A Merry Little Irish Christmas
Author: Caroline Grace-Cassidy
Date: 2025-11-26 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Romance; General; Romantic Comedy; Contemporary; Clean & Wholesome; Holiday
Description: 'Gorgeous, cosy read that is sure to transport you straight to dreamy Ireland!' GoodReads review, 5 starsGrab a mulled wine, curl up by the fire and escape to the Emerald Isle this winter in the BRAND-NEW festive treat from Caroline Grace-Cassidy! 🎄 ❄ ✨ 💖 This Christmas, will love lead Maggie home?Most people dream of being home for Christmas, but not Maggie. New York has never felt like home to her. Nowhere has. So, when she's sent on a last-minute writing job thousands of miles away just days before the festive break, she jumps at the opportunity. Especially if it means she's one step closer
Publisher: Embla Books

A Merry
Little Irish
Christmas

A Merry
Little Irish
Christmas

CAROLINE GRACE-CASSIDY

First published in the UK in 2025 by

An imprint of Bonnier Books UK

5th Floor, HYLO, 105 Bunhill Row,

London, EC1Y 8LZ

Copyright © Caroline Grace-Cassidy, 2025

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The right of Caroline Grace-Cassidy to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 9781471420184

Also available as a paperback

Typeset by IDSUK (Data Connection) Ltd

The authorised representative in the EEA is Bonnier Books

UK (Ireland) Limited.

Registered office address: Block B, The Crescent Building,

Northwood, Santry,

Dublin 9, D09 C6X8

Ireland
compliance@bonnierbooks.ie
www.bonnierbooks.co.uk

For my mam, Noeleen Grace, who gave me my love of Christmas –
you are always and forever a part of my heart.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Acknowledgements

A Note from the Author

About the Author

About Embla Books

ONE

Snowflakes pirouette down over a waking Manhattan as I emerge from the subway. Christmas is almost upon us and rushing New Yorkers scurry past me at a frantic pace. Immediately I zig-zag on the salted sidewalk in a bid to avoid them. You’d think after living in this city for twenty years I’d be used to the pace, but it still overwhelms me. Oh listen, I’ve read all the confidence building self-help books and listened to every life-affirming podcast in a bid to shake off my – what’s been called – timid personality because the publishing business is brutal. ‘Breathe.’ I inhale deeply. With my wild red curls tumbling down my back, I lift my chin up high. My eyes rest on the towering silver skyscraper that hosts the offices of Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine.

‘You got this.’ Although my nerves are jangling like a rattling tambourine, I make a fist pump to rev myself up, clutching my wedding venue lookbook tightly to my chest. I’ve put my heart and soul into this lookbook in the hope it will impress Amanda Crosse, my boss, enough to promote me to feature writer today.

‘Help the Salvation Army?’ A small woman dressed in an elf costume startles me as she shakes a clattering bucket with white writing in a red shield. I rummage in my pocket and drop some loose coins in. Then, staring up at my building again, I refocus. Not only do I crave more creative writing fulfilment than my proofreading job offers but I also have to find a new place to live in the next few weeks. If I don’t get this promotion and raise, I’ll have to go back to living with my mother. While I know I’m very lucky to have that option, a recent development in my mother’s life makes it a non-starter as far as I’m concerned. The pressure of choosing to be single and solo living is getting trickier in this financially inflating city. My eyes dart between the cars as I wait for a gap in the commuter traffic on the sidewalk.

‘This is going to go well,’ I tell myself taking a positive step forward then back as a weaving jogger speeds up. I’m still filled with insecurities when it comes to my job in publishing because I didn’t go to college – Dorothy, my divorced mom, couldn’t afford it, so I’ve worked my way up in the publishing world.

Because I love to write and I love to write about love.

A little ironic, I know, considering I myself have sworn off love for life! But for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be that kind of writer, not specifically a magazine writer, just someone who writes about love. Maybe it’s because my parents had such a disastrous marriage. As a young girl, I devoured books and spent all my free time writing short stories for competitions, winning my fair share. I would have given anything to go to college to study journalism, but it wasn’t a possibility. My first actual job was helping Mom and setting tables in the early hours at Sweet Dough, the small bakery my mother worked at, baking the most incredible pastries. It was in that little bakery I would conjure up all sorts of love stories. It was also where I picked up a copy of Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine (that a customer left behind) while biting into a warm chocolate brownie and spotted the advertisement for an internship at the magazine. My eyes had almost popped out of their sockets. The brownie fell off my fork. The small black and white square box containing the ad glowed like a beacon of hope. Not even bothering to remove my cupcake-splattered apron, I’d literally run across town where I waited outside the building, Googling Amanda Crosse. Pushing myself well and truly out of my comfort zone, I was practically hyperventilating. When Amanda left the building I’d wobbled alongside her from the revolving door to her waiting car, trembling with nerves, and blurted at her how much the internship would mean to me, and how much I loved to write about love. Over her shoulder, Amanda had asked my name. Maggie Grace, I’d answered after far too long a pause, almost forgetting who I was in the excitement. Then, she’d told me to email some writing samples to her. Easy, I had a desktop folder full of them. But I had to fight damn hard for the position due to the huge competition and I got it.

Just one year later I’d impressed Amanda so much she hired me as a runner before I later moved to an assistant role and then to proofreader five years ago. But writing is my dream and these last few years I’ve watched in dismay as juniors with less experience and louder personalities thundered past me for a promotion to feature writer in their towering stilettos of ambitious steel, while I cowered in the background, passed over. This morning, I am determined to speak up. To push myself forward like I did as that brave, hopeful intern. At thirty-three, I’ve served my apprenticeship and I deserve my place in that writers’ room. Besides, after all these years working here, I’m pretty damn good at spotting a unique wedding venue! Stepping back onto the sidewalk I’m momentarily distracted, reciting the promotion pitch I’ve practised endlessly in my head, when a thunderous warning call erupts from close behind me.

‘Will ya watch out!’ a man’s strong voice hollers in a thick accent.

‘W-what the heck—?’ I yelp as my head whirls round, my long green wool coattails flying as the man narrowly avoids colliding with me. I leap back off the kerb, barely missing an electric scooter that swerves around me. I almost lose my footing in my ankle boots. Cars honk, couriers on bicycles dodge and shout at me, but I steady myself just in time, absolutely mortified at the attention I’m drawing to myself.

‘You okay, sweetie?’ a woman in a knee-length quilted coat asks and I nod quickly. With burning cheeks, I look around to see the running man. He almost knocked me off my feet and didn’t even stop to see if I was okay! The gall of him! His back is turned. He’s tall, very broad, wearing a faded black leather jacket, denim jeans, white sneakers and a bright burnt orange woollen hat pulled down over his head.

Who the hell is he? Just as I press call to tell my mom my news, a red cardinal bird sweeps down inches above my head and lands on the snow-covered top of the newspaper vending machine. When I turn back, the man is already pacing through the lobby of my building, his arms swinging purposefully, rhythmically matching the pace of his determined walk. A man on a mission it seems.

‘What a jerk. Like slow down. Where’s the fire?’ But of course, instead of yelling this after him, I just mumble to myself under my breath, a childhood coping mechanism I have taken into adulthood. My eyes return to the bird. I drink in the stark beauty of its blood-red plumage against the dazzling white of the snowflakes. It’s like staring at a wondrous winter painting.

‘Well hello there, beauty,’ I whisper, my eyes locking with the bird’s beady black ones. ‘I hope there’s truth in seeing you? That my fortunes will turn up rosy within twelve days?’

‘Helllloooo? What fire? What fortunes? What’s going on?’ a faint voice calls out from my earbud.

‘Huh? Oh, crap! Mom!’ I grapple for the loose white wire tangled in my unruly curls, pull it free and insert the other earbud quicky. ‘I’m sorry!’ I apologise for leaving my mom hanging as I catch my breath.

‘It’s seven in the morning and all I hear is some kind of chaos – you okay, honey?’ Her muffled concerns echo from her Art Deco bungalow in Scarsdale.

‘I’m fine, Mom, some obnoxious man almost knocked me over. No manners, so rude.’ Cupping my hands, I blow into them for heat. Will I ever stand up for myself? What will it feel like when I do? I hold my five-foot-six frame up tall. I’m going to give it to the next person that makes me feel this way! If I don’t, I may as well throw all my self-help books in the trash can!

‘Sweet Lord, I thought your room in the brownstone had gone up in flames. All those candles Mrs Schwartz lights, I wouldn’t have been remotely surprised. I’ve cinnamon biscuits for her by the way. Is the For Sale sign up yet?’ Mom shouts as she always does, as though the further away I am, the louder she has to talk.

‘I’m fine.’ I turn to face the wind, grasp my mop of red curls in one hand as the breeze plays havoc with my hair. ‘The For Sale sign goes up on Christmas Eve.’ The thought of that sign going up makes me desperately sad. I’ve loved living with Mrs Schwartz. She is a formidably strong woman.

‘You can always move back in with me. I’ve been using your room to host bridge night, but it’s still yours.’ Mom has repeated this a hundred times since I told her I have to find a new place to live.

‘I’ll be fine. I have a few places to see near the office.’ I lie to put her at ease. Today, I have something else to tell her, but before I can tell her she hurls into a diatribe about Alice, her neighbour, and her varicose vein operation that I’ve already heard about more than once this week. But lately there has been a recent development, an unforeseen turn of events that I can hardly believe: my mother is a changed woman. She’s a lot more upbeat. There’s a definite glint in her eye, a coy smile that appears out of nowhere when she’s busy whisking or kneading in the kitchen and doesn’t think I’m looking. The reason makes me smile – my mother has fallen in love! After all these years of rubbishing romance, she has fallen for George Mitchelson, the owner of Sweet Spoon Bakery where she supplies her baked goods. Mom is yet to confess this to me, but I know she’s on the verge, searching for the right moment. Despite my love for my mother – and I really do love her – there is no sugar-coating the fact that she parented me in a blaze of romantic negativity. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been utterly dismissive and scornful of love and marriage, and it rubbed off on me. It’s true she had a very unhappy marriage and as the relationship crumbled, my dad, Jim, cheated on her, and in her own words, made matters ‘grottier’ by marrying the woman he had an affair with.

In 1990, my dad Jim Grace, a sailor ten years her senior, had walked into Pastry Heaven, the New York bakery then twenty-five-year-old Dorothy worked in. He was on his first day of shore leave and took one look at Mom and proclaimed fate had brought them together. An unplanned pregnancy and a quick marriage followed. It’s also fair to say that the reason I now relate to my mother’s discontent with men is because I too have had my heart broken. Most notably by Cooper Dwight, my boyfriend of two years. I dated Cooper from the age of twenty-eight to thirty until he came home from the restaurant he worked in one night and told me he had fallen in love with Tanya, the sommelier, that fate had brought them together and that he loved her in a way he had never loved me. It was beyond hurtful. I had been too shocked, shamed, too sick, too humiliated to react. As always, timid to a fault, I just packed my bags and my mom picked me up sobbing outside the liquor store on the corner of his apartment block. It’s safe to say that after Dad’s affair, my mom’s scornful outlook on love and Cooper’s nasty treatment of me, I, too, have sworn off relationships for life. Never again will a man hurt me. There are two things I’m sure of. One: I do not believe in fate; and two: I am never, ever letting myself fall in love again. This heart of mine is sealed off.

TWO

I’m claustrophobic. The sidewalk is becoming busier, noisier, louder. I sidestep the weaving commuters and dart back behind the newspaper vending machine for some much-needed space. I love male company, don’t get me wrong, I’m just not willing to get my heart broken again. So, I’m not in the market for a romantic relationship. I’ve more sense! Mom is still jabbering in my ear about Alice’s bloody veins (pardon the pun!). Shivering, I eye the mechanical reindeers with blazing noses pulling sleighs behind the window next door to my building. People are huddled in oversized winter jackets against the harsh December conditions. Red-cheeked dog owners walk their pets before breakfast, the canines wearing reflective Christmas coats and booties as they bark and bounce.

‘Don’t you hate how Christmas injects blind panic into the already frantic pace of Manhattan?’ I try to interrupt my mom. Although I truly love this city, it’s never quite felt like home to me.

But nowhere ever has.

My story is rather unusual. I was born three weeks early, out at sea, and sometimes think I’m more like a dolphin than a New Yorker as a result. I’m timid, intelligent, agile and happy in my own company, exactly like my marine buddies. But I would like to be more assertive. And I am working on myself. That mound of self-help books on my bedside locker will attest to it. I want to stand up for myself. I want to be tougher. A go-getter like my co-worker Eliza, who was deservedly promoted to feature writer three years ago. More self-confident like Jill, my best friend, who is a hugely successful influencer. These are women I aspire to be like. What I’d really love is for women to look up to me one day like I look up to them. Speaking of Jill, I miss her dreadfully and worry so much about her. It may appear that she’s living the dream online, but real life is kicking her hard right now. Her pain is breaking my heart.

‘I do hate it. As you know, honey, after fourteen years with your cheating father and all that time at sea and moving bases, I crave stillness and tranquillity,’ she laments.

‘Mom, when are you going to let it go and move on?’ My tone is light, but my question is leading as my breath comes out in wisps, clouding around me like an evaporating fog. For a change, Mom is slow to answer.

‘Um, putting you on speaker, honey, I’ve hot gingerbread men screaming to come out of the oven. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one of them stood up and ran downtown. Hang on a tick?’ Her voice becomes quieter as she backs away from the speaker. I can picture her, towards the end of her L-shaped kitchen where the copper pots and pans sway, hanging low. In the same spot I spent years sitting up at the island, tasting her baked goods.

‘No! I have to go,’ I say, glancing at the time on the phone in my hand.

‘One second, honey . . .’ Mom ignores my protests as I see Frederick Macken and Andy Grey, the two owners of Acquired Finance, the business and quarterly magazine that takes up six floors of my building. Amanda started dating Frederick when I was an intern and my friend Ben is one of Frederick’s assistants. Unusually, Frederick smiles and waves over at me, I wave back, cautiously. I didn’t know he even knew I existed. He’s passed me in the building so many times but has never actually acknowledged me before. Strange, I think. Both men are immaculate in their matching ankle-length beige trench coats, shiny patent shoes, black leather gloves and slim tan briefcases. They step into the same section of the revolving door of the building, deep in conversation.

‘Mom? Hellooooo? I really have to go.’ Carefully I walk out from behind the news stand, move towards my office.

‘At this rate I’m half sixty-year-old woman, half menopausal melted chocolate.’ Mom’s back and my mouth waters for some of her famous Christmas cookies that explode on the tongue with hazelnut, cinnamon, almond and tangy ginger. My mom does Christmas baking like no other.

‘I’ll come by Sweet Spoon Bakery later so save me some. I have to go. As enthralled as I am about Alice’s veins, I only called to tell you some news.’ Wiggling my fingers for circulation, I grip my lookbook tighter to my chest. I’m hoping this is the tool that finally bags me the promotion. It’s a glossy light pink A4 portfolio folder, tied with long, thin, white silk ribbons. Inside are wedding locations with feature articles that I have painstakingly researched and written up freelance in the hope of impressing Amanda enough. Ten smaller perfect venues with ten beautifully written accompanying articles, where couples can pledge their ‘I do’s without breaking the bank. In my lookbook, I’ve written about how a wedding doesn’t have to cost a fortune to be perfect. It’s something I feel exceptionally passionate about. I’ve read so many stories about the financial pressures of weddings and the aftermath. So, I’ve trudged through every subway stop, up and down stairwells the length and breadth of the city, at weekends to source these venues. Granted, I may not be the fireball, killer-ambitious type of stiletto-wearing career woman, but I know I have talent. I know I want to write about love, even if I don’t want to live it. I know I want to move on into a more creative role and, most of all, I know I have to make more money to afford a new place to live.

‘Guess what?’ Moving up-down-up-down on my toes to keep warm. My breath still visible in the freezing December morning air. New York is wide awake now, honking and revving up around me. The volume of the city is increasing and I retreat further under the awning of the building, until my back is pressed flat against the cold brick wall. ‘Amanda called my cell last night, told me to bring my lookbook into a breakfast meeting. I think this is my big break!’ A garbage truck honks repeatedly, Christmas music jingling from within. Then, it belches black smoke fumes and makes me cough. I fish my security pass from the inside pocket of my wool coat as the smoke from the truck swirls between the Manhattan skyscrapers.

‘Promotion? That’s wonderful. Oh, good luck, honey! You can do this; you’re a super writer. God bless.’

I can picture her making the sign of the cross, dipping her index finger into the small holy water fountain by the double-doored red fridge.

‘We’re very creative you and me, it’s in our Italian genes . . . and I suppose your Irish ones. Call me after.’ She rings off with kissing sounds, and I pull my earbuds out with a dropped jaw.

How bizarre, I think, rolling the wire around my thumb. My mother never mentions my Irish roots. In fact, she tries to avoid all talk of my dad. Although I do see him a few times a year when he comes to New York, we aren’t close, and I never discuss him with her. Growing up, my dad was a very conservative man of Irish decent – strict, hard-working but distant and extremely disciplined. Mom, by comparison, was his polar opposite, – a creative of Italian descent. She was outgoing, caring, flamboyant but needy. We lived on naval bases around the United States, travelling the world with dad’s job. However, it was a time of constant anxiety and stress. My parents argued about everything. I spent my childhood under the covers with my head in a book, blocking out their arguments when they thought I was sound asleep. I lived a life of constant tension, resulting, no doubt, in my introverted personality. I like to keep the peace. To avoid all confrontation. It still irks me that I let Cooper treat me that way and didn’t tell him what I really thought of him. I just skulked away and let him off the hook.

