed laughter. Which he was always doing. Because he was that kind of guy, the kind who knew just which buttons to push and then...pushed them.

Crap, who was she fooling? She wanted to see him again.

There's nothing wrong with that, Madlyn, she told herself.

Gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles turned white with indecision. The text that had come in while she was talking to Conor was Leo saying that Jax was finishing dinner and would soon be ready for bed, and for her to text him when she arrived at her cousin Vane's so he'd know she was okay. To take her time tomorrow and even spend the night again if she wanted to because he was going to take Jax to his parents' house after school and she didn't need to rush home.

Home. Ha. Funny word for him to use when the house they now shared didn't feel like home to her anymore, and it hadn't in quite a while. They were still cohabiting a year after the divorce just so Jax's world wouldn't implode. Also because it was financially easier on both of them.

From his texts, it was apparent Leo was in a good mood, but though the skill had come far too late, she'd finally learned to speak his coded language. Suggesting she spend an extra night with Vane meant he'd pick Jax up after school, take him to visit his grandparents, and leave him there while Leo visited the woman he was currently seeing. He wouldn't actually tell Madlyn he'd seen her, of course, but at least he'd kept to his promise not to introduce anyone he dated to Jax yet.

Why wouldn't he? He got to play the family man and live with his son, and sleep with whomever he wanted.

Only, while the arrangement worked for Leo, it wasn't working for her. She felt stuck. Trapped. For several months now, she'd tried to discuss Leo moving out, but each time he'd said they should wait. First it was, why ruin Jax's summer? Then it was, why ruin Jax's Halloween? And a few days ago, it was, why ruin Jax's Thanksgiving?

Every time, she'd given in, not wanting to sacrifice her baby's happiness for her own.

She and Leo were civil with one another. Jax had accepted they were no longer the kind of mommy and daddy that slept in the same room or kissed, and seemed fine with that. There was really no reason they couldn't continue all living together.

No reason except...Madlyn was miserable.

Her grip on the wheel intensified. She stared straight ahead.

The last year had been, without a doubt, the most stressed-out year of her life and she'd done little to remedy it. She worked harder than ever, hoping for a promotion at Deene & Nora before the year was over. Other wedding planners at the high-end San Francisco studio, like Christine and Kimmi, all received theirs after completing two years of employment there, whereas Madlyn had been there nearly three, and still nothing. It was because of the divorce and the events leading up to it, she knew. The rough patch had set her off course for a short time, but now she was back. Had been back stronger than ever for a good eight months now, and she deserved that promotion to Event Manager.

She also deserved a night off.

She deserved wine and ocean waves. A few laughs. Hell, maybe even a good fuck.

Madlyn stared at the road so hard, her contacts went dry.

"Damn it." Next exit, she slowed down and got off the ramp. "What am I doing? What am I doing?" she muttered, pulling over and setting her forehead on her steering wheel. Finally, she straightened, grabbed her phone, and texted Maria, telling the other woman she had forgotten something back in Timber Cove and would meet with them again at the rehearsal dinner.

"Forgot something," she scoffed. "Yeah, my sanity."

Next, she texted her cousin, telling Vane she decided to spend the night in Timber Cove, and would drive to her house tomorrow morning to pick her up for the Bridal Expo.

Finally, she thought about texting Leo, just like he'd asked.

She'd given her ex almost everything he ever wanted in the marriage, and still, nothing she'd done was good enough for him. Even now, she found herself catering to his wishes. When he'd asked if Jax would go trick-or-treating with him before the sun went down because his mother didn't like going out after dark, she'd rushed him to his grandparents' house. When he'd asked if she could switch her plans because the woman he was dating could only see Leo that evening before her flight to Denver, Madlyn bent over backwards to go pick Jax up. And for what? To appease Leo?

It needed to stop. He already knew she wouldn't be home until tomorrow night at the earliest. And she certainly didn't need to check in with him. He didn't own her and he'd ceased having any right to know what she did and who she did it with the moment he'd betrayed their wedding vows.