But today I’m not a dolphin. I’m about to become a magazine feature writer. I will speak up for myself. I deserve this. With a sharp nod of my head, I shove my earbuds into my inside coat pocket. Then, I place my palm on the glass of the revolving door and, although I’m sick with apprehension, I stride in purposefully.

THREE

Inside the glossy lobby, warm air con blasts. The open marble area is oozing with red poinsettia plants and a towering fake Christmas tree. Checking the time again, I walk briskly over to the Coffee Dock and order a caramel latte. As I lean on the high counter waiting, I watch the red leaves of the plants dance and sway in the manufactured breeze. I thank the barista and take a step forward when something crunches under my foot.

Looking down, I lift my olive suede ankle boot to see a silver chain. It twinkles and glistens on the white floor under the overhead spotlights. When I pick it up, I see it’s a man’s necklace, a heavy thick-link chain with a silver half-moon swaying on it. Lost property is handed into the reception desk, and I start to head over but as I make my way someone tips me from behind, I spin around.

‘Morning, Magpie, you’re early? It’s only ten past seven,’ Eliza says through a wide, open-mouthed yawn using her pet name for me.

‘It is? Ten past? No, I’m actually late.’ I eye up the queue at reception then I drop the heavy chain into my inside pocket until after my meeting. Picking up the pace, I head across the lobby for the security doors with Eliza hot on my heels. I impatiently tap my pass, and the doors swing open with a whoosh.

‘How are you late? You never start until eight thirty,’ Eliza says, sneezing softly now into her elbow as she always does with the warm air con playing havoc with her allergies.

‘I have a pre-work breakfast meeting with Amanda, she told me to bring my lookbook, you know what that hopefully means?’ I keep up the pace striding towards the row of gold elevators.

‘Promotion? To feature writer?’ Eliza is now basically jogging beside me, the ice in her smoothie rattling as she sneezes again and cusses the air con.

‘I think so.’ I stop dead in my tracks, and Eliza almost crashes into me.

‘At bloody last!’ Eliza announces brightly, happiness crossing her face. Her thick kohl wing is so long it makes her eyes look amazingly cat-like. I stop at the first elevator, calling it by jabbing the button impatiently like a demented woodpecker.

‘Good morning, gals.’ Salma Shuster stands beside us, in a wide-legged, double-breasted navy suit, tie and a white backpack. She only joined the magazine last year as an assistant in the writers’ room but she’s already made enemies. Without being asked, she re-wrote a piece Eliza did on afternoon weddings at the Tavern on the Green and sent it to Amanda, who ran it. A real no-no. Eliza was fuming.

‘You don’t have to start work until nine, Salma, we keep telling you there isn’t any overtime,’ Eliza says in her professional tone. Let’s just say Salma isn’t in her good books.

‘I have a breakfast meeting with Amanda shortly, but actually I’m early so any chance you can grab me a matcha, Maggie?’ She eyeballs me.

‘Maggie doesn’t get your matchas, Salma.’ Eliza’s voice is ice cold. ‘She doesn’t get your anything.’

Before I can say a word, Salma just shrugs with a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and sashays off

‘Oh, brilliant!’ I collapse in the shoulders; I tap my foot on the ground repeatedly.

‘Relax, you’re giving me anxiety.’ Eliza puts a hand on my arm.

‘Why is she meeting Amanda too? I swear to God, Eliza, if I’m passed over again, for her . . .’ The thought of that disappointment knocks me for six.

‘Listen to me, you’re an amazing writer. Amanda knows that. Just go in there and do what you got to do. Go get that promotion.’ Eliza squeezes my arm. I start jabbing the call button again. Then Eliza moves her hand to my shoulder and massages it softly.

‘Thank you.’ I groan softly.

I’m impossibly fond of Eliza, who is as confident as I am unsure. We regularly take lunch together. In the air-less city summer months we people watch and enjoy the shade under the honey locust trees on the Great Lawn of Central Park on a blanket with a packed lunch. Eliza spends most of the time pointing out (and waving at!) hot, half-naked guys much to my absolute embarrassment.

‘By the way tension isn’t exactly a fashion statement but girl you literally look like Christmas this morning.’ I open my eyes as Eliza drops her hand, clamps the rolling straw from her green smoothie between her lips.

‘I glance down at my outfit. I’m wearing a tie-detailed linen midi-wrap red skirt, cashmere white round neck sweater, thick black pantyhose and olive suede ankle boots with my green wool coat swinging open, sprinkles of light snow still on it.

‘Ha! I guess I do, didn’t plan that, just grabbed whatever I saw that was clean.’ Trying to relax, I twist my coffee cup facing the minuscule hole towards my lips.

‘Magpie, you’d look good in a garbage bag, girl.’ Eliza laughs loudly. ‘You put the figure in figment of my imagination and don’t get me started on that porcelain skin of yours, I’m one sneeze away from shattering it into a million pieces.’ Eliza rolls her eyes dramatically so all I can see are the whites. She makes me laugh despite my anxiety.

I sip my latte, stare back at the elevator willing it down. The rich smooth taste of the espresso and steamed milk, swirled together with the sweet, buttery flavour of caramel syrup, erupts on my tongue.

‘I’m exhausted. I was up half the night finishing my Guggenheim piece for the February issue. Come on, you know how good you are? That lookbook is a career all of its own! I keep telling you, that is a business you can go online with tomorrow! A personal wedding location planner. Your talent astounds me.’ Eliza smiles warmly and lightly taps my lookbook for emphasis. She is not someone who throws compliments willy-nilly.

‘Thank you,’ I tell her lifting my two fingers, crossing them as more men and women in sharp suits from the various finance floors start to file past us to the Coffee Dock. The elevator finally pings its arrival. The gleaming gold doors part at a leisurely pace and we both step into the empty space.

‘Alright, I need to confess something awkward?’ Eliza is grimacing at me in a weird way that immediately gives me a new knot of tension in my stomach.

‘What is it?’ I look at her quizzically as I press our floor.

‘I have a crush on Ben Laird. Please tell me you are still just good friends?’ Eliza tilts her head, shifts her weight from one foot the other.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been out with Ben, Frederick’s assistant from Acquired Finance, but just as friends.

‘Yes, we’re just friends, there is absolutely no romantic connection there . . . well, for me,’ I tell her, ‘but we went to see Tobacco Road and for a drink after at the Empire and he told me he’s looking for marriage and, as you know, I’m definitely not after that!’ I tell her and curiously narrow my eyes.

‘So, if you’ve no intention of asking him for a sleepover, Magpie, he can borrow the bottom half of my pyjamas!’ Eliza shimmies her shoulders. She has no filter, says exactly what she thinks and I find it inspiring and empowering. ‘I had to tell you. You know me.’ She clasps her index finger and thumb together and pretends to zip her mouth shut.

‘No problem! Go for it. He’s a super sweet guy but yes, most definitely just a friend,’ I assure her, thinking I probably need to talk to him to put things straight.

‘No sparks?’ Eliza questions.

‘I’m not after sparks. I’m not after anything, you know that. I’m the supplier of my own happiness.’ I catch my refection in the backlit elevator mirror and curl a loose strand of hair behind my ear as the elevator shudders and stops.

‘That’s good for me then.’ Eliza’s gaze drops briefly to the floor; I can tell she’s relieved.

The doors part. People pile in.

‘Hold the elevator!’ someone calls out and three men rush in and immediately turn their backs on us. I narrow my eyes at one of them. I lean forward.

It’s that man.

The running man in the bright burnt orange hat.

That hat is unforgettable. It’s definitely the man from earlier that nearly knocked me off my feet.

Should I reach over and tap his shoulder, so he turns around? Give him a piece of my mind? I should. I want to!

‘Will I?’ I think.

‘You can’t,’ I answer.

Eliza’s so focused on stabbing the unblended fruit at the end of her smoothie with her straw, she doesn’t catch my reaction.

The two men he’s with are from the sales and acquisition division in Acquired Finance. I recognise their side profiles, as one of them presses their floor button. Ben had only been telling me at the Empire about how they bought up a chain of boutique motels worth billions. Carefully I elbow Eliza. Slowly I point my finger discreetly to the man’s back, jab it back and forward. Eliza narrows her eyes in confusion. I copy her. Eliza’s brow wrinkles in puzzlement. I shake my head, put a finger to my lip, lean across.

‘He’s a jerk,’ I whisper directly into Eliza’s ear now.

‘You know him?’ Eliza says to me in a barely audible whisper as the buttons light up slowly on the elevator panel in front of us and we rise up the skyscraper.

‘Tell you after,’ I mouth, with a shake of my head, let the Christmas muzak mask the silence.

His presence in the elevator makes me feel odd for some reason. He stands with a tall frame, exuding a strong aura. No, I know why I feel odd, it’s because I should give him a piece of my mind for almost knocking me off my feet! But as usual I just can’t summon up the nerve. His shoulders are so broad he appears to take up twice the space of the two suits on either side of him. The leather jacket is strained, the seams pulled taut across his muscular back, emphasising the contours of his shoulders. He’s at least a head above the other two in height. He must be at least six foot two. I notice now his snug denim jeans and how they fit over his legs, the fabric conforming to the shape of his thighs and calves. The collar of his well-worn jacket is turned up, and the burnt orange hat slightly threadbare at the back from where it’s been pulled on so many times. He clears his throat. Then, I notice his fists are clenched tightly. I lean forward again to listen to their hushed conversation.

‘So glad you changed your mind. We’d all but given up on you arriving. Frederick’s keen to show you the figures and we know you’ll be impressed. It’s a no-brainer. You’ve made the right decision,’ one of the suits says as the elevator shudders to a halt again. The three of them exit and more people file out behind them. The elevator doors close slowly. Surprisingly, we are alone again. I exhale a shaky breath.

‘What’re you talking about? Why is he a jerk?’ Eliza asks staring oddly at me.

‘I saw him running into the building earlier. He ran me off the sidewalk, nearly got me knocked over and never stopped to apologise!’ I move my hand to my hip, my fingers tapping rhythmically off my hip bone as I try to gather my thoughts.

‘So, he’s a jerk. A sexy jerk, I might add. But he seemed very out of place I thought, did you not? Ryan and Frederick’s mini-me’s were tiny beside him. Looked like a serious convo. That air was tense.’ Eliza makes a small hole with her mouth and blows out air as our elevator rises up through the towering skyscraper.

My palms are clammy. I wipe them down the sides of my wool coat. This meeting with Amanda is making me more nervous than I’d expected. The truth is if I don’t get this promotion, I really will have to look for another job, and after all the hard years I’ve put in at Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine, that would be disastrous. I know, just as Amanda does, that I’m going to find it very difficult to get a job at another magazine without the proper qualifications on paper. And although it’s not the first time Eliza has mentioned me going out on my own with my online wedding location business, I just would never have that kind of confidence.

‘Yeah, looked tense alright. Anyway, I want to forget about him.’ I squeeze my paper cup thoughtfully.

‘He did have a very nice ass though. Peachy.’ Eliza makes a squeezing action with her cupped fist.

‘Did he? I didn’t notice. What were we saying?’ I finish the coffee, grateful for the energy it’s providing.

‘I guess I was saying I’m so ready for the white picket fence and the maternity dungarees. I’m ready to sit in Krispy Kreme all day and scroll through Insta judging people.’ Eliza adjusts her fringed bag over her shoulder with a swish of her plait as our elevator stops on the sixty-fifth floor. We step out into the long, shiny scarlet red tiled corridor and glamorous reception area of Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine.

‘Hi Maggie. Hey Eliza.’

‘Speak of my devil,’ Eliza hisses as Ben Laird strides towards us.

‘You’re never normally in at this hour, Maggie?’ He stops, stands with his trademark stubby pencil behind his ear.

‘See you for carpool at five-thirty, I promise to make the ride fun!’ Eliza performs a wiggly fingered one-handed wave at Ben, winks at me, then sashays on into the circular writers’ room across the hall. The room where they write all about true love and the perfect wedding day. The room I so badly want to be a part of.

‘Breakfast meeting,’ I tell him stepping back. ‘What has you up here on the sixty-fifth?’

‘I was dropping some urgent travel documents from Frederick in to Amanda, I was hoping to bump into you actually, I got two tickets to Jimmy Fallon tonight, if you’re free?’ Ben wraps his arms around himself.

‘Ben. We need to talk.’ I drop my head a little, I’m not good at this but it has to be done even though I need to move it.

Ben nods. His work suit, as always, looks too big on him. The grey material hangs off his shoulders.

‘Oh, I see. It’s alright. We really don’t. I get it.’ He unravels his hug, links his hands together, swings them in front of him. He’s shorter than me and he looks so vulnerable. I feel terrible but I was completely honest from the start.

‘You’re such a nice guy, I’ve had the best time hanging with you, but I thought I made it clear I’m not looking for a relationship,’ I say carefully. ‘I so don’t want to lead you on in any way.’ I keep my voice low to protect our privacy in the busy corridor.

‘I see.’ He repeatedly nods. ‘And don’t worry, you were crystal clear with me, I just hoped our friendship might develop into something else. My bad.’ But he laughs it off, scratching the back of his neck.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him, my voice soft and sincere.

‘Don’t be. You’re right, I do want to settle down. I want marriage and the white picket fence, and I do want to have kids soon. A gang of them.’ Ben’s shoulders raise up high like he’s perfectly comfortable with how he feels. ‘But I’d love for us to stay friends, maybe just not outside the building . . .’ He trails off but I nod in understanding.

I can’t believe the coincidence. ‘I understand, Eliza’s literally just said the same thing to me. . . that she’s single and looking for her special man and that picket fence.’ Not so subtly I drop that one in, glance at the time on my phone. ‘I better get a move on,’ I say.

‘Really?’ His eyes light up as he steps past me into the elevator behind us. ‘She’s amazing, I just presumed she was in a relationship?’

‘Nope. Single. She wants an army of kids too, plus I know for a fact she loves Jimmy Fallon. Merry Christmas, Ben!’ I call to his disappearing back as the elevator door slides shut.

I need full concentration now. There have been enough distractions already this morning. Putting my hand inside my coat pocket for my lip balm, I pull out the heavy thick-link silver chain with the half-moon. ‘Shoot,’ I mustn’t forget to take it to reception straight after the meeting. I fold it back into my pocket, retrieve my balm, roll it onto my lips. Then, with my head held high and my shoulders back, I try to look far more confident than I feel. I see Amanda’s glass corner office ahead of me. I stride purposefully towards it. My mission to get finally get this promotion to feature writer is well and truly underway.

FOUR

‘Come on in!’ Amanda’s posh British accent bellows in my ears as I struggle to open the heavy door. Turning my back to it, I push it open with a jut of my backside. Once inside her minimalist office, the familiar smell of sandalwood and highly polished publishing awards hits me. Amanda, in her late fifties, lean and taut, is panting heavily as she runs on her treadmill by the floor-to-ceiling windows that look down over Manhattan. Although Amanda has been my boss for seven years, I barely know this woman.

Starting as I mean to go on, walking confidently towards her. ‘Good morni—’

But Amanda cuts me off, perspiration pouring off her as she jerks her head towards her low slung, white velvet couch. ‘F-five minutes left! C-can’t t-talk, s-sit.’

I sit and clutch my lookbook to me like a life vest. The couch is low and uncomfortable and, despite my motivational monologue, I feel ungainly and awkward. I cross my legs, then uncross them again. Eliza always jokes that when she’s sitting beside Amanda, she feels like a heavy chocolate cake while Amanda is a light lemon sorbet. Anxiety knocks but I try hard to control it. I get up and lay my lookbook down on her table.

Untying the delicate, long, thin white ribbon, I open the double spread of Jill and Max’s barn wedding. I’m insanely proud of this piece, because I also planned and designed the entire two-day celebration. I loved every second of it. My article tells the story of this barn in Boston, sitting on a few acres of land. The barn had been converted into a ballroom at some point in the 1920’s, with a proper floating wooden floor, and I’d transformed it into a stunning wedding venue – outhouse and all. Jill had posted her wedding on her Instagram and the barn had consequently been booked out for years in advance. She had been inundated with followers asking her who the wedding planner was. She’d kept my privacy, obviously, as I just did it as a one-off. But I was flattered nonetheless, and it had triggered the idea for my lookbook.

‘Done!’ The whizz of the machine slows as Amanda wipes her shiny face with a towel. I sit down again and watch her get off the bike, unzip her Lycra top and replace it with a towelling one. On the edge of the table, a tiny grey slate of less-than-fresh fruit and a single glass of water is laid out. Well, three grapes, two mushed strawberries and a withered slice of melon, to be precise. Surreptitiously, I glance around for coffee and fresh pastries? Or muffins? Or even granola? Nothing catches my eye. Perhaps Amanda has ordered hot breakfasts for us. Scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, maybe? Cream cheese bagels? My tummy rumbles again, I slide my hand across to silence it.

‘Need to take a shower down in the locker rooms so this won’t take long. I hear you are quite the wedding location sniffer dog? A great snooper? Kept that one under your hat,’ she says, dismantling the top knot on her head and shaking her voluminous honey hair extensions around her face.

‘A snooper? Me?’ What is she talking about, I’m thinking.

‘Yes, Ben Laird was telling myself and Frederick last night about this lookbook of yours, the locations you’ve been snooping around New York to find?’ Amanda gives me the once over, as though she’s suddenly seeing me in a new light.

‘Oh, Ben? Really? Has he? That was sweet of him. Right, so yes, there it is,’ I stutter, pointing to the table. ‘I have actually mentioned it to you before, Amanda when we discussed my promo—’

‘Did you? Well, enjoy your breakfast while I flick through. I practise intermittent fasting. Don’t eat until lunchtime.’ Amanda stretches to one side, bending until her hand is flat on the floor, then repeats the action on the other side.

‘Oh.’ Politely, I nibble on the piece of wilted melon. I never skip breakfast and I’m more of a cream cheese bagel than an açaí bowl type of girl. I shift my position to stop my stomach rumbling, eyeing up Amanda bent over the table.

‘These are good alright . . .’ She dances a long, slate grey nail across Jill’s barn wedding pictures. Then, rather dismissively, without checking any of the other locations, she slams the book shut.

My heart drops.

‘Th-there are more if options are . . .’ I try.

‘I’ve seen enough. Maggie, I have a challenging proposition for you this morning.’ I swallow too fast and nearly choke on my fruit. I cough, hold my hand to my throat then swallow again taking a sip of water this time.

‘A ch-challenging proposition? I-I’m not sure what that means exactly? I was hoping we could talk about me being moved up . . . Um, no I mean, more money. . . I mean, need . . . promoted to feature writer?’ I’m blurting everything out now, my well-practised pitch well and truly forgotten.

‘That’s what this is about,’ Amanda props her hands on her jutting hipbones, ‘if you’d kindly let me finish?’ Her sharp tone puts me back in my box, insecurities flying around my head like falling confetti. Amanda struts across the light floorboards to the roller blinds. She closes them and the office falls darker, the lights of the Manhattan skyscrapers opposite, dimmed. She turns the controls down on the stark white wall and the lighting evaporates completely.

‘Oh, that’s dark! Okay, um, what are you . . .’ I’m completely out of sorts now. Is this another lost opportunity I wonder? Is Salma in line for my promotion? I feel my throat tighten and I fight back tears. This is not what I manifested! Speak up, I shout internally. But nothing comes out of my mouth. Amanda flips open her laptop. I blink to adjust to the light as she hits some keys.

‘This is why I called you in early.’ A projected light glitches, dims, then comes into focus on the wall.

It’s a castle.

A magnificent castle.

‘Woah! Oh! Oh, wow! Oh, my goodness.’ I gasp at its beauty. Lit up brightly under the twinkling stars of the black night sky, the perfectly squared sandstone medieval castle stands majestically. With two towering turrets and oversized Venetian windows, it emanates strength and almost takes my breath away. Standing on magnificent grounds, it is surrounded by green pastures and a lake. ‘W-where is this? What is this?’ I perch on the edge of the couch, lean forward to get a closer look at the castle

‘This is why you’re here. This is Castlemoon, in Ireland,’ Amanda informs me matter-of-factly, as though I should have some clue what this is all about.

‘Castlemoon,’ I repeat in a low whisper.

‘The castle is an eighteenth-century, authentic hotel nestled in the Irish village of Heartwell, in County Galway. By all accounts it’s an absolute gem. It sits on the edge of the wild Atlantic coast of Ireland in Connemara. A picture-perfect place to have your wedding,’ Amanda’s silhouette says.

‘It’s breathtaking.’ A shiver runs down my spine.

‘Breathtaking indeed. As it happens, I’ve been searching for a wedding location in Ireland to feature in the magazine forever. As soon as Frederick showed this to me, well, I knew that Castlemoon was going to feature in our June edition,’ Amanda informs me.

Then, the office falls silent.

‘Right,’ I say, my eyes enthralled by what I’m looking at. The imposing walls that taper at the top. The conical roofs of the towers crenellated for lookouts.

There’s still absolute silence from Amanda, who seems to be just staring at me awaiting a further response.

Eventually, I realise I have to say something ‘B-but what have I got to do with this castle? With Castlemoon?’

‘Good question, I thought you’d fallen asleep.’ Amanda stands in front of the projected image and raises a finger to her lips.

‘Oh, no!’ Placing my two hands on the couch, I push myself up to standing.

‘So, you want to be promoted to feature writer?’ she asks me.

‘I really do, I know I can write about love . . .’ As I walk, I place my hand on my heart, hoping I can show her the depth of my feelings about this promotion.

‘This is very special job but there are a few factors to it. Are you listening?’

‘Yes.’ I focus my eyes on her.

‘Frederick Macken is in the middle of purchasing this castle. He will keep the hotel authentic, obviously. He won’t change a thing. He’s very conscientious like that. Well, it’s a protected building but he is respecting the owner’s wishes to keep the local staff on. Nothing will change at Castlemoon. It will remain exactly as it is. This job you will do is for both of us. It’s a very special job to us.’ Amanda’s tapping more keys on her laptop now.

‘Right, I see,’ I say, not sure what on earth she is talking about as a new slide of the back of the castle pops up.

‘See? The castle has a man-made lake and overlooks the rolling hills of Connemara, so the grounds provide the picturesque setting we need for the magazine and the tourist attraction Frederick needs for profit.’ Amanda laughs loudly. Too loudly, it grates on my nerves.

‘Stunning,’ I say more confused than ever.

‘This is where you come in. Or Salma. Depending on who wants the promotion more.’

‘Oh!’ I gasp. So this is why Salma is also in early. I was right. I take a deep breath, feel my chest expand.

‘I only have one position for promotion to the writers’ room. Obviously, you have been here far longer, but Salma is an excellent writer too and a very hard worker. She’s been on and on at me to promote her, is always here before breakfast asking me if there is any extra work she can do and stays late into the night. Salma is a real go-getter and I need someone in that room who can multi-task. Do you really think that’s you? Do you really have what it takes?’ Amanda has switched to her low tone signalling seriousness.

‘I do,’ I tell her, a shake in my voice now. If I’m passed over for Salma I may as well walk out the door and never come back.

‘I need a team in there who can write, deliver and travel solo, so are you up for a challenge?’ Amanda says slowly and crosses her arms.

‘Yes,’ I say with forced confidence. But I am not the greatest traveller. Travelling makes me uneasy. All those anxious years moving from base to base as a young girl. Why is she mentioning travelling solo?

‘I’m taking a chance on you, Maggie. I’m giving you dibs to write your first feature article on this castle in Ireland.’

‘Really?’ My brain whooshes like a rollercoaster as I think IRELAND! But that’s the other side of the world!

‘You can say no and I will have Salma in this door in seconds flat ready to take your place. It’s totally up to you. But Frederick was mightily impressed to hear about your research skills, and I can still see you in your cupcake-splattered apron asking me for the internship all those years ago,’ she says with an unusual hint of nostalgia in her voice.

‘I – I see, wow, Ireland. Okay, right. Can I think about it?’ I try to focus but my head is spinning with self-doubt.

‘What is there to think about?’ Amanda suddenly snaps.

‘Well, I’m j-just thinking that Ireland is on the other side of the world, and you said solo, so would anyone be coming with me?’ I mumble.

‘No. You don’t need me to give you the definition of solo, do you? You will also be required to compile a report for Frederick on the running of the hotel.’ Amanda looks at her watch.

‘Travel to I-Ireland alone to write this feature, okay. And . . . F-Frederick wants what? Sorry, Amanda, I don’t mean to—’ I stammer. Can I do this? Can I really say yes?

‘Laymen’s terms. You’re going to Ireland, to County Galway. I’m commissioning you to write the story on Castlemoon, as an international wedding location. From Frederick’s side, he needs you to write up a separate report on the castle. You will just be another set of eyes on how the place is being run before the sale. Simple.’ Amanda speaks to me slowly now, as though I’m a child. Well, I am behaving like one. I kick myself internally.

‘Got it.’ I nod, pulling myself together as reality hits me. I have to push myself out of my comfort zone. Be brave. I have to stop being afraid of life. I have to say yes. ‘I have a feature? The June edition of Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine will have a piece written by me?’ I bounce on the balls of my feet now.

‘Even bigger. If I love it, if you can turn in an exceptional piece, I want to use this castle as the cover for the June edition. It’s all in your hands.’

‘M-my first byline might be a cover?’ I literally freeze, my eyes widening as I stare at her in disbelief. A surge of energy courses through my veins.

‘Yes. And as it’s a double, it’s the year’s biggest selling issue,’ Amanda adds, surreptitiously glancing down at her own bare hand.

This is huge. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. Way bigger than I had ever imagined. With a cover, I can approach any magazine in the city. In the world. Even Eliza still hasn’t had a cover byline. But that voice in my head speaks up. Ireland is a very long way away. Travelling by myself, can I honestly do this?

‘There is a formula that all our location writers use, if you read the magazine as you should be doing every month you will see it. Ain’t rocket science.’ Amanda is slightly condescending now.

‘No. I want to write my own way.’ At last, I sound assertive. I am assertive. I won’t be following any guidelines, I will be writing from the heart. Truthfully and romantically. Maybe I can ask if one of the interns can accompany me? I know I’d have jumped at the chance when I was an intern.

‘Might there be an intern available to come with me?’ I have to ask.

‘No. It’s just you. Budget is tight for June as you know with the double edition. Is this a problem for you, Maggie? You can stay in the proofreading room if you’d rather. Don’t waste any more of my time.’

‘N-no.’ I shake my head. My curls tumble across my face, I pull them back behind my ears. ‘I’m in!’ False positivity rings through my voice.

‘Good. The manager at Castlemoon will be informed that you are arriving, they already know we will be featuring the castle in the magazine. But like I say, Frederick is relying on you too, it’s part of your job brief. He just wants you to keep an ear to the ground and report back if you come across anything strange or startling? It’s a huge deal! I’m super excited for him.’ Amanda is walking towards me now. She squeezes her index finger into her inflated lips again, and in a moment of unusual honesty adds, ‘Perhaps Castlemoon is the place where one day we’ll say our own I do’s.’

‘Maybe.’ I smile at her as I repeat, just to be sure, ‘So just a report of how I find the hotel?’

‘Exactly. Frederick will call you himself.’ Amanda answers with a big smile now, it’s so bright it could probably have lit up the dark room.

‘Thank you so much for trusting me with this job, Amanda.’ I step in, extend my hand to my boss. When is it? When do I have to go? It would take me many more years to work up to this; it truly is a Christmas miracle! I may not believe in fate, but that red cardinal I saw earlier did exactly as it was supposed to do if I can just hold my nerve.

‘Great! I should have added it’s a quick turnaround. I need you to produce an exceptional piece of writing, the castle photographed beautifully and it all filed on or before December twenty-fourth? The double edition goes to print in February. I need my mock-ups finalised by then.’ Amanda bends almost in half to untie her yellow sneakers.

Christmas Eve! My brain runs the dates. That’s like, less than a week away!

‘No problem!’ is what I say to my boss, though my feet are literally shaking in my ankle boots.

I’ll have to get creative. It will not leave me much time to research, write, interview, edit, get release forms signed and collect all my images. I need to start a mood board asap. My mouth goes bone dry now, but still, I cannot stop gaping at the projected castle with the huge red door.

‘Plus, I’m handing you the angle on a silver platter.’ Amanda kicks off her sneakers, holds up her phone in the gold designer branded case that probably cost more than my monthly salary, slides her finger across the screen and reads:

‘“Legend has it that marriages celebrated at Castlemoon last a lifetime. The divorce rate is practically zero. The village of Heartwell is full of happily married couples. There is a magic within the walls of Castlemoon.” Give us a sense of some of the locals who married there and have been together for fifty years or whatnot. What do they think is the secret to these marriages at the castle? Dig around. Find the magic. Do young people believe in the folklore? Then report to Frederick on all the other stuff.’ Amanda pulls open her desk drawer and hands me a large brown envelope. With a slightly shaking hand, I lean across and take it, grip it tightly.

‘How long will I be there?’ I ask keeping my tone light.

‘Five days,’ she says.

‘Okay!’ I smile brightly at her.

‘I figured you’d say yes and HR have your passport on file so Ben dropped these up from Frederick a little while ago – your travel documents, flight details, booking, hire car rental, directions and insurance. You will have to drive yourself from Dublin to Galway, Sat Nav has the Eircode. Accommodation is at the castle. Your per diem is listed there too. Here are hard copies and Phoebe will email everything to your inbox. As you leave for Ireland in less than two days, you have my permission to take the rest of the day off. Good luck. Enjoy. See you after the holidays.’ Amanda waves, glances at her vibrating Fitbit.

Less than two days? Less than two days! Tell her you’ve changed your mind, you can’t travel to Ireland and drive to Galway on your own, my brain screams. You haven’t even been outside the States since you were thirteen years old for crying out loud! My lips have gone so dry I search in my coat pocket for my balm. My fingers find the heavy chain; I caress the sharp edge of the silver half-moon. Somehow, it soothes me.

But as terrified as I am, I still can’t take my eyes off Castlemoon.

‘I . . . I, okay.’ Momentarily blinded as Amanda flicks the bright office lights back up to full, I blink several times.

‘Just don’t let me down. Don’t let Frederick down either.’ Amanda sticks an earbud in and hits a button on her phone.

It appears my meeting is over.

But I have a byline, not to mention the chance of a cover story! In Ireland. In a magnificent castle. I cannot believe my luck, even if this is as far out of my comfort zone as I could ever imagine.

‘Thank you, Amanda, I won’t let you down,’ is what I hear myself say as I gather up my lookbook, but she’s already talking to someone else about her editorial calendar as I slip out of her office. Outside, Salma perches on the leather two-seater sofa beside the Nespresso coffee machine and I now know for a fact she is here in case I said no.

‘What was that about?’ She points to Amanda’s door, almost scowling.

‘Oh, just sorting out my much overdue promotion to feature writer. Can’t stop, I’m off to Ireland to write my first article! Looks like I’m joining the writers’ room when I get back. Merry Christmas, Salma.’ I smile warmly at her and try to walk steadily down the corridor to call Jill and have her talk me off this ledge!

FIVE

Fresh from a hot shower and doused in body butter moisturiser, I’m incredibly nervous but also excited as I croon along to Christmas tunes on Spotify. I’m soothed by Bublé’s dulcet tones singing about a pair of hopalong boots. My suitcase is open on the bed, packed with three pairs of jeans, my suede skirt, a few tops, woolly jumpers and my black suede heels. I pull open my spilling wardrobe to search for one more item. I hadn’t been able to reach Jill on the phone when I’d left the office yesterday because I keep forgetting about the time difference in London. So I had jumped back on the subway over to my mom’s to tell her the news, fully expecting her to agree that this was all too much and I wouldn’t be able to take it on. Instead:

‘Don’t be silly, honey, you’ll be fine, you can do this. I’m telling you to go for it.’ Dorothy had rinsed a dishcloth and draped it over the faucet but she never took her eyes off me.

‘I’m terrified!’ I’d confessed, holding both my hands out so she could see the tremor in them.

‘Even more reason to face your fears. What have you got to lose?’ I could tell she was thinking about her new relationship with George.

‘I sold my car because of how much I hated driving in New York, let alone in a country I’ve never been in before. What if I get lost? What if I break down? What if I crash? What if I—’ I’ll admit I was spiralling.

‘Now listen to me, young lady. You can do this, you want that promotion, right? Nothing in life is easy, but you can’t spend it being frightened of it. You have one life to live on this earth. Take the shot.’ Mom had reached up for the tin of hot chocolate, our go-to in times of a crisis.

‘I know, I wish I wasn’t such a coward. I wish I could be someone stronger, I just don’t know if I have it in me.’ I’d curled up on her couch and pulled the fluffy red pillow embroidered with holly over my head.

‘Remember when I was trying to teach you to ride a bike and you looked at all the other kids whose daddies were teaching them and told me you couldn’t do it?’ She poured milk and a dash of fresh cream into the copper saucepan.

I’d nodded, seeing that warm summer day in Bryant Park clearly.

‘Do you remember what I told you?’ She’d ignited the gas with a click-click-click.

‘You told me that I didn’t need anyone else to succeed, that I had it all in me.’ Slowly I pulled the pillow down from my face.

‘Exactly. And you peddled like your little life depended on it and you passed all those other kids and their dads.’ A proud smile had spread across her face.

‘I hear you.’ I’d nodded with new determination, buoyed up by her fate in me.

‘Plus, you’ve that Irish blood so . . .’

This stopped me in my tracks again. Dorothy never talked about my Irish heritage and this was twice in the same day.

‘I don’t know a lot about it,’ I’d said carefully, watching her heap spoonfuls of the chocolate powder into two mugs.