She turned her BMW around and drove right back to Timber Cove. She wondered why Conor had chosen to live there. Yeah, it was beachy and the rocks were beautiful, but it was quite isolated. Well, she'd have the chance to ask him why he'd settled there, now that she was headed back like a magnet to iron.

After parking behind the white wooden cottage, she cut the lights and engine and stepped out, smoothing out her skirt. "Just stay for dinner, some wine, and that's it." And depending on how she was feeling, maybe a kiss. "Maybe."

Knocking on the back door to The Big CeltHuna, wondering what that even meant—ah, she got it now, Big Kahuna meets a big, cocky Celt—she waited, hands clasped in front of her.

How big was this cocky Celt exactly? she wondered.

No. Thoughts like that would get her into trouble.

Dinner, then go home.

The open windows released the scents of something delicious on the stove and something else...was that old-timey music playing, those three wartime sisters with the cool, pinup hairdos who sang in harmony?

The door opened, and Conor stood there, still in board shorts, now wearing a worn T-shirt and brandishing a wooden spoon. The smell of buttery seafood filled her nostrils, and she was suddenly ravenous, though for dinner or Conor, she wasn't sure. His smart-ass smile took up half his face. "It was the accent, wasn't it?"

Jesus, the boy was fine. But no. The accent alone wasn't what had brought her back. "You said I was gorgeous."

After their first year as a married couple, Leo had rarely remarked on her beauty, and while Madlyn obviously wasn't model material, she always made an effort to look exceptionally assembled. Still, it never mattered how pressed, buffed, polished, and manicured she was, Leo seemed to make it his personal mission not to compliment her, as if letting her know he found her attractive would somehow give her an unfair advantage over him. What a crock, that letting his wife know he found her attractive would be disadvantageous, when he'd been off gallivanting one place or another with one woman or another. But that was over now, didn't matter anymore. She'd never been special to Leo.

Maybe, for just this one night, she could be special to another man.

Surprise illuminated Conor's face. "Ah, get off with it. Are you serious?" Conor leaned against the door. "Because that's just a fact, see. I wasn't even trying to woo you when I said that. Just look in a mirror. And besides, you must hear that every day." He waited. "Don't you?"

"Can I come in now?"

"Oh, fuck, yes. Come on in." Conor backed away to let her in.

His place was warm and cozy with fluffy sofas, a guitar in the corner, a desk with laptop, and several surfboards leaning against the wall. This was the first time she'd accepted any man's offer for dinner since before she met Leo, and there was no backing out now. He led her into a small kitchen where something was bubbling away on the stove, and on the dinette, a place setting was set for one.

"You listen to old music?" she asked nervously, rubbing her arms. "I did not expect that at all."

"You did not hear that," Con said, reaching for his phone to fiddle with it, and a moment later, the harsh sounds of heavy metal ripped through the ambience. He shouted over the music, making horns with his fingers. "Dude! Better?"

"You are quite the funny man, aren't you?" Madlyn shouted, leaning against the counter.

"Ah, you got me. Back to The Andrew Sisters." The music returned to the innocent 1940's melody about not sitting under an apple tree, while Conor fished around in the clean side of the sink for an extra plate, pulled out an extra wine glass from the cabinet, and set her spot opposite his. "You arrived just in time. You like seafood, I hope?"

"I love it," she said, watching him plate two steaming servings of rice and shrimp and set them down. Then, he poured two glasses of dark eggplant colored wine and lifted one for her.

He made a toast. "To women changing their minds."

She clinked glasses with him, "Hear, hear." She smiled, sipping the sweet liquid that tasted vaguely of blueberries and something else. "This is delicious. Where's it from?" She would have to suggest it to her couples during consultations.

"Ah, you like it? It's from my brother's girlfriend's vineyard out in Green Valley. Fantastic place. Will take you there sometime."