‘All I know is that your great-great-grandfather left Ireland on a boat to Ellis Island.’ Dorothy untied her apron and held my eye. ‘Might be time to start tracing your roots.’ She poured the hot creamy milk into our mugs. ‘What better time than when you’re in Ireland?’ She’d smiled warmly and I’d felt insanely proud of her. This was the sign to me that she had moved on and let her pain of my dad’s adultery go. Maybe I should think about doing the same, but before I could answer her the doorbell rang out.

‘Who is that at eight thirty in the morning?’ I’d asked her, my head swivelled toward the door.

‘That’s G-George, honey. He was on his way over, he’s giving me a lift this morning. You see I-I’ve made more cookies and cupcakes than I intended and the cupcakes weigh a ton with all that caramel and toffee,’ Mom had blurted at a pace, her eyes moving to the boxes on the counter top, not making eye contact with me. ‘He’s opening a second Sweet Spoon downtown and he’s asked me to work full time creating the pastry menu, did I mention that?’

‘You did not! Holy cow, that’s great, Mom!’ I had waited for her to tell me more but I could see she was flummoxed and unable to get the words out so I’d let her off the hook.

‘I have to run anyway, give George my hot chocolate. I love you, Mom. I’ll call from Ireland and see you on Christmas Eve. What can I bring by the way?’ I wrapped my green wool coat tightly around myself, crossed my arms and we’d walked down the hallway. Then she pulled the latch back and opened the front door.

‘Maggie! Good to see you,’ George bellowed, a smile lighting up his eyes above his thick, bushy grey beard. His well-weathered face was full of kindness. A good man.

‘I’m running, George, but I can’t wait to hear all about this new Sweet Spoon? There is a delicious mug of hot chocolate waiting for you on the counter, don’t let it go cold. I’ll be seeing you for Christmas dinner, I hope?’ I’d winked at Mom and gave George a warm hug. He grinned at my mom, both of them wearing goofy smiles like two soppy teenagers.

‘That sounds delightful. I’d be thrilled. If you’re sure?’ George returned, looking at Dorothy.

‘We’d love to have you.’ Mom’s cheeks had flushed pink. ‘I’m proud of you, Maggie, you got this.’

With my mother’s words of encouragement ringing in my ears I’d headed down the slushy street towards the subway. Things were changing, I could feel it. Mom would no longer rely on me as she once had. Yes, I was a nervous wreck. Yes, I was unsure. Yes, I was totally out of my comfort zone agreeing to track halfway across the world alone but I was also proud of myself. I hadn’t said no. I wouldn’t beat myself up forevermore. I was excited. It had been so long since I had felt excited. I was going to Ireland. Me, Maggie Grace! A place I had a connection to. I’d heard my father talk about it. But mostly, I was filled with contentment that my mother had found happiness at long last.

Flicking through my tightly packed wooden hangers, I’m still looking for that final item I need to pack – my one and only ball gown. Jill had found it for me in a thrift store in the Hamptons years ago. At face value it was worth at least three months’ salary, but I got it for fifty dollars.

‘There you are, my pretty.’ I clamp my teeth shut as I struggle to wriggle the hanger free and pull out the scarlet red dress. The sculpted evening gown has a low scooped back and off-the-shoulder detail, a plunging sweetheart neckline and a flattering chiffon tied around the hips. I’m hoping to slip into any weddings at the hotel incognito, so I need to be dressed appropriately. Just so I can observe. Carefully, I fold the dress and put it on top of the heels then zip up my case and leave it by the door. Plonking my weary bones down at my compact vanity table, I count the hours back to London time, and FaceTime Jill again.

As the line tries to connect, I remember only too clearly how difficult it was as a kid moving from base to base, rarely able to hold onto friendships. It was on my thirteenth birthday that Mom found out about Dad’s affair. A red Chanel lipstick in Dad’s car was all it took. He confessed and she immediately left him and we settled back in Scarsdale, where my uncle lived, and Dorothy got a job in the newly opened Sweet Dough. That’s where I met Jill Lewis – now Jill Lewis-Huberman – on my first day of eighth grade and my life changed forever. Finally, I had a best friend. A girl who saw me for who I was and loved me for who I was. Jill made my friendship dreams come true. If only I could repay her now by making her dreams come true.

‘Maggie!’ Finally, Jill picks up and her beautiful face fills the screen. She has a red nose as she adjusts her furry white earmuffs. Huge bare sycamore trees loom tall behind her and red double decker buses file past as she smiles, showing me her row of perfect teeth between her deep, inset dimples. My heart lurches.

‘Hey! It’s so good to see your face. How’s London? You look cold. Where are you?’ I peer close at the small screen.

‘Kensington Gardens. I’m supposed to be making a post for a major vintage brand who are paying me to wear these earmuffs but I can’t seem to fake it today. How did the meeting go? Did you get the promotion? Did she love your lookbook as much as I do?’ Jill’s face moves back from the shaky screen and I immediately notice how pale and gaunt she looks out in the cold English day. A light rain spits sideways, sticking to her auburn hair. Her warm eyes are wide as she awaits my answer.

Jill started off making videos in her bedroom and uploading them to YouTube just for fun, showing off the vintage designer clothes she was finding in charity shops, and it exploded. Now, Jill is a very powerful business woman with over a million followers on @jillsfindsforfun. She’s recently relocated to London with her lawyer husband, Max, who is opening a new law practice in Kensington.

‘It’s a bit more than I expected, Jill.’

‘Hang on, just let me move out of the wind.’ I see the pavement rush by as Jill seeks refuge and I just can’t help think how much I owe her. As a young girl, Jill saw my crippling shyness and vulnerability, and took me under her wing. She became the best friend anyone could ever wish for. Jill was my instant protector. She stood up for me, sheltered me from the looks the cool girls threw at my old-fashioned wardrobe and wild, untameable, red frizzy curls. She was the one who used to read my short stories and tell me I should become a writer, encouraging me to submit them to writing competitions. I would do anything for Jill and it has completely broken my heart that the one thing Jill is consumed with desire for, the one thing she covets, yearns for and craves, I simply cannot help her with.

A baby.

‘That’s better!’ Her smile is back. ‘Hit me.’ She sits down on a park bench.

‘There is only one promotion to feature writer and it’s between me and Salma. I got offered it first. But Amanda is sending me to Ireland tomorrow all by myself. I’m being commissioned to write a piece on a magnificent castle in County Galway to prove myself, and if it’s good enough she’s considering Castlemoon – that’s the name of this place – as a cover for the double June edition! But I’m terrified, Jill. I said yes, obviously, but I couldn’t sleep a wink last night!’ I barely take a breath as the words tumble out of me.

‘A possible cover? No way! Ireland! Amazing! Listen to me, you’re well able. This is your dream, just don’t overthink it. Step by step, okay?’ Jill tells me.

‘I know, you’re right. Mom said the same. Thank you, it’s all a bit surreal . . .’ I pause as I watch her pull a tissue from up her sleeve and dab her eyes, then blow her nose.

‘Surreal my ass, and you have nothing to prove, it’s so overdue! You are an incredible writer, you got this. I mean that, I have every faith in you—’

‘You okay, Jill?’ I interrupt her as I watch the screen like a hawk.

‘Me? Eh, yeah, yeah, fine. Sorry, just this bitter London cold, makes my eyes water, you know yourself.’ Jill plasters a smile on her pale face.

I let that hang for a moment. Has she been crying, I wonder?

‘I do know, Jill. I really do.’ Giving it a beat because I know Jill wants me to change the emotional moment we have just shared.

‘So, what have you packed? What is your actual brief? Spill! I want all the details!’ Jill commands and I do let it go, for now. For her sake.

‘Just warm clothes really. Oh, and Frederick, Amanda’s millionaire property mogul boyfriend – you met him once at a Christmas party at the Royalton – is in negotiations to buy the castle!’ I tell her.

‘Oh, Creepy McCreep. I thought he only dealt in hotel chains?’ Jill says with a downturn of her mouth.

‘Apparently not, he wants to buy Castlemoon but he is keeping it exactly as is, obviously, staff and all. He won’t be changing a single thing.’

‘Hmmm, I’d wonder about that.’ Jill looks genuinely puzzled. ‘The only thing that creep gives a crap about is money. Remember what he said when he heard I worked with vintage clothes? Rich people’s cast-offs for poor people!’ Jill rolls her eyes.

‘I do, and I remember the ear bashing you gave him in return!’ A smile tugs at my lips when I picture Frederick’s face as Jill told him a few home truths about recycling playing a crucial role in promoting sustainability, protecting the environment and supporting economic growth. ‘But Amanda said something about the owner stipulating that the staff must be kept on. I just have to keep an eye on how the place is being run—Oh, one more thing! I had to tell my lovely pal Ben that we couldn’t see each other anymore. Eliza fancies him.’

‘He was moving out of the friend zone?’ Jill scrunches up her nose. ‘You never mentioned a single spark?’

‘Exactly. Because there were none. I would have told you. Anyway, I want to hear more about London. How are you settling in? Seen any of the royal family out and about yet?’ I joke.

‘I’m pretty sure I saw King Charles at the dentist . . .’

‘. . . maybe in for a new crown.’ I jump in, spinning around on my chair.

‘Bahaha! Very good!’ Jill cracks up. ‘I miss you so much. But all’s good, sorry I never got back to you last week. I’m such a shit friend right now. I’ve been wallowing a lot.’ Jill gently smacks her free hand against her cheek twice as though to wake herself up.

‘Is Max still in Lisbon?’ I soften my tone.

‘Yes, he left three and a half weeks ago, but who’s counting? I miss him so much too. What am I like? He’s still interviewing and hiring lawyers for the new practice and buying really cool office equipment while I’ve barely posted any content in two weeks.’ Her blue eyes are watery and sad and her pale complexion worries me.

If only I could see Jill as happy as she was the day she married Max, four summers ago, again. It had been the most perfect day. The sun had split the trees and the six-foot-long barn door was pulled wide open. Horses galloped in the nearby paddock. I had rented long, rustic tables and low-backed benches, decorated with simple pink organza flowers and twinkling fairy lights. The Brodsky Quartet had provided the music. It was very Max and Jill – classy, understated and fun. I’d give anything for my friend’s happiness now, I think with a knot of hope in my throat. Jill’s hands suddenly fall to her stomach. Fast tears start to sprout in watery pools in her eyes, despite her heroic attempts to hold them back. Quicky, she swipes them away. Immediately, I pick up the phone from the cradle holder, hold it closer to my face.

‘The last round of IVF didn’t work?’ Pain pierces right through my heart.

Ever so slowly, Jill shakes her head. Her lip wobbles.

‘Oh, Jill.’ I exhale.

‘I know,’ Jill half whispers. She slaps a palm across her eyes, hiding them. But I see the tears slide through.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to pry. I wanted to give you and Max some privacy. I hoped when things were very quiet for a couple of weeks, you were maybe, well you know . . . I should have checked in just in case you were quiet for this reason.’ I kick myself under the vanity table. I was just trying to give Jill space. I’d been so hopeful this time that she was finally pregnant.

‘Don’t be a silly goose, I knew that, I just couldn’t talk without bawling. Max wants to be a dad so much. It’s all we’ve both ever wanted, as you well know. He deserves so much more.’ Jill pulls the sodden tissue out again, blows her nose, noisily, left and right.

‘Jill, please never say that again. Max adores you. He knows how lucky he is to have you. Max only cares about your happiness,’ I tell her quietly but truthfully.

‘You’re biased,’ Jill half laughs. ‘I think this tissue has seen better days, a bit like myself.’ She stuffs it into the pocket of her puffer jacket. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’ll be fine, you just caught me at a bad time.’ Jill waves her hand across her face. ‘This is a good news day for you!’

‘I’m here, you know that? I’m always on the end of this phone. Day or night.’ I can’t keep the sympathy from my voice and I know she hates that.

‘That was the third round of IVF and the max we said we’d do, if you pardon the pun!’ Jill dabs under her eyes with the tips of her fingers and presses them into her soft skin. ‘Max hates watching me go through this. He thinks it’s all too much for me, and he’s right, I know he is. I’m losing my mind. This bloody hope, the praying, the lighting of candles and then the utter disappointments. It’s all becoming unbearable. Every woman I see on the street or on the underground here is pregnant, I see them everywhere. Strollers, car seats, day care centres, maternity shops, I give up.’ Jill tucks her hair behind her ears, as a pigeon sweeps overhead squawking.

‘Now, you stop that right now, do you hear me?’ I say firmly but kindly. ‘You are only thirty-four years old. Your gynaecologist has been really positive. Maybe just give yourself and your body a break for a while? You need a distraction. It’s too much.’ I try to inject a burst of enthusiasm and hope into my voice.

‘Oh, Max is calling in!’ Jill says, shaking her shoulders to gather herself, clears her throat of emotion.

‘Go!’ I command. ‘Give him all my love, won’t you?’

‘I will. Have the best time in Ireland. FaceTime me! Be brave, you are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for and you are an amazing writer.’ Jill, always encouraging me, always my biggest cheerleader.

‘Promise. Speak soon,’ I tell her.

We blow one another a kiss and then I put my phone into my bag and I bound down the stairs.

* * *

‘My dear, I’m going to miss you so much,’ Mrs Schwartz says as she lifts her round reading glasses from the end of her slightly bent nose. Benji rushes to me, barking happily, his short tail wagging wildly.

‘There he is, my sweet baby.’ I get down onto my knees to the black and white Shih Tzu. Benji rolls over, four tiny paws in the air, pink tongue panting. I scratch his belly. Pulling his fur back gently, I stroke his head lovingly and look into his deep-set black eyes. He is the reason I’ve managed to live here so cheaply, part of my rent deal was that I walk him twice a day.

‘I’m going to miss you too, but I will come visit you in Ohio, I promise.’ I look up at her. ‘I have to leave for a job in Ireland in the early hours of the morning. I’m going to be away for five days. I’ve organised Mrs Brophy from next door to walk Benji.’ I keep stroking his warm, soft fur. ‘You were asleep very early last night when I dropped down to tell you. I hope you remembered to take your statin?’

‘I did, just got very tired, very early. It’s earlier and earlier these days but Ireland? How exciting! What I wouldn’t give to go back there one last time. We honeymooned there you know, in County Galway, the most spectacular place I’ve ever been. Jacob loved it too.’ Mrs Schwartz looks down to the thick gold wedding band on her curving finger.

‘That’s where I’m going,’ I tell her with surprise.

‘Is that so? Well, well, well. Ireland’s a magical place, make no mistake about it. The land of saints and scholars. I could have stayed in Galway forever.’ Her eyes settle on me. ‘The music, the spirit of the land is infectious.’

‘I’m very excited to go.’ I stifle a sudden yawn. It’s been a busy day.

‘So, I better give you your Christmas gift now then,’ Mrs Schwartz states very matter-of-factly.

‘Gift? I haven’t even done my Christmas shopping yet!’ Mortified, I get up, and walk over to her to offer her a hand up.

‘It’s nothing new, it’s something I’ve been holding off giving you for some time. Something old. Something very special.’ Mrs Schwartz declines my hand and uses the soft arm rests of her orthopaedic chair to push herself up.

‘Careful, you know your legs seize up a bit in the evening.’ I step back a little. Benji barks as he always does when Mrs Schwartz walks around.

‘Don’t fuss, I can manage.’ Slowly, she shuffles her way to the antique sideboard by the huge bay window. I watch on, smiling at her pink furry slingback slippers.

‘Believe it or not, this is a Claddagh ring. When your heart is taken, you turn the hands to face it,’ Mrs Schwartz says, a romantic, faraway look in her old eyes as she hands me a stunning ring with a green emerald set between the two tiny silver hands on a silver band.

‘B-but I can’t take this?’ I protest, pushing the ring back gently with my finger.

‘It won’t go on my arthritic fingers anymore. I want you to have it. I hate the fact it sits gathering dust on the sideboard and when I leave here it may get lost in the move. I’m very forgetful these days, as you well know even if you choose to ignore it.’

‘I couldn’t . . .’ But I can’t take my eyes off the ring. It is spectacularly beautiful. Mrs Schwartz lifts my hand and slides it onto my wedding finger, the heart open. A perfect fit.

‘I never thought I’d say this but, I do!’ I snort with laughter.

‘See? Meant to be.’ Mrs Schwartz opens her arms wide and I step in. ‘It brought me so much love and luck and I feel happier now that it can work its magic for you too. Regardless of your protestations about love, it will find you.’ Benji barks, turning in swift circles before settling himself at her feet, his little face resting on his two front paws. The ding-dong-ding-dong of her door sounds.

‘Another Christmas charity caller, or carollers perhaps? I have left a pile of change at the doors’ she tells me.

I skip down the hallway, tug open the door and my body freezes. Cooper Dwight, my ex, is standing there with a box of fancy cheeses wrapped in cellophane paper and a bottle of wine with a huge red bow tied around the neck.

‘Maggie!’ He moves down off the top step, looking exactly like he’s seen the woman he dumped so nastily. Which he has.

‘Cooper,’ I manage, holding the door close to my face and squeezing my toes tight into my running shoes to steady myself.

‘Eh, this is for a Rose Schwartz?’ he steps back up to the top step and hands me the box of cheeses.

‘Okay,’ I manage. I reach out, take the box and hold it tightly in my arms.

‘I’m not a delivery guy!’ He holds the edge of the door. He’s aged a bit in the last two years. His hair line is receding and he’s wearing glasses. As if he notices me looking at the glasses, he whips them off.

‘I just need them to see the numbers on the houses. It’s my own business. I’m sure you blocked me?’ He stares at me. All I can remember is the coldness in his voice when he dumped me. How he made me feel so unimportant.

I don’t answer.

‘Of course you blocked me, why wouldn’t you. Well, I did try to contact you, many times.’

Tell him what an asshole he is. Tell him he treated you appallingly. Tell him. I try to push myself.

‘Who is it?’ Mrs Schwartz calls out from the front room.

‘A delivery, I’m coming.’ I turn my head over my shoulder and call back.

‘Unblock me? Can I call you sometime? At least let me explain?’ Cooper asks me, dipping his head and making an aw-shucks face.

‘I’m not sure Tanya would approve,’ I tell him feeling a moment of nostalgia mixed with that sense of underlying anger.

‘I’m single. It . . . we, didn’t work out.’ Cooper is still holding the bottle of wine. ‘We set up Vino and Fromage . . . this business together. Wine and cheeses . . . but she . . . left.’ His voice is weighty with self-pity.

‘The heat is escaping,’ Mrs Schwartz calls out again. I reach for the bottle of wine.

‘Just unblock me? Please?’ He takes a few steps back down and, like an idiot, I nod before I shut the door.

I had never blocked him in the first place. He had never once tried to contact me.

I make my way back in to her. ‘You won’t believe it, but that was my ex at the door delivering this.’ I hand her the card.

‘How did you feel seeing him?’ She pushes her glasses up, opening the little envelope to read it.

‘I don’t know. Stupid. But nothing else really. Oh my God, am I turning into Miss Havisham?’ I rub my eyes, shaking my head.

‘No. You’ve just grown up and I’m so proud to think you’ve listened to me. If you’d said anything other than just being polite I’d have given you what for. What have I taught you most of all about love?’ She puts the card on the table, props it up on the Torchiere lamp.

‘That a woman must always have self-respect!’ I say, jutting my chest out.

‘That’s the greatest asset we possess, remember that. These are from my son, he’s so thoughtful.’

‘I will and thank you again for my most amazing gift, I will cherish this forever.’ I pull her very gently into an embrace again. She feels cold from the draught of the door. Raising my hand behind Mrs Schwartz’s back I admire the ring once more. Then, I say a silent prayer that it takes me safely back to where my ancestors originated. Safely back to Ireland.

SIX

Sixteen hours later, my confidence is well and truly shattered. Petrified, I screech again as a huge black and white Guinness truck comes swinging around the tight bend on the impossibly narrow road.

‘I can’t do this, I can’t do this . . . I thought driving in New York traffic was scary!’ I scream at myself in my little car, driving on the opposite side of the road than I am used to. The wipers are sloshing the heavy snowfall from the windscreen as I chug along through the vast, open countryside and jagged coastline of County Galway. I’d made it out of Dublin okay on the main roads, even singing along to Christmas FM, but as I passed through Galway city and out towards Connemara, the uneven mountains rose ahead of me. Sweeping brown and green colours of rugged earth. The roads became narrower, darker, more uneven, bumpy and winding as I began to lose my nerve and slammed off the radio a few kilometres back. ‘Yes, you can do this!’ I shout out again, ‘just keep driving. You can’t turn back now!’ But I want to. Every part of my being wants to be in my mom’s kitchen in Scarsdale drinking hot chocolate. I grip the steering wheel like it’s a lifeline, my knuckles white as the falling snow as I focus on the road.

But the air is clearer than I could ever have imagined. As I’d stepped out of the airport, I had stopped to breathe in the sharp, crisp Irish breeze. I’m completely in awe of the landscape, not a skyscraper in sight as I stare out ahead. Flat land for as far as my eye can see. Despite my terror, I do feel the welcome space of my surroundings.

I’m still gripping the wheel when another colossal truck approaches me at speed, a huge bus on its tail. ‘Oh, help me, Mom! I am turning back! I want to go home!’ I pray as I press down on the horn in the centre of the steering wheel and the truck flashes its array of orange and white lights at me. Quickly, I go down the gears and stop the car with a jolt. The truck driver slows to a crawl. Peadar’s Power Hosing is written in block letters on the side of the truck, then it stops and the window rolls down. I see a bald head with a cigarette dangling from the right side of the man’s mouth.

‘We rarely beep our horns in these parts. What ails ya? Yid get the double decker bus behind past me! All ya need to do is to hug the brambles,’ he bellows at me but with a surprisingly friendly tone.

‘H-huh? Hug the brambles? What does that mean?’ I stare up at him, wild eyed and trembling. I know I’m close to tears. I should have let Salma do this job, it’s too much for me. I feel my breathing become more erratic.

‘Hey, relax in there, you’re grand. That’s your side of the road, next to the brambles – the bushes. Stay tight and you’ll be safe and sound, plenty of room, trust me,’ he says kindly down to me.

‘Okay, thank you.’ I sniff repeatedly, the mini breaths helping.

‘Now take it easy, no more honking of the horn, it scares the sheep.’ He talks without removing the cigarette, a plume of smoke rising as he pulls and then puffs it out.

‘Hug the brambles,’ I repeat, my head stuck out my open window. I clutch the steering wheel even tighter and force a nervous smile. ‘But won’t that scratch the car?’

‘You’re driving in a rural area, feck all you can do about it. Now I hope ya have a licence for tha’?’ He throws down to me again.

‘For this car, yes, um, somewhere. It’s in the envelope, hold on please.’ I pull my head back inside and twist around to retrieve my soft brown leather work satchel from the back seat.

‘Not for the car, for that winning smile.’ He guffaws, a great big belly laugh, and I’m amazed that the row of cars lined up behind aren’t honking at him to move. He revs the truck loudly. ‘Merry Christmas, agus slán abhaile!’

‘Quite the charmer,’ I mutter, pulling up the window. I struggle to get the car into first gear, pressing down harder on the clutch as it jerks forward and I drive on.

‘Hug the brambles, hug the brambles, hug the brambles.’ I use it as my mantra as I slowly pass the truck and the bus and it begins to work. I calm a little, hugging the brambles like a pro and feeling the road open up. My Sat Nav talks again, instructing me to continue straight for three kilometres.

‘You got it,’ I tell the Sat Nav, as my phone beeps and it reads the message out automatically.

‘Hey, Magpie, how is the Emerald Isle? Ben asked me on a date to the Acquired Finance Christmas Ball! I’ll send pics! Baby Eliza’s are looking good! Love ya!’

‘Oh! Enjoy, you guys,’ I say, my eyes still glued to the road. I’m genuinely so happy for both Eliza and Ben. Good things to good people. ‘Okay, you got this. It’s a small road, that’s all. You’re in Ireland!’ My nose is only inches from the windscreen as a blanket of snow continues to fall. ‘Just relax, like Peadar Power Hose told you to.’

No other vehicles approaching now as I allow my eyes to dart speedily as the moon emerges from behind a cloud, illuminating the area. I take in the vast open fields and the patches of green grass where the snow has melted.

The riot of grey stone-built walls dividing the sweeping landscape that seem to multiply out. Down, down as far as my eye can see. Sheep graze, cows meander and horses with rugs on neigh loudly and gallop freely through the paddocks. I haven’t been outside of New York since I was thirteen so all this wide countryside is kind of blowing my mind. It feels so big yet so small. The very opposite to New York. These wide-open spaces are actually beginning to calm me down.

My seat belt strains as I continue to lean close to the windscreen. ‘Oh. My. God,’ I whisper. My hands loosen on the wheel as I stare up ahead.

There it is.

Perched high up on a clifftop.

Castlemoon.

The castle is truly spectacular in the early glow of the silvery moon that streams in and out from behind the dark clouds. Castlemoon rises into full view in the distance. The brightest stars twinkle and glimmer in the night sky above it. It’s like something from a century long ago, all lit up for Christmas, a fairytale castle. It’s the most beautiful sight.

‘I made it,’ I whisper. I can actually feel my blood pumping through my veins as I press my foot down harder on the accelerator and drive a little faster up the steep winding road. I honestly didn’t think I had it in me! If mom or Jill said it was too much, I may well have chickened out. But I didn’t, and right now I couldn’t be prouder of myself!

The Sat Nav directs me up another ridiculously narrow hill and I take my foot off the pedal a little, cautiously navigating the pitch black roads. Brambles sway as I pass. Flicking the wipers on again, I flush the fresh snowfall from the windscreen. As I turn around a sharp bend, I see a light up ahead. Then, my headlights beam onto a huge rugged stone that reads:

Welcome to Heartwell Village.

‘Heartwell.’ The name trips so easily off my tongue. It sounds so romantic. I can’t wait to explore the village for my article. In the distance, I can see the warm orange glow of street lights. I drive with some newfound confidence towards them until I reach the bottom of the large village square. Dotted all around the square are tall Victorian style cast iron lighting poles that throw out the most romantic soft light. They give an elegant, almost ethereal look to the village.

Taking my foot off the accelerator a little more, I drive carefully on. The first shop I see is a bookshop with tiny square windows and red fairy lights around the green door. It’s idyllic, with snow decorated panes. I lean to see the wooden sign, Heartwell’s Cosy Reads.

Swiftly, I take one hand off the wheel to rub condensation from my window and look across at the Heartwell Lounge and Bar. It too is lit up, but with even more twinkling outdoor fairy lights, both green and red. Smoke billows from the chimney in the thatched roof. Happy people wearing Christmas jumpers are gathered under heat lamps under a low covering outside, drinking and chatting despite the falling snow. Music echoes from inside in a rhythmic beat that makes me automatically drum my fingers on the steering wheel.

Surely an open fire and a roof made of hay can’t be safe, I think before I squint my eyes to read ‘Established in 1924’ over the door and I laugh – obviously it is. Slowly I move on, before stopping at a pedestrian crossing just up from the pub. A young couple holding hands cross and wave at me and I wave back, feeling all kinds of warm emotions washing over me. If I waved at a stranger in New York in the dark of night they would think I was nuts, I muse. I shake my head, indicate and pull into the side of the square. I kill the engine. Leaning across again, I pick up my old, trusty Dictaphone off the passenger seat – a present from my mom for my eighteenth birthday. I take in everything my eye can see as I click down on the red record button.

‘On first sight, Heartwell village is like something from a cosy Christmas Hallmark movie. The perfect village square is illuminated by twelve iron Victorian style lampposts with sprinkling snow cascading through their soft orange light. The village has a large green area and a bandstand in the centre, and a towering Christmas tree, draped in slow blinking white lights.’ I gaze out my driver’s window. ‘A book shop, a pub.’ Leaning across to gaze out the passenger’s side, I rub the window with the palm of my hand. ‘The Teapot Café, Murphy’s Organic Market, Heartwell Post Office, Heartwell Library and . . .’ I sit upright and squint my eyes to the large red brick building at the top of the square, ‘Oh, and how adorable, a town hall at the top of the square! Heartwell Hall.’ Saving my conversation, I drop the Dictaphone back on the seat beside me.

A strange feeling comes over me, like good things are going to happen here. I feel it in my bones. Turning the engine, I pass another couple walking arm in arm around the bandstand – they too wave at me. A busker strums on an acoustic guitar as I leave the lit-up square. I keep my eyes firmly on the twisty road. Up, up, up the cliff I go towards the illuminated Castlemoon, but my breath is no longer shallow. My nerve is holding. I approach the ancient sandstone castle that looks down protectively over all of Heartwell village. I appear to be the only car now on the road and it’s becoming an incredibly peaceful drive. Or have I just grown in confidence navigating these twisting Irish roads? I turn the car left, up a tree-lined avenue, until my Sat Nav says, ‘You Have Arrived At Your Destination.’

‘Castlemoon . . . at last we meet.’ My mouth erupts in a huge grin, as I expend a sigh of utter relief. Feeling super proud of myself is a sensation I don’t have very often and I really like it. As I crunch up the gravel driveway, the front wheels of the car spin slightly on the ice. Carefully, I pull into the car park area in front of the castle. A lush wedding is clearly in full swing inside the huge Venetian windows. I kill the engine, unclick my seat belt and pick up my Dictaphone. Reaching up, I flick on the overhead light and begin to speak.

‘I’ve arrived at Castlemoon in County Galway. It’s six o’ clock in the evening and already dark but the moonlight cascades brightly above this spectacular old sandstone building. The castle perches high on the cliff’s edge and looks down over the cosy village of Heartwell, almost protectively. Tonight it looks like every fairytale castle I’ve ever seen. It towers at the top of the tree lined avenue where a small opening gives the first breathtaking views of this eighteenth-century castle. Seated on twenty-five acres of parkland, the exterior is drenched in original features and heritage colours. The castle comprises two reception rooms, the Sweet Orange Room and the Heart Ballroom with sixteen guest bedrooms. I cannot wait to get inside. Now, pour a cup of coffee, and settle back. You’ve already said yes to one big question. The second question is, reader? Are you ready to fall in love all over again? Well follow me . . .’ I stop recording, put the Dictaphone back on the seat. Amid the fluttering snowfall, through those stunning windows, I see the beaming bride and groom. They both hold the handle of a knife as they cut into a colossal white, tiered cake, surrounded by the happy faces of friends and family.

I turn the key in the ignition. Grinding the gears into reverse, I try and navigate into an awkward car park space. I look into my outer wing mirror, checking the space. It’s so tight. I check my own wing mirror, turning the wheel, but as I do, the front wheels spin under me again on the ice and this time the car slides sideways. I try to spin the wheel back to control it but I can’t. It’s sliding to the left. I hear a loud bang, followed by a crunching noise.

Then, the car shudders and the engine dies.

SEVEN

‘What the hell was that?’ I screech as I pull the door handle and jump out. I almost slip on the ice; I grab the wing mirror and hold tight. I’ve hit a wedding car – a vintage Rolls-Royce that has white ribbons tied around it. I bury my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. Just when I thought everything was going so well. I jump back into the driver’s seat, turn the key in the engine. Pushing down on the clutch, I pump my foot on the accelerator as the car roars and I try to move, forward but, forgetting the shift gear is still in reverse, I only succeed in crunching metal to metal again. I’m now embedded further into the side of the vintage Rolls-Royce. I press my foot down on the clutch again and yank the gear stick into first. It grinds out an ear piercing sound as I finally propel the car forward and free it from the bumper. Physically shaking, I turn the key and kill the engine.

This is not how I wanted to introduce myself. I need to report the accident right away. I throw my Dictaphone into my work satchel, pull on my knitted hat and tuck my curls under. Grabbing my MacBook, I tuck it under my arm and hop out. Head down against the wintery elements, I march through the swirling snowflakes tumbling from the dark sky. When I reach the magnificent towering red wooden door framed by a stone archway, I pull the weighty iron handles and step inside Castlemoon.

Inside, there’s the welcome sound of a crackling wood fire as logs burn brightly in an oversized grate and I shake the snow off myself. The smell of the burning wood gives off a rich, earthy aroma. The flooring under my feet is polished stone tiles that reflect the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above.

I turn around slowly in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle; it’s like a Christmas card. A Christmas tree stands in the corner, covered in twinkling white lights. A multitude of red wrapped boxes with gold bows are piled on top of one another underneath. I take in the beauty of the entrance hall because what I’m seeing is beyond magnificent. There’s a regal atmosphere but it somehow manages to have a warm, homely vibe. Tilting my head, I take in the colossal gleaming ceilings with rows of exposed wooden beams. I admire the intricate plaster work, the glistening, enormous low hanging chandelier. A dark maroon wallpaper with a white striped pattern covers one side of the wall – it’s all exposed brick on the others. Flickering tea light candles are everywhere my eye can see, the light creating gentle shadows that flutter on surrounding surfaces. In awe, I take a few steps backwards onto the concrete slabbed step by the doors.

I’m still taking in every inch when behind me, a door loudly slams shut. Startled, I spin around. Then out of nowhere, a red setter comes bounding out of a side doorway, barking madly, and leaps up on me.

‘What in the—!’ I get such a fright that I drop my MacBook and it hits the concrete.

‘Red! No! Down, boy!’ The thick voice of a man bellows from somewhere behind as I try to calm the dog down.

‘There now, good boy. It’s okay, it’s okay. There’s a very good boy.’ Ignoring my MacBook sitting on the concrete step upside down, I bend, trying to calm the excited dog. When he stops barking, I rub his soft, silky red fur gently. ‘Good boy, it’s okay. Hello, there.’ The dog calms quickly, panting madly, licks my face before he bounds back to whoever called him. Scrambling on all fours, I grab my MacBook and flip it open praying it’s not damaged but it has a large crack, right down the middle of the screen. My heart plummets.

‘No! Oh, come on . . .’ I’m still on my knees as I tap it awake and I’m utterly relieved to my core to see it’s still working. I hit a few random keys to ensure letters appear. ‘Oh, thank God!’ I shut my eyes tight. Then I see a pair of large green wellington boots approach from the side of my eye. I’m so concerned about the damage that I don’t look up. The large boots appear directly under my eye line now.

‘Well now, I think we have insurance details to swap, don’t you? I’m trusting you didn’t change your mind and that you weren’t backing away out the door without reporting that accident?’ the owner of the wellies says, and for some reason the tone of his voice jolts me.