Thoughts spattered her mind like a Jackson Pollock painting. He would take her there? What would make him think she'd be okay with that? Even if she did love wine, and Leo never liked going to wine tastings, and she would absolutely love doing something like that with someone she'd known a while, she'd only known Conor like...two minutes. Cocky son of a bitch, wasn't he?

"Are you from Green Valley? Because I thought, I mean, I figured..." Madlyn shrugged, not knowing exactly how to say it without offending him. "That you weren't from around here."

"I'm not." He sat down and picked up his fork, mixing the shrimp and rice around on his plate. "I've just moved here from Dublin. My mother hailed from Green Valley, originally. She passed on about two months ago. My dad just over two years ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." Madlyn stopped mid-fork to listen. Though the food smelled delicious, she heard the fresh grief in his voice. Her own mother had moved back to New Orleans when Madlyn was sixteen, and Madlyn had seen her only a few times since. It was Dad who'd remained a presence in her and her brother's lives. She could still remember the pain she'd felt when her mother had left.

Come in, Mad, Mom had said, eyes tinged with alcohol. Madlyn had been hesitant to enter the kitchen but knew it was better to just get it over with. We're leaving, Barry and I, back to Lakeview. You coming with us? Your brother wants to stay here with your father, though I can't imagine why...

Madlyn could imagine why. She could imagine hundreds of reasons why. The fact that Dad was more responsible and the better parent, to begin with. Still, it hurt just the same, watching her mother choose her boyfriend over her and her brother.

"So you left Dublin to..." Madlyn prompted.

"To see where Mam grew up. I come from a pretty big family, but it's just me and my four brothers now. Mam always told us she had no family, but after she died, when we were struggling to decide what to do next, Quinn found a trunk with her things. There were letters. Photographs." He smiled suddenly. "I got my love for old-time music from Mam and Dad, and there was a photo of them and two of Mam's friends, attending some costume party on All Hallows' Eve. Mam and her friends were dressed as the Andrew Sisters. Dad dressed up as Frank Sinatra. Wait, here, I'll show you." He got up, rifled through some papers in a drawer, then handed her a faded photograph. She identified his mother immediately—even though she had blond hair to his dark, blue eyes to his green, the resemblance between Con and his mother was there. They had the same lean build, bright eyes, and cheeky smile. Con's Dad was dark-haired and handsome, and he looked at his wife with obvious love in his eyes.

"They look awesome. Your mother's beautiful." Madlyn handed him back the photograph so he could return it safely to the drawer.

"She was. Inside and out." Con sat down again. "There was also a journal from when she was a young lass, and we learned her family disapproved of her marrying our dad. She married him anyway, and even when she reached out after her mam died, our grandfather turned her away."

Conor's bright green eyes, like the clear minerals Jax loved collecting after his Pre-K teacher got him interested in them, were cast down as he spoke about his mother now, and there was a definite sadness about him. She felt horrible she'd been so hard on him out on the beach earlier, this man who so clearly loved and mourned for his mother.

Before she could stop herself, she put down her fork and laid her hand on his, something that apparently startled him given the way his eyes widened for a moment before he turned his hand over and intertwined his fingers with hers. The feel of rough, warm skin against hers thawed parts of her body she hadn't even realized had been frozen.

"Have you seen your grandfather since you arrived?"

"No. And I don't plan to, not until he admits he was wrong to turn away his own daughter. What? All because she happened to fall in love?" He stared at her with eyes blazing, as if daring her to criticize him for his decision.

As if.

"I understand. I'd feel the exact same way."

Expression relaxing, his mouth tipped up. "Quinn disagrees with me, though he's not made an effort to reach out to our grandfather either. But he's been in touch with one of our aunts and believes the time will come to heal family hurts." Con shrugged. "We'll see. But in the meantime, here I am, living one of my mam's dreams, in a surf shop on the beach. It's a start."