‘Eh, sorry. No, I – sorry I . . .’ Shutting the MacBook, I lift my head to look at him. But when I look up fully, I’m completely taken aback. In fact, I feel a little winded, like someone just stood on my stomach and pressed all the air out of me. This has never happened to me by a man’s physical appearance in my entire life. He has literally taken my breath away. What is wrong with me? I’m tired and hungry, that’s it! He’s bending down, looking at me, his mouth still moving as he points out to the car park but I can’t quite make out his words. It’s like I’m submerged underwater, under a wave. It’s an out-of-body experience that I’ve never experienced before.

‘Ho . . .’ I blink rapidly, my brain scrambles like mad as I snap out of it, getting up off my knees, dusting them off I stand up fully. I badly need to eat!

‘Ho?’ the man repeats, but then stops talking. Now he’s staring at me too. The drawstring hood on his khaki wax jacket frames his striking face. He has the darkest brown eyes with long spiky lashes that are insanely captivating. A subtle shadow adorns his well-defined jawline. He’s towering. His presence is magnetic.

‘H-huh?’ I can’t seem to speak, instead I busy myself still dusting the knees of my jeans. The man is wearing dark trousers tucked into his Hunter wellingtons. Still confused by my confusion, I try to look up again, but I’m unable to take my eyes off his olive skin, the jut of his jawline, the strong nose. His posture conveying assurance and charisma. He’s the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life.

‘H-huh?’ He repeats the word I’ve just said, his head moving from left to right as his jaw loosens.

‘W-well – I w-was . . .’ This is ridiculous. My mouth is so dry I have to stop talking to swallow. He bends over to pick up my MacBook and I realise my legs are trembling as shyness engulfs me. I take a step back and the red setter jumps up on me again barking loudly.

‘Red! Down, boy, now. Good boy, no exertion for you, remember!’ His lilting Irish accent is like music to my ears.

‘It’s alright, I love dogs.’ My words come without my brain releasing them.

‘Even this mad one of mine?’ he asks me, unsure. ‘He’s not long over a thorn removal in his back paw so he’s a bit fresh.’

‘Uh-huh,’ I manage. This is preposterous, I need to pull myself together. So he has some kind of wild magnetism and he’s just overwhelmed me, that’s all.

‘Red here is my best pal. I can always trust Red. But you? Well now that’s a different story.’ He pulls his hood down and although I’m aware of the sarcasm in his voice I’m even more lost for words. I try not to focus on his jet black, unruly hair as he runs his hand through the front of it. He is so incredibly handsome, it’s utterly unnerving. Rubbing my hands together to steady my nerves I tell myself: You’re sworn off love for life, remember?

‘Well, who are you anyway?’ is what I say instead. I’m aware it sounds abrupt and rude but it’s all I have right now.

‘Sorry? What?’ He cups his hand behind his ear.

‘I said who are you?’ I repeat way louder than necessary. I can’t seem to control this fluttering sensation in my stomach.

‘Who am I?’ He stands up tall, rolls those broad shoulders back, shaking his head at what I’m assuming is his reaction to my perceived rudeness. ‘I’m not having much luck this week that’s who I am.’ A sudden sadness permeates his voice and his shoulders drop. An immediate sense of unease comes over me for him. ‘I was just about to sell that car you mangled.’ Red moves to him, sits panting as he rubs the dog’s head.

‘It was an accident. I’m sorry . . .’ I watch him, absentmindedly twisting the Claddagh ring on my finger.

‘Not as sorry as I am.’ He shoves his hands deep into his wax jacket pockets, dragging the coat down lower, looking like the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on him.

‘Well, I’m from New York . . . city.’ I can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together as the dog barks at me again.

‘I’m not sure that’s a reasonable excuse?’ He slaps his thigh to get the dog’s attention.

I’m well aware of his sarcastic banter, which normally I would love, but I’m too shy and out of sorts to play back with this stranger. Of course, when I get into my room I’ll think of twenty clever comebacks. I’ll kick myself.

‘Red! Settle, boy. So, a hit and run, was that your plan?’ Is he still being tongue-in-cheek I wonder as he steps back, eyeballing me now.

‘I was not . . .’ I feel myself revert into my timidness and my head bows low. I just want to get to my room. I need to get away from him.

‘So, you weren’t backing out the door without reporting the crash?’

‘No, I-I . . .’ My cheeks burn red and all words desert me. I’m that dolphin swimming away from danger.

‘A change of heart perhaps? Protecting your wallet? Well, I’ve an empty wallet I need to protect too.’ He claps his hand against his green boots now and the dog stops barking but settles by my side, panting heavily. Now I can’t tell if he’s joking or serious. ‘Don’t try to pull one over on me, I’m not in the mood.’ He snaps those words at me.

But something in me shifts.

I feel it start in the tips of my toes and gallop to the top of my head.

I look around.

It’s like I can hear my mom in one ear and Jill in the other. I see all those younger women in work, less qualified, pass me by for promotion while I sat back and said nothing. I see Salma asking me to grab her a matcha. Those mean girls in school who teased me mercilessly about my red hair. I remember my promise to myself, just a few days ago, that no person was going to get the better of me anymore. Images of all the self-help books on my bedside locker float behind my eyes. I think of all the work I’ve been doing on myself to be stronger.

All my life, I’ve been this dolphin swimming with the tide of non-confrontation. Well not anymore. This man – whoever the hell he is – has just brought back my crippling shyness. But at the same time, he has somehow unleashed the confidence inside me that I’ve been waiting to get out. Standing in front of him, I feel different all of a sudden. Powerful, somehow. I am about to stand up for myself. Bat back. Maybe it’s being in a new country. Maybe it’s Ireland. Maybe it’s Castlemoon. Maybe it’s my roots. Maybe it’s the strong stone walls and the thoughts of what it must have taken to build this castle and live in such a place generations ago. Life was tough. Now I feel tough. Now I feel seen. Now I feel confident. Now I’m about to let go!

EIGHT

‘Actually, no!’ I cross my arms indignantly. I’m not saying my heart isn’t racing behind my ribs because it is.

‘Is that so?’ He crosses his arms too. My MacBook looks so small tucked safely under his arm.

‘It is actually. I wasn’t running away. I came straight in to find the owner when I was attacked by your dog, so I resent that accusation, sir!’ This feels good. This feels like I always imagined it would. How dare he? I am as honest as the day is long. He crosses one leg over the other now and I notice the sudden amused curl of his generous lips.

‘Well now, I dispute that fact, Miss. I was watching you on the CCTV in the office, you didn’t approach Mary at all,’ he says as those dark eyes dip to my hands.

‘Mary? Who’s Mary?’ I ask. This is like an episode of The Twilight Zone that my mom watches re-runs of on cable TV.

‘I’m Mary.’ My head spins to see an older woman with short grey hair standing behind the mahogany reception desk at the far end of the entrance hall. She’s dressed in a light blue uniform with a bright yellow tie, watching on in amusement, a large mug in between both her hands.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t sprint to the desk, I’d only stepped in. I was taking a look around because I’m here to wri—’

‘Sightseeing rather than reporting a crime.’ He clicks his long fingers. ‘Gotcha.’

‘The only crimes around here, Sir, are your false allegations!’ I glare at him but lower my voice, still confident but not obnoxious.

‘Is that a fact,’ he asks now, putting one hand into his jacket pocket.

‘Actually, that is a fact and here’s another fact . . .’

‘That you say the word actually a lot?’ he smirks.

But I’m on a roll now. ‘I am the feature wedding location writer for Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine, you will have been expecting me. I’m here to do a story on Castlemoon, possibly a cover too.’ Boom. Mic drop, I think.

‘Ohhh, ’tis yourself, Your Highness.’ He mock bows, bending over almost in half, his left forearm sweeping under his chin, fingertips grazing the ground.

‘Whatever.’ I roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement amid my angry release.

‘Mary, we forgot to lay out the red carpet!’ he calls back over his shoulder as he stands. When he turns back to look at me, I can see he’s trying really hard not to smile. A few guests have stopped to listen to the pair of us.

‘Hilarious, aren’t you?’ I tilt my head at him.

‘It’s been said.’ He lifts his shoulders, nodding sincerely.

‘It’s a lie.’ I give him a fake smile, utterly delighted with myself as I hold out my hand for my MacBook, curling my fingers to him.

‘You want to hold hands?’ He keeps his arms crossed; my MacBook still secure under them.

‘Only if we’re racing to see who can let go first.’

‘Ouch. Question: does Your Highness crash into all parked cars to move them out of her way? Too inconvenient to find a space, I wager?’

‘Please, grow up.’ I roll my eyes.

‘Only if you promise to stop acting like a child,’ he says.

‘How am I acting like a child?’ I uncross my arms now, place both hands firmly on the waist of my straight-legged jeans and jut my chin out.

‘Running away.’ He shakes his head, his unruly hair flopping left to right.

‘I was not running away! Oh, my God, you’re so infuriating!’

‘I’m glad to know I’m leaving an impression.’ That smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.

‘Whatever. And another thing, my MacBook has a great big crack down the middle of it. Now, please give it back.’ Again, I reach out for it.

‘And what do you want me to do about that?’ He turns away slightly so I can’t get it, looks down at it.

‘Fix it! It’s your fault! Now give it back.’ I grab for it and stuff it into my satchel. The absolute cheek of this man. He still hasn’t even had the manners to apologise. ‘And apologise,’ I demand.

‘Me?’ He jabs a long finger into his chest.

‘Yes, you,’ I huff.

‘No chance. Not in a million years.’ He shakes his head, that hair flopping from side to side again. Then, he lifts his hood back up, pulls the drawstrings together in a move that says this conversation is over.

‘Are you in some kind of hooded gang?’ I ask now, walking away.

‘I am.’ He bites down on the beginning of that smile. ‘Do you wanna join? We could do with a hard-arse criminal like yourself.’

‘You are preposterous.’ I roll my eyes again. Feeling the heat, I raise my hands and pull off my woollen hat. As my curls tumble out around me, I shake them out loose. Suddenly I hear a strange noise. I stare up at him but he says nothing. His face is unreadable now. He expends a short breath. Takes a few steps back then leans one arm up against the exposed brick wall, never taking his gaze off me.

‘Well now . . . I—’ he mutters to himself, strokes his jaw.

‘Okay, we are getting nowhere here and I’m really busy. You don’t strike me as the type who owns a Rolls-Royce but let’s swap details.’ I rush on, babbling nonsense in a high pitch, still unable to get these emotions of mine under control.

‘Yeah, well it’s mine. I don’t look like I’d own a Rolls-Royce?’ But his tone drops. ‘Don’t I look worthy of such a fine set of wheels, Your Highness?’ It’s more serious all of a sudden.

‘No, I don’t know, I suppose I expected . . .’ I look at him, flick my hair over my shoulder.

‘What, did you think I rode a cow? Or perhaps I had a pony and trap?’ he pulls himself back and asks a little too sarcastically this time. I’m not sure why, but I feel like I have suddenly pissed him off and I don’t like the feeling.

‘I don’t have time for this, I’m on a deadline,’ I tell him, breathing heavily, feeling a little upset now.

‘That’s the problem with you Americans, no time for things that really matter.’ Still, he leans on his arm, his voice sounding serious. He crosses one leg over the other again as though he’s all the time in the world to keep this conversation going.

‘Get a grip. What are you on about? You Americans. Please don’t generalise and be so rude and insulting to my country,’ I say with real passion now as Red circles me again, then jumps up on me, his long legs leaving paw prints on my green wool coat.

‘Red!’ He slaps his leg again. ‘And I didn’t mean all Americans. Red, down, boy! This is so unusual. Red likes no one but me,’ he admits in his low, lilting, Irish accent.

‘Red needs to get out more,’ I retort, but notice now he’s fighting a smile back again. This Irish man might be drop dead gorgeous but I just want to escape him and take a cold shower.

‘A sassy American girl,’ he sing-songs but this gets my back up too.

‘Please don’t call me girl. Now, can I give you my insurance details, please? I can’t stand here all day.’

‘This way, Your Highness.’ He pushes himself off the wall, extends his hand and I brush past him. His sharp cologne lingers as I strut past the crackling fire, stop at the reception desk. I rest my MacBook on top, flick it open and find the Word doc Phoebe sent me with my insurance number and provider saved to my desktop.

‘Mary, will you take them details down?’ he asks the older receptionist. ‘I’ll have to go and cancel the advertisement in the Heartwell Gazette for the car before they charge me.’

Mary nods. ‘We’ll be grand, lad. Terry can look at it. But I’ll phone down to the garage first thing in the morning just in case it’s more serious,’ Mary calls after him as he retreats, approaching a woman walking with a cane. He links her free arm with his. I see her smile warmly up at him.

‘Come on, boy,’ he calls back to the dog who is now sitting at my feet, looking up adoringly at me, long pink tongue panting.

‘Let me just take your details, lovey,’ Mary says. ‘His bark is worse than his bite.’

‘Red’s?’ I ask, my heart rate still hopping up and down.

Mary laughs. ‘Dan’s.’

‘Well, I think Dan is a bit of a jerk.’ I say to her with a roll of my eyes.

‘Ah, one thing Dan Delaney is not, is a jerk. He’s under fierce pressure, that’s all. He was selling the Rolls-Royce to help pay for . . . ah look, like I said, he’s a good lad, just stressed,’ Mary tells me, tapping my insurance details into her system.

‘If you say so,’ I say with disbelief rolling around my words.

‘Now, welcome to Castlemoon.’ Mary hands me a small glass from a silver tray on the desk, with a golden liquid inside. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

‘What is this?’ I smell the alcohol before I taste it. My eyes water from the fumes. I feel more alive than I have done in years. Normally I’d absolutely refuse a drink I was unfamiliar with, I’m not exactly a shots person, but right now I feel adventurous.

‘It’s HeartGoose, a welcome drink. Brewed right here in Heartwell village, it will put the heat into ya,’ Mary tells me. ‘If ya were a fella, I’d tell ya it’ll put hairs on yer chest but yer not so, ya probably don’t want hairs there.’ Mary chuckles and it’s infectious so I laugh too and knock back the drink, hoping to steady my wildly beating heart.

I embrace the silence for a moment after the chaos of that interaction. The sharp drink works its way down to the tips of my toes, heating my insides beautifully as it travels, calming me almost instantly. A warm flush comes over my entire body.

‘Here we are. Maggie Grace, Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine.’ Mary glances up swiftly before her fingers dance over the keys. She slides her chair back on its wheels to remove a large key fob from a hook on the brick wall. ‘There ye are now. Room nine, great view of the grounds. Breakfast and dinner are in the Sweet Orange Room from seven until ten daily. Are you with us for dinner?’

‘No, but can I book in for tonight, if I’m not too late?’ I ask hopefully, my stomach sensing the words and rumbling. Noticing now my feet and back feel sore after the tense drive from Dublin to Galway, I ask, ‘I don’t suppose you have any appointments for a massage tomorrow?’

‘Not unless you want me to do it for ya. We don’t have a spa here, I’m afraid. An hour okay for dinner?’ Mary says to me without consulting her computer.

‘Perfect. I’m absolutely famished, I could smell cooking from outside. I’m surprised you don’t offer spa treatments, it’s such a major part of hotel bookings these days. Self-care, especially for wedding parties?’ I tell Mary.

‘We’re more old school here. When I’m asked about relaxation I usually refer guests to the armchairs beside the turf fire, feet up and recommend a good book. I’ve yet to have a complaint.’ Mary raises a knowing eyebrow and I laugh, adjust my satchel. Right now, that idea sounds divine.

‘And that appetising smell will be our flame-grilled steaks. We have the best steaks. Organic, from Jimmy Murphy’s farm just up behind us here. They supply most of the village’s food in the market, too.’ Mary goes on, ‘Their vegetables taste like no other. No pesticides, none of that, and don’t get me started on their free-range eggs.’ Mary smacks her lips, playfully. ‘Our breakfast omelettes are famous.’

‘Oh, right, I passed the market driving through the village! Sounds delicious. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get my bags.’ I pocket the key in my wool coat and smack off Red’s dusty paw prints.

That was crazy, I think, opening my eyes wide. ‘Oh my God, what was it about that guy?’ I whisper. ‘I mean I was amazing. I stood up for myself. I was confident, witty, but he got my back right up. But he was mesmerising at the same time. Wait until I tell Jill this. She will be so proud of me!’ I continue to march through the snowy car park towards my car, head bent. I reach it and for the first time survey the damage. Mine isn’t too bad considering – a small dent and scrapes. But the Rolls-Royce’s bumper is hanging off and the front door has a deep dent. I put my finger under, push the button and open my trunk. Pulling out my suitcase I slide open the zipper and tuck my MacBook inside. Resting my hands on the open trunk, an image of Dan’s dark eyes float through my mind. I wasn’t mistaking it, there was a sense of vulnerability and sadness about him . . . oh, wise up, I think, he was totally playing with you. He’s no manners and doesn’t deserve a second thought. You are here to do a job – a very big job! Concentrate, I chastise myself and slam the boot way harder than necessary. Immediately, I hear a dog bark. I yank my head up in the direction of the noise. A heavy curtain swings back over a top window.

‘Oh great, was that good ole Danny Boy, spying on me again?’ Childishly, I stick out my tongue up to the window and march my way back to the door of the castle. But I can’t help it, still I replay that whole scene in my head. Hit and run? Your Highness! I think of what he was saying while my stomach continues to flip-flap all over the place. I must need to eat. ‘That’s it!’ I mutter, ‘I’m hungry.’ A tasty Irish chargrilled steak and a nice glass of red wine to wash it down will fix me. Then sleep. I’m exhausted.

Cautiously, I take an expeditious look up to the window again, but Mr Dan Delaney is nowhere to be seen.

NINE

‘I could have called Terry up to help with your bags, lovey. He’s just fixed the lights in room six and he’s down in the cellar trying to unstick the door now. It’s the bane of our lives.’ Mary stands up very slowly, coming out from behind the large reception area as I sweep back inside from the cutting Irish December elements. ‘We’re tortured by that cellar door sticking and we’ve a big castle fundraiser céilí on this Friday night.’

Castle fundraiser? Why would they be fundraising if the castle is to be sold to Frederick Macken in just a few days’ time? I was really hoping for a couple of weddings to pop into while I was here but it sounds like that’s the Friday night out now.

‘Don’t worry, I can manage, thank you though. And I’m really sorry, Mary, about Dan’s car. Does he have another vehicle to use while it’s being repaired? And now I’m worried how the couple inside will get home tonight – can they get other transport? Because that weather is getting worse out there?’ I have to shake snow from my curls and bat the wet flakes from my eyelashes.

‘Don’t be fretting, lovey. Dan collected Aisling and Aaron, the happy couple, inside from Heartwell church just fine. They came all the way from across the village.’ Mary chuckles, ‘They’re staying here with us tonight. We have a lovely bridal suite I’ll let you in to see tomorrow.’

‘Oh great, thank you. Does Dan live nearby? I can pay for a taxi for him? Keep the receipt as an expense?’ Removing my wool coat, folding it over my arm. I’m trying to find out more about him, I know I am and I hate myself for it.

‘Dan’s grand, don’t be worrying about him. Listen, I promise you he’s not a jerk. I hope you didn’t take any offence to him?’ A little bit of concern enters Mary’s voice.

‘No, it’s all good, Mary.’ I immediately want to put her at ease. She has such an affability about her, it’s in the glit of her eye and the warmness of her smile.

‘That is good. Now, lovey, I’m here to answer any questions you might have for your New York magazine. I need to drum up new business for next year.’ But now Mary looks preoccupied as her nose seems to be trying to sniff something.

‘Might I be able to have a few words with the manager, do you think?’ I ask carefully. ‘In my notes my boss has said that the owner is not available but I should seek out the manager?’

‘You can have as many words as you like, you’re standing right in front of her.’ Mary grins and folds her arms under her ample chest as some guests pass us by. ‘But I’m running to get some vol-au-vents out of the Aga. I can smell them, they’re ready.’

‘Oh! I’m so sorry. Right, Mary, you’re also the manager. That’s great, thank you.’ My face heats up with embarrassment, mortified at my faux pas.

‘Plenty of time for chats later. Now, I’m sure you want to get to your room and freshen up? Straight down the hall, up the grand staircase to the first floor, take a left and you’ll see number nine at the top of the corridor.’ Mary picks up my empty glass. ‘Just mind your footing on the last step, it dips in the middle a bit, Terry has to get around to fixing it.’

‘No lift?’ I look at my case, then hear myself. ‘Of course there’s no lift. I’m in a castle for crying out loud! I’ve worked in a New York skyscraper for too many years. Thank you, Mary. I’ll have a million questions, no doubt,’ I say, pulling up the handle on my small red wheelie suitcase.

‘I hope you enjoy your stay and please write a glowing article for us?’ Mary extends her hand and I take it. But she doesn’t release it, instead she pulls my hand to her eyeline and rubs her thumb across my Claddagh ring.

‘I see your heart is taken, so maybe you’d think about marrying here one day?’ she says softly.

‘Oh no, sorry. I washed my hands on the plane and put the ring back on the wrong way round, I keep forgetting the traditions. I just got it,’ I explain.

‘Pity. We’re desperate for more weddings here, you see.’ Mary lowers her voice, scrunches up her face, leans further across the reception desk, but a worried look comes over her apple-like cheeks.

‘Really?’ My ears perk up. I’m going to need some information about Castlemoon for Frederick. ‘I would have thought Castlemoon is booked out all year round for weddings with the folklore of everlasting marriages and all that?’

‘That’s truth, not tale. But no, this is our only wedding this month.’ Mary stands up slowly and lifts the hatch, walks out from behind the desk, again very slowly.

‘You’re kidding?’ I cannot believe it. One wedding!

‘Wish I was. It’s getting more and more expensive to run the weddings. The costs to heat the Heart Ballroom are astronomical, never mind the whole castle! The roof is rotten. We paid some cowboys to fix it and they ran off with the money! Now all the heat just escapes. We’ve buckets all over the pace when it rains . . . the chimney breast is cracking too in the Sweet Orange Room. The windows need replacing in half the bedrooms and so much air gets in that we can’t sell them to guests on these cold dark winter nights.’ Mary leans closer to me, her voice a whisper as she holds her index finger near her lips. ‘That large crack in the fireplace in the Sweet Orange Room is spreading. The place is leaking money, literally, that’s why I thought it’d be good to let you come and do the magazine piece. I was the only one who wanted you here, truth be told. We’ve always said no in the past. We’re not big into that kinda thing. We’re more lowkey. We’ve had a few TV production companies wanting to film in here and we refused.’ Mary’s eyes dart up as the woman with the cane from a moment ago passes the desk again.

‘You need any help, Mrs Geraghty?’

‘I’m okay thanks, Mary. Dan has saved me the trouble of going into the village to get my few presents and the boys are coming to see me later. He’s so kind.’ The woman looks frail as she slowly sits into a chair by the fire.

‘That’s good. You relax there, I’ll bring you some tea and biscuits,’ Mary calls over to her. ‘She’s a regular Christmas guest. Dan is very good to her. But like I was saying, we’re getting desperate,’ Mary tells me sniffing the air again, moving on.

‘I’m so sorry to hear all this. It’s just the most magical place.’ I have to ask as I follow her, pulling my case behind me, ‘So I guess that’s why they are selling it?’

Mary stops dead. She stands bolt upright and pales, like she’s just seen a ghost.

‘Selling it? Oh, good grief, no! The castle is not for sale, lovey! Why did you think that?’ Mary eyeballs me, her hand clutching her neck like she’s just heard something dreadful.

‘I – oh, I’m not sure. I-I thought I heard . . .’ Again, I feel my face flush. Just as I suspected, the manager doesn’t know Castlemoon is about to be sold in a few days’ time! What on earth is going on? And why do I suddenly feel like I’m in the middle of something I shouldn’t be?

‘Hear what now?’ Mary stands closer to me in her soft plimsoles.

‘I-I heard about . . . when you said the Rolls-Royce was for sale . . . I thought everything was for sale,’ I bluff for my life.

‘No, no, no.’ Relief spreads like warm butter across Mary’s face. ‘There’s a nasty rumour spreading like wildfire around Heartwell, I just thought you’d got wind of it. There’s always something we’re selling here – paintings, cars, furniture – because there is always stuff for Terry to fix and maintain. You see we’ve a tiny staff but let me tell you something, Castlemoon means the world to Heartwell village and our people, it’s as much a part of our history as our own children are. Take me for example, I started here a long time ago when it was run by the parents, met my husband, JP, here – he’s a carpenter – we spent all our Christmases here with the five kiddies when they were small. It has my heart and all my best memories. Let me tell you, if it wasn’t taken on—’

The phone shrills out on the desk. ‘Excuse me.’ Mary potters back to the desk, picks up the receiver and in a grander voice than the one she’s been using to chat to me sings, ‘Guuud evening, thank you for cauuulling Costlemoooon, please houuuuuld.’

Mary puts her palm across the receiver. ‘Don’t write about any of that now, lovey. I told you all that in confidence, they all say I’m a bit of a blabber mouth.’ But she chuckles. ‘We still put on the greatest weddings in the county. Get some Americans over for us? Why don’t you pop inside to Aisling and Aaron’s afters later and see for yourself?’ Mary puts the receiver back to her ear.

Mary is going to be a brilliant source to quote for my article. But I’m utterly confused about this sale. I need to talk to Frederick. I mean is he aware of the extent of the work that needs doing? A new roof, the cracked fireplace that’s spreading, the draughty bedroom windows? Most worryingly, so few wedding bookings? Surely weddings are the hotel’s best income? Is this what he’s expecting me to report on? This is a far different job than I’d thought. That sense that I’m doing something wrong creeps through me again. I didn’t sign up for this and I’m going to email Frederick as soon as I get into my room to tell him that. I need to find out exactly what people around here know and what they don’t.

Heading for the grand staircase, I turn to see Dan is back and again I jolt. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck. He’s sitting in the chair beside Mrs Geraghty, jotting down things she’s saying on a pad, deep in conversation. I put my foot on the first step, feeling almost regal as my ankle boots sink into the middle of the deep green carpet covering the centre part of the old staircase.

But why would the sale be a secret? Amanda assured me that Frederick wasn’t going to change a thing and that all the staff would be keeping their jobs. Maybe that’s why no one knows, because nothing will change but the owner’s name on a piece of paper. That must be it. It’s just business. Business as usual.

My priority is to focus on my story, but my head is spinning at Mary’s words. There are always ways to run weddings more affordably. And there are endless ways to generate money with a building as magnificent as Castlemoon. Ideas whizz around my mind. The more events they have in the castle, the more income they would generate, and the more money to fix up the building. Look at all the outdoor space – there should be a Christmas market set up out there right now! People would pay for stall space, attracting more people up here. They could run fetes in summer, outdoor events, barbecues, even summer weddings in marquees. But, unfortunately, that’s not my concern. I wish it was but it’s not. I step over the last step, where I see it dipping in the centre. But if it was my concern, I know I could be of use. If I was here to save the castle instead of writing about it I’d have no doubts I would do a great job!

I find myself outside room nine, use the key and the large pine door swings open with a long creek. I gasp.

The room is unbelievable. It’s stunning. It’s everything and more I’d hoped it might be. Gently, I shut the door behind me. My hungry eyes take in every inch as I look around in awe and grapple for my Dictaphone in my satchel. Then, I plonk down on the huge mahogany four-poster bed and sink into the thick cream embroidered eiderdown, looking out at the snow falling through the windows. Automatically, my thumb clicks down on the record button on the handheld device.

‘My bedroom is stunning. It manages to retain that original, cultivated style that is in keeping with the period of the castle. Fabrics and period furniture effortlessly highlight the singular heritage of the castle, along with my opulent old four-poster bed and large sash windows overlooking the magnificent, three tiered gardens. The thick, plush beige carpet makes you feel like you definitely should not be wearing shoes indoors. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time, to an era where things were lavish and women wore corsets and elaborate dresses and danced in grand ballrooms. If you want your wedding guests to have an experience of a lifetime, this is the bedroom to deliver. Note, I need to get into the bridal suite, Mary says they have one.’ I save the recording, kick off my boots and flop back on the bed, like a snow angel. Then, I sit up and open my MacBook. I try not to look at the horrible crack as I compose an email.

from: Maggie Grace <Maggie.Grace@ULWM.com>
to: Frederick Macken <Fmacken@acquiredfinance.com>
date: Dec 19, 2025, 19.56 PM
subject: Castlemoon

Hi Frederick,

With the time difference it’s probably easier to email. I didn’t get to talk with you before I left as expected so I have a few questions for you. Amanda said you’d like me to compile a report on Castlemoon. Can you clarify exactly what you want from me? I was speaking with the manager when I checked in a little while ago and it appears she has no clue about the sale of the castle. I’m a little confused.

Regards,

Maggie Grace.

I hit send, fall back onto the bed again and stare up at the white ceiling with the intricate plaster work. The room is just so beautiful. It fills me with a sense of contentment I haven’t felt in ages. I release a long, relaxed sigh as my stomach rumbles. I’m going to devour my dinner and that bread and butter pudding dessert I saw as a special on the board behind reception. That’s the first change I’d make, I think. The food specials need to be out the front of the hotel, on a large blackboard. No doubt hundreds of tourists drive up here just to take a look at the castle and could be tempted by the specials board outside to come in for food, or even just a scone and coffee. They could even refurbish one of those cheap run-down horse boxes at the end of the drive and sell takeaway coffee and cakes, iced lattes in summer. Once people are inside the castle grounds, anything can be sold to them, not just an idyllic wedding venue but merchandise too – cups, T-shirts, key fobs. My mind goes into overdrive again. Then I remember I’d promised to call my mom as soon as I was safely inside the castle walls. I dial the number, doing the quick calculation it’s 3PM in New York.

‘Hi! I’ve arrived safely in Galway.’ There’s hustle and bustle down the line – the clinking of glasses, the rumble of voices. Dorothy is not in her kitchen.

‘Thank goodness, I was watching the clock and starting to fret. I knew you should have arrived over forty minutes ago,’ she yells so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. I hit speaker.

‘No, I did, I just ran into someone . . .’ Catching my reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite I pinch my cheeks to draw some colour into my porcelain skin, smile at Eliza’s comment about my skin the other day.

‘Did I tell you Alice had to go back in with her veins?’ Dorothy is literally screaming.

‘You don’t need to shout, Mom. Oh no, that’s terrible.’ I watch the fast-falling snowflakes drop down over the long, half covered, green fields out of the tall windows. Then, I see him again.

Dan.

I snap in a short intake of breath. He’s marching across the gravel with Red bouncing along by his side. He walks with swagger I notice as I half hide behind the heavy white drapes. Peeking around them, I can’t take my eyes off him as he crosses the grounds and then out of sight. Mom is going into such disturbing details about small slits above Alice’s knee being infected that I lower the volume. My gaze drifts on up to the night stars. They are bigger and brighter than I have ever seen in my entire life. They look like snowflakes, lighting up in the night. I can’t stop looking at them. This really is a magical place.

‘. . . then we left Mrs Schwartz. She was very tired and we saw the plans for George’s new café. It’s . . .’ Dorothy is still rambling on as I continue to half-listen but my ears prick up and I increase the volume again.

‘. . . for Dorothy’s Rise and Shine Bakery!’ George’s husky voice calls out in the background and my mouth drops.

‘That’s what he wants to call it!’ A crack in mom’s voice. I can almost see the expression she’s making from thousands of miles away – bursting with pride, her freckles dancing across her nose.

‘What? This is incredible, Mom! That’s what you’ve always said you’d call your bakery, if ever you were to open one. It’s your dream come true.’ I’m utterly delighted with this news, I sit back and hug my knees into my chest.

‘I know, pinch me! We’re going to buy some really cool fittings in this shop we saw on-the-line after dinner.’

‘Amazing, I am—’

‘Byeeeeeee, honey, our cheesecake has arrived.’ The line drops quicker than I anticipated and I stare at the phone in my hand, in a happy disbelief.

‘Well, well, well . . . dessert, singular.’ I can’t help but snigger as a vision of George spoon-feeding my mother cheesecake turns it into a snort of laughter. A massive growl from my stomach reminds me yet again I need to eat. I get up and sneak one last look out the window. I peer left and right, squint my eyes and then I see him again. He is taking Mrs Geraghty to a waiting taxi. Linking her with one arm as he carries her bag in the other. He opens the door for her, holds her cane and when she’s settled, he shuts the door, taps the roof and the car drives off. Bravely I pull back the drapes and stand in clear view of my window, but he doesn’t look up.

The feeling I have is one of shocked disappointment and I shake it off. I’ve no time for this nonsense. Romance is the very last thing I’m after! Swiftly I pull the cord and draw the drapes as my email pings.

from: Frederick Macken <Fmacken@acquiredfinance.com>
to: Maggie Grace <Maggie.Grace@ULWM.com>
date: Dec 19, 2025, 20.16PM
subject: Castlemoon

Maggie,

Your brief is to send me a detailed report on how you see the running and management of Castlemoon by this Friday AM EST. I need you to photograph their guest/visitors book for the last few weeks (discreetly!) Don’t get involved in conversations about Acquired Finance. You are just there to do an article on the hotel as far as everyone is concerned.

F

I read this email with a nagging sense that my gut was correct. Something isn’t right here. Amanda never mentioned any of this to me.

from: Maggie Grace <Maggie.Grace@ULWM.com>
to: Frederick Macken <Fmacken@acquiredfinance.com>
date: Dec 19, 2025, 20.18 PM
subject: Castlemoon

Hi Frederick,

I’m afraid there has been some sort of miscommunication. Unfortunately, I don’t feel comfortable doing what you ask. Happy to send you a quick report of how I find the castle but I’ll be too busy writing my article for anything else. I’m sure you understand.

Regards,

Maggie.

I hit send with a wallop of the key. Cheek of him, I’m not his bloody spy! I take myself off for a hot shower before dinner, planning to wash that man right out of my hair!