After giving his hand one more squeeze, Madlyn sat back. "Her dream?"

"In her journal, Mam wrote of living different dreams when she was grown. A flower shop, a surf shop, or a bed-and-breakfast. She didn't care what she did for a career, as long as she was the best." He bowed his head and chuckled at his mother's childish spirit.

"But was it always your dream, too? To open a surf shop?"

"No. I spent the past few years before Mam died backpacking a lot. I'd take off and spend months at a time in new cities. Sometimes by myself, sometimes with buddies. I've outgrown it, but the life served me well for quite some time. My brothers and I came out here looking for a fresh start. There was nothing left for us in Dublin, or maybe there was, but we didn't want to find it. Just felt right to move out West. And when I saw the Pacific, it just felt right to open a shop here. I checked around, met a bloke who was looking to close up his surf shop, and less than a month after moving to the States, The Big CeltHuna was born. For six months anyway."

"Why only six months?"

"I'm reckless but not an idiot. Most small businesses fail, eh? So I signed a six-month lease and bam—fresh start. Let's see how it goes."

"Wow," Madlyn sighed. She understood needing and wanting a fresh new start all too well. She'd been moving toward this goal over the last year, but Leo had been making it difficult with his insistence that they live together, stay together, keep up a unified front for Jax. Con was testing new waters, and in many ways, so was Madlyn.

None of this would come out of her mouth tonight, though, that was for sure. This stranger, for all intents and purposes, as open book as he was with her, did not need to know any details about her private life. It was private for a reason, and if anything happened with him tonight, anything intimate, it was only because she needed temporary physical company, and that was it.

Now, more than ever, Madlyn knew temporary company was all Conor would ever be to her. Fresh start or not, he'd just admitted that opening a surf shop had been nothing but a passing fancy for him, just as surely as she would be one, here tonight then gone. Maybe he'd run the surf shop for a while to honor his mother's childhood dream, but there was no doubt he'd soon move on given his self-admitted wandering ways. And that was how it should be. Unlike her, who'd married and had a child at twenty-five, Con was still in his early twenties, with every option available to him. He could go wherever he wanted, be whatever he wanted, take his time and change his mind a hundred different ways before finally settling into his true purpose.

While that wasn't her life, she wouldn't change a thing. As much as she hated Leo for betraying her, she'd gotten Jax, the best thing that had ever happened to her, from their time together, and for all his failings, Leo was a wonderful father. She loved her career and was good at it. She had family support—her cousin Vane, Vane's mother, her father and brother, Rico, in LA, if she needed them. So while she could never wander the way Con could, she'd be happy nonetheless.

Tonight was merely a small, lovely detour, an evening she, and hopefully Conor, could enjoy without pressure or expectations.

They ate casually, and he talked mostly about family life with his brothers. Quinn, the oldest, then Brady, then him, then the twins, Sean and Riley. His eyes lit up when he talked about them. That was nice to see—further proof that for all his wandering ways, Con was a family man at heart. She told him her parents were divorced, that she was close to her brother and father, and that she had several cousins close by. She even told him about Leo, though when he asked why they'd divorced, she merely shrugged and said, "same old story, girl meets boy, girl marries boy, girl discovers boy wants her and a perky girlfriend, too," and he dropped it.

The one thing she didn't mention was Jax. Nor that Leo still lived with them. The one time she'd mentioned her son to a man who seemed interested in her at a client's wedding, he'd practically run for the door. Not that she was embarrassed about having a four-year-old child when she was twenty-nine years old—there was nothing wrong with that—but there was no need for him to know. It only made things weird.

A lovely detour, she reminded herself.

And after several sips of this remarkable wine, and Con becoming more comfortable touching her in small ways—reaching for her hands, caressing her shoulder, brushing a strand of her hair back—that was becoming truer and truer by the moment.

Conor finished the rest of his rice and buttery shrimp, a delicious combination that earned him several points, considering Leo never cooked. He put his fork down and picked up his wine glass, crossing his arms. "You said you get where I'm coming from. Is that because of your divorce? Or is it your work? You seemed stressed out there today."

"Well, like I told you," she said, gazing at him, wondering if his four brothers were anywhere near as gorgeous as he was. "We'd rescheduled several times, so this was our last chance. Their wedding is this weekend. After that, they leave for Paris. So...I was pressed for time and under the gun."

"No, I get it. Paris. One of my favorite cities in the world."

"You've been there?" She was suddenly and utterly jealous of this man sitting opposite her, having been to one of her dream cities and talking about it so casually, like it was an everyday occurrence for him.

"Me? Yeah. You remind me a lot of the women there."

"How so?" Madlyn asked, setting down her fork, only finishing half the plate he'd served her, not because it wasn't delicious, but because she had several outfits she needed to fit into this week.

He stood and offered her a hand. "Bring your wine outside, I'll tell you."

Madlyn's stomach clenched in a way she hadn't felt in a long time, as it fought off the butterflies feeling. Why fight them? She had already turned her car around, already driven back to this gorgeous man's house, already shared a wonderful meal with him. So going outside would expose her to the beach, the waves, and stars out here in Timber Cove, all under the influence of this charming Irish surfer, but wasn't that why she had come?

Taking a huge sip of her wine, she slipped her hand into his and let him lead her to the darkened veranda outside. As expected, it was a beautiful night. The waves softly lapped against the sand, and down the beach, they crashed against the rocks. "Do you ever get bored out here?" she asked, then realizing she might have come across as curt, she added, "I mean, it's beautiful. Breathtaking. But what do you do all day?"

Conor leaned against the veranda railing and looked out at the black waters. He seemed to have a strong connection to the ocean. "I teach classes, I listen to music...sometimes I just sit out here and think a lot. What, does that sound boring to you, Miss Fancy Pants?"

"Fancy Pants?" Madlyn huffed, drawing back.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's a compliment. I mean, look at you. You have it all pulled together—the skirt, the heels, your hair is perfect..." He turned her cheek, admiring her chignon turned loose, reaching out to tuck a strand that had flown out of place. Well, it was windy. "You're fancy."

"But I'm not wearing pants." She winked, intending to point out that she was, in fact, wearing a skirt. However, the moment she said it, she cringed and watched his eyes sparkle, bracing for the comeback.

Conor clinked wine glasses with her. "I'll drink to that." He downed back a big sip.

Madlyn shook her head. "God, I walked right into that one. So tell me why I remind you so much of your Parisian women."

"Ah. They weren't my women, per se, but I am pretty observant. I watched these girls come and go, hurrying down the sidewalks, catching taxis and disappearing down the Métro steps. They were always in charge of themselves, confident, assertive. I was quite scared of some of them, that's for certain." He laughed.

But Madlyn had trouble seeing the connection. Yes, he'd seen her at her most bossy. When she needed something done, she didn't let anything get in the way of her goal. That was true. But she wished the words "confident" and "assertive" would describe her in relationships. It all depended on who she was with. With Leo, she'd rarely called the shots. She could barely put together the courage to bring up any changes in their routine without expecting an onslaught of text wars.

But with Con...

If there was ever a "with..."

She imagined she'd be different.

He was so easy-going as he reminisced about Paris, while she polished off her wine. She loved the way his face lit up remembering the way people took the time to slow down and enjoy life in the French city, even amid the bustling craziness. They always found time to sit and sip their café au laits, never texted when they did, they talked, they theorized about art and religion, and they weren't so dependent on devices and computers and social media. "People fell asleep in gardens," he said, inching closer to her. "They knew how to relax."

The wine had already taken effect and was making the veranda tilt one way, then the other, in tune with the rhythm of the ocean. Madlyn felt herself leaving the world behind, and that was a great feeling. It was all because of Conor and the pretty words he weaved, the way he made her feel. Never once awkward nor unsafe. Just entertained, swept away, perfect. She closed her eyes and listened to the lulling sounds of his voice backed by the waves. Conor O'Neill, dreamer and surfer who told her she was gorgeous, classy, and beautiful.

And that kind of attention definitely deserved reciprocity.

Setting her wine glass down on the railing, she took his hands into hers and studied them. Slender fingers, clean nails, tidy, gentle hands. They came up and curled around her chin, tilting it up, then he closed the space between them. Madlyn caught a scent of the blueberry-infused Shiraz on his light breath. Mixed with the salty breeze, the two created a unique potion that sent her brain into overdrive. Let him...

"And people kiss in Paris too." He inched closer until he was a breath away. "All the time."

Their lips touched once, held the magic a few moments, and then she exhaled her worries and gave into him completely.

Purchase THE WAY LOVE GOES here!

# Books by Virna

BAD BOY DOCTORS

Book 1: Bad Boy, MD (Ryan): Click here**

KISS TALENT AGENTS

Book 1: Lip Service (Hunter): Click here

KISS TALENT AGENCY

Book 1: Lip Action (Simon): Click here

Book 2: Locking Lips (Caleb): Click here

THE BEDDING THE BACHELORS SERIES

Book 1: Bedding The Wrong Brother (Rhys): Click here

Book 2: Bedding The Bad Boy (Max): Click here

Book 3: Bedding The Billionaire (Jamie): Click here

Book 4: Bedding The Best Friend (Ryan): Click here

Book 5: Bedding The Biker Next Door (Cole): Click here

Book 6: Bedding The Bodyguard (Luke): Click here

Book 7: Bedding The Best Man (Gabe): Click here

Book 8: Bedding The Boss (Eric) Click here

Book 9: Bedding The Baby Daddy (Dante) Click here

HOME TO GREEN VALLEY SERIES

Book 1: What Love Can Do (Quinn): Click here

Book 2: The Way Love Goes (Conor): Click here

Book 3: I'm Gonna Love You (Brady): Click here

Book 4: Best Of My Love (Riley): Click here

Book 5: Because You Love Me (Sean): Click here

HARD AS NAILS

Book 1: Hard Time (Street): Click here

Book 2: Hard Case (Slate): Click here

Book 3: Hard Core (Axel): Click here

Book 4: Hard Place (Jericho): Click here

Book 5: Hard Act (Davis) Click here

GOING DEEP SERIES

Book 1: Down Deep (Heath): Click here to purchase

Book 2: Royally Deep (Kyle): Click here to purchase

Book 3: Deep Inside (Alec): Click here

ROCK CANDY SERIES

Book 1: Rock Sexy: Click here

Book 2: Rock Strong: Click here

Book 3: Rock Dirty: Click here

Book 4: Rock Sweet: Click here

Book 5: Rock Wild: Click here

PARA-OPS PARANORMAL ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES

Book 1: Knox: Chosen by Blood: Click here

Book 2: Wraith: Chosen by Fate: Click here

Book 3: Dex: Chosen by Sin: Click here

**Coming Soon

# About The Author

Virna DePaul is a _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author of steamy, suspenseful fiction. Whether it's vampires, a Para-Ops team, hot cops or swoon-worthy identical twin brothers, her stories center around complex individuals willing to overcome incredible odds for love. Bedding The Wrong Brother, which begins the Bedding The Bachelors Series, is a #1 Bestselling Contemporary Romance and a USA Today Bestseller.

Virna loves to hear from readers at www.virnadepaul.com.

CONTACT VIRNA HERE

Website: www.virnadepaul.com

Twitter: @virnadepaul

Email: virna@virnadepaul.com

Facebook Fan Page: www.facebook.com/booksthatrock

What Love Can Do

Copyright © 2015 by Virna DePaul

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