TEN

Feeling wonderfully refreshed after a much-needed shower, I slip into my cobalt blue sweater and black skinny jeans. I tug on the small brass handles on the drawers by my bed and slide the rest of my clothes from the case inside them. Glancing at the Claddagh ring on my hand, I make a mental note to buy one of these for my mom to take home so she can finally close off her heart with the right man this time. I hang my ball gown carefully in the free-standing antique wardrobe. Slipping my feet into my cream Timberland boots, I tie up the yellow laces before giving my curls a good brush with my wide-tooth comb and applying some light make-up. My phone rings as I leave the bathroom. It’s a US number I don’t have saved.

‘Hello?’ I answer after the second ring.

‘Maggie, Frederick Macken. I’m not sure you quite get why Amanda sent you over there?’ His voice is curt, unfriendly, sharp.

‘Oh, hi, em, I’m writing an article for the magazine on the castle? For the June double edition,’ I tell him.

‘Yeah, and if I don’t buy this castle, sweetheart, there won’t be a hotel for anyone to have a wedding in! It’s in dire financial trouble.’ Condescending isn’t the word.

Don’t call me sweetheart, I think with gritted teeth as I stare at the gold frame on the wall of a wild black horse galloping through a paddock.

‘Capeesh? Is it busy? How many bodies knocking around? I’ve a feeling they are fiddling that old-fashioned registration book. That old bat Mary is writing in fake names of guests who aren’t really visiting the castle in the hope they can get a grant to fix the place up, I know she is. Figures don’t add up which means it’s overpriced based on the spreadsheet. I can get it for cheaper.’ There’s the sound of computer keys being hit at breakneck speed.

‘Oh, um, I mean, I really don’t feel comfortable . . .’

He doesn’t let me finish. ‘Well then, get your ass back to the airport and we will send Salma out on the next flight. She will take over the entire job, including the article for the magazine.’ He sounds angry now.

‘What? No, I’m, I-I just need to speak to Amanda . . .’ I grapple.

‘You do that . . . quickly. Got another call.’ The line goes dead.

Now I’m totally confused and frustrated. I hold my phone away from my face. Take photos of their private guest book? This is all illegal. I know it is. Amanda has lied to me. A physical unease falls across my shoulders and I shiver as I dial Amanda’s cell. She doesn’t pick up. I dial again. No answer. I have to eat. I pull my satchel across me. I shut the bedroom door behind me with a click and make my way down the hall towards the grand staircase. Maybe I can just do some kind of brief overview for my report but I’m not doing anything illegal. I know if I say I’m not doing any sort of report, Amanda will side with Frederick and they will send Salma to replace me. And more so, I know Salma will jump at the opportunity!

I step over the dodgy step and recognise that this is the biggest opportunity of my career. I must succeed to be able to afford a new apartment and move on with my life. I’ve come all this way. By myself. I’ll have to file some kind of report to Frederick, I just need to figure out what.

* * *

‘The entrance to the Sweet Orange Room in Castlemoon is behind a screen of Corinthian pillars. The walls are painted a flush orange, a large mantelpiece holds long thin silver candle holders with slim candles burning brightly and giving off the most delicious smell of sweet clementines. The walkway boasts a superb neo-classical plaster ceiling and a unique collection of Irish mahogany furniture is settled discreetly all around. Reader, might I say these are just perfect for your wedding guests to snuggle up in with a good book and a hot chocolate . . . or a glass of wine. Recommended Irish reads according to hotel manager, Mary, are Castles of Ireland by Mairéad Ashe FitzGerald and Exploring Ireland’s Castles by Tarquin Blake, both of which are available in the Michael Delaney section at the Heartwell Library in the village.’

I continue to speak into my Dictaphone very quietly at the dinner table. ‘Portraits and Irish historical pictures line the walls. For a large, exposed brick interior in a historic castle, it feels homely. Perhaps it’s the various open turf fires that burn and hiss away or maybe it’s just some kind of magic . . . dot, dot, dot. I’d love to know who all those people were, all those portraits outside. That’s my next job.’ I click off the Dictaphone, tear apart a hot, fresh crusty roll and dip it into the dish of roasted pepper pesto. Rolling my eyes in delight I make a quiet plan: Heartwell Library will be my first port of call in the morning, followed by a hot chocolate and a slice of Christmas cake in the Teapot Café.

‘What’s your tag line for this wedding magazine article by the way?’ Without looking up I know it’s him. Although my heart rate picks up, I don’t miss a beat.

‘Is it your dream to get married in an enchanted Irish castle?’ I declare with confidence, slowly lifting my glass of red wine by the slim stem and swirling it carefully. I’m delighted and surprised to see that my hand isn’t shaking.

‘Love it,’ he says. ‘It’s perfect.’ His tone actually sounds genuine.

Still, I don’t look up. Oh, I know I’m being childish, but for some reason I can’t help it. Again, I feel giddy and acutely alive.

‘Will you be recommending the homemade pesto to your adoring readers? Perhaps you’ll do a “Hey Guys, Here I Am Eating Bread and Dipping It In Red Pepper Pesto” . . .’ He puts on a rather impressive, lazy American accent, laughs heartily at himself.

‘I don’t do “Hey Guys” videos, however my friend Jill does and is hugely successful. But the pesto is delicious, as is this bread roll, so perhaps I will write about it and I’ll add as a footnote, “I hope this most annoying Irish man doesn’t stand over you as you try to enjoy it”.’ I open my mouth and pop another piece of bread in. I chew slowly. When my heart has stopped thumping in my chest, I look up. ‘What are you . . .’

But he’s gone! He’s walking away. Swaggering across the room.

‘W-h-at?’ My eyes dart after him and I’m surprised to see how quiet the room is now. I’ve been too busy to look around. There are two older couples at the top and a young family dining at the other end, and then Dan.

This man.

He bends over the table of the older couple, still in his wellies, but no jacket now just a well-fitted white T-shirt. I see the sinew of muscle ripple on his arm as he lifts the bottle of wine off the table and pours some into their glasses. He replaces it and tosses his unruly black hair with his fingers. The dining room should be packed. It’s Christmas week! Every table should be full. I’m more than curious to try the steak in case the quality of food is an issue. Maybe it’s the service?

The commotion from the wedding next door picks up again in the Heart Ballroom and it’s infectious. Seated at one of the windows, I have a full view of the wedding revellers gathering outside in the cold. They’re all taking selfies and group photos, laughing and joking around. There are women in beautiful, multi-coloured dresses made of satin and organza, men in dicky bows and smart suits. Happy people.

Then, the bride and groom step out.

I push my chair back as inspiration hits. I have to get out there. Rummaging under the table, I grab my satchel, then rush out, down the hall, past reception and up the grand staircase, jumping the last step and left into my room.

‘Quick! Quick! I need that vibe. Quick! Where are you?’ Breathless, I pull out the heavy drawer and pick up the Canon camera. Swiftly, I attach the small key light for nighttime and rush back down again. Pushing open the castle doors I step into the frosty cold night.

‘Hi,’ I say to the gathered crowd as light snowflakes still fall. I turn to the bride, spectacular in a slim fitting, long-sleeved lace dress with a high neck and a flowing veil dotted with pearls. ‘Congratulations, you look utterly majestic.’ I’m not used to pushing myself into a crowd of people like this, but needs must.

‘Oh, thank you so much!’ She beams, her dimples creating small indentations in her cheeks, her auburn hair twisted in an elegant chignon with the long veil pinned into it at the back. She is holding her husband’s hand tightly, radiating happiness.

‘My name is Maggie Grace and I work for Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine, a publication in New York. I’m here doing a feature and maybe a cover story on weddings in the castle.’ Needlessly, I lift one finger pointing up to the castle.

‘No way!’ The bride gasps as someone hands her a slim flute of over-fizzing champagne. She holds the glass out so as not to get any on her dress.

‘I’d love to capture a photo of you guys? Of all of you?’ I ask hopefully, extending my arm out to them all and the gathered group erupt in laughter and chatter.

‘Call my agent!’ a very tall, very slim guy with fiery red hair and his tie half undone at the back jokes.

‘Hair! Make-up!’ The petite woman beside him laughs then pushes herself forward through the crowd. Wearing a Tyrian purple V-neck skater dress, her blonde hair is pulled up in a tight, slicked-back bun, huge fluttery eyelashes above her dark, smoky eyes. Unusually for a wedding, she’s wearing flip-flops. My eyes dart down to them. Her feet must be freezing, I think.

She catches me looking. ‘I’m only five-foot-one and my Jimmy’s six-foot-three so I need the heels. However, I was crippled. Couldn’t even dance, so Jimmy ran back and grabbed my flippers. Now, normally I don’t get out of bed for less than a million euro!’ She struts a few steps comically swinging her ample hips left to right. The crowd all laugh.

‘Go Ka-te! Go Ka-te! Go Ka-te!’ someone chants as they click their fingers and Kate keeps strutting in a circle then stops beside the bride.

‘Of course you can take our pictures, how exciting.’ The bride playfully juts her hip to move Kate out of her way. ‘Move it, Ashley Graham. I’m Aisling by the way and this here is my . . .’ Aisling indicates to the crowd who all start to perform some sort of drum roll action, on top of the big barrels, on window ledges, on the red castle door.

‘. . . husband, Aaron!’ A huge roar startles me. ‘Sorry, it’s a tradition around Heartwell village that the first time one of us introduces our husband or wife as such it’s a big deal,’ Aisling explains, still radiating happiness from her every pore. I’m completely taken aback. This must be what a community feels like. This closeness. A feeling of true belonging, almost like one big family. It’s the kind of thing I read about in books as a kid and always hankered for – a place where kids grew up together and stayed into adulthood. It’s amazing to me. I’m suddenly envious. I want this.

‘Brilliant,’ I say, trying to focus on the job at hand, ‘so if I can just get some shots of you guys as you were? I don’t want you to pose, I want it to be authentic, natural, real.’ I fix the long strap of the camera around my neck and adjust it, flick the key light on. ‘Just pretend I’m not here.’

‘Like J-Lo, wha’? All natural, my arse!’ Kate yells, shakes her backside and they all erupt. Again, I feel a silly longing to be a part of a community like this.

‘Jenny from the Block, Kate from the Well!’ another voice screeches.

‘I will have to ask you all to sign release forms which enables me to use your images, our conversation, the pictures in the magazine if my photo editors choose to use them?’ I pull the pages from my satchel, hand them out.

‘No bother at all.’ Aaron takes them from me, his hands like shovels I notice. His laughter lines crinkle as I click on my Dictaphone to record.

‘How did it feel today to celebrate your marriage at Castlemoon?’ I want to get them at their freshest and in real time. Real emotions in the moment.

‘Like we have a special power,’ Aisling says, leaning in close to the hand-held device, beaming from ear to ear. She lifts Aaron’s hand, still in hers.

‘Unbreakable,’ Aaron shouts.

‘But seriously, we know just how lucky we are. I couldn’t imagine getting married anywhere else,’ she says dreamily, before she stops herself. ‘Kate . . .’ She looks to the smaller woman in the purple dress and flip-flops while reaching her spare hand to her. Kate takes it but her eyes darken a little with a sudden downturn of her mouth.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Kate says with a toss of her wrist, but there’s a distinct look of longing on her face.

‘Not all of us are this lucky. We all want to marry in Castlemoon, but not all of us can. Like all the others that have gone before us, we know marriage isn’t all chilled wine and yellow roses, it’s about compromise, respect, loyalty, and a life-long companion. Support. Looks fade, skin creases, energy dips but love remains the same.’ Aisling looks like a magazine cover as snowflakes fall around her, sticking to her hair. I’m not feeling the cold myself my adrenaline is so high as I click away. ‘I first met Aaron in Castlemoon when we were kids at a communion party. We grew up together and, like Esther and Michael, we hope to grow old together.’ Before I can ask who Esther and Michael are, I swiftly put the Dictaphone in my bag, so that I can capture more pictures. Then, I pluck it back out again and start recording.

‘But it’s fierce expensive to marry here now. As Ais says we’re very lucky, my construction business is booming so we have the money. We’ll get the blessings.’

‘And what exactly are those blessings?’ I ask from behind the camera, zooming in.

‘The blessing of longevity. Of not giving up on a marriage. The blessing of a lasting union. All those who married here before us worked very hard at their unions, my mam and dad, Aisling’s mam and dad . . .’ Aaron lets go of his wife’s hand as he says the word dad, then pulls her close to him, his arm snug around her slim waist. ‘And Aisling’s grandparents, we’re very lucky.’ The newlyweds look at one another like star-crossed lovers.

‘I am one hundred percent using that quote.’ I smile so widely.

‘Work away.’ Aaron smiles back.

‘And you, Kate?’ I’m drawn to her reaction. I need to know her story. What her sad reaction was all about.

‘Me? Oh, I just wish we could afford to get married here,’ Kate says moving her feet in and out of her flip-flops. ‘But we can’t and although it really does break my heart, I’ll be grand. Sorry to be maudlin. Don’t mind me, that’s the gin talking. Shut up, Kate!’ she chastises herself.

‘Ah don’t, Kate, we’ll have a great knees-up out at your aunt’s hotel next weekend.’ The tall, thin man with the fiery red hair squeezes in behind her, drapes his arms around her shoulders from behind. Jimmy, I’m guessing.

‘It’s not the same as marrying at Castlemoon though, that’s all I’m telling Maggie here. We all know that. Name me one couple in Heartwell village that got married in the castle and are now divorced?’ Kate turns to look up at Jimmy, her two hands out wide.

‘None.’ Jimmy shrugs.

‘None, exactly. Not one! Plenty who married elsewhere are divorced or separated but I believe the castle holds some magic that keeps couples together. We all do. I think it’s the magic of the true love that Esther and Michael have. They were the first to hold their wedding reception in Castlemoon, and they sprinkled some kind of permanent love potion. I’ll be the only child in my family not to marry here, but sure look it.’ Kate’s tone abruptly lightens at the end and it doesn’t take a genius to work out she is trying to distract Jimmy from her fears. She stands on her tippy toes as he bends down and she plants a kiss on his lips. ‘Of course we will be grand, Jimmy, don’t mind me. I’d marry you in a stable, it’s just the beautiful day we’ve all shared here at the castle, makin’ me loose lipped. Next thing you’ll all be calling me Mary,’ she says, but her eyes well up all the same.

‘And the gin, nothin’ wrong with that.’ Jimmy laughs, playfully rolls his eyes to the crowd then gently wipes her tears with his thumbs and kisses her again.

‘So, you truly believe in the everlasting marriage folklore?’ I ask Kate, intrigued.

‘We all do!’ a voice from the back shouts.

‘It’s not folklore, it’s a fact!’ Aaron says with a sharp nod of his head as murmurs of agreement ring out again behind him from the young crowd.

‘Aeis-a-ling! Aar-hon! Lar from the post office is wanting to sing “Fairytale of New York” for you, he’s up at the microphone.’ A pregnant woman with the most beautiful French accent arrives beside them. She looks like elegance personified in her black maternity smock, a white side hat and red pumps.

‘Okay! Sorry! Go! Just quickly let me take these pictures, just all talk as you were, take the selfies and all that, I just want to capture it all.’ I set the lens of the camera up to my eye, peering through to frame them. And in fairness to them all, not one of them plays it up for the camera. A very true bunch of people. Very rare in this day and age.

‘Come on! Mary has to do the Kirsty McColl part and she needs get back inside to the kitchen. The next batch of mushroom vol-au-vents and the sausage rolls are ready. The afters people have all arrived now. They’ll need sustenance soon.’ Another voice fades off from the back.

I continue to snap away, circling the group, thankfully seeing through the lens what I saw inside in the Sweet Orange Room moments ago, through that Venetian window earlier: something magical. The sparkling night stars above in the clear back sky, the falling snow in front of the two towering turrets of the magnificent castle, the tenderness, the happiness, the wizardry of this love and this place, the wonderful sense of a community celebrating one of their own – I capture it all. Then, with my head bent and one eye squeezed shut, I spot him from the viewfinder.

Dan.

Leaning against the castle door, one leg bent behind him, watching on quietly. I twist the focus pull, zoom in. Again, my heart accelerates like a rapid drumbeat. I can feel it pounding in my chest. God, but he is drop dead gorgeous. I click, take a quick shot of him. He seems to sense me looking over and he stares down the lens, but those chestnut brown eyes that I almost drown in are filled with sadness. I take a sharp intake of breath. What has happened to this man? Why sometimes does he look so sad?

‘Oh! Thank you everyone!’ I spurt, jump back to the moment. I pull the camera down by my side, as they all shout back, ‘No bother’, ‘Yer welcome, Maggie’, and head inside, out of the cold.

‘Plenty of food on the way, do drop in if you feel like it, you’re most welcome,’ Aisling calls back over her lace-covered shoulder to me. Dan is swallowed up in the crowd as Jimmy wraps his arm around Dan’s shoulders and pulls him inside.

‘Thank you,’ I call back watching the bride and groom leave hand in hand. What must it be like to love someone that much, and for it to be reciprocated? I put the lens cap back on the camera. Yes, I’m sworn off love but this day has me all discombobulated. I try to imagine what it would be like to make a vow to someone to be with each other for life, and truly believe we will keep it. To feel that loved and respected? I’m far more moved than I expected to be. I take another quick look at the camera, clicking across to see my shots and they are great.

Oh my God, I think. My work will appear in the June edition of Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine. Who knows, I might even get to see my very own cover on a magazine stand? Isn’t that amazing? It’s a dream come true. I’m so, so lucky. So blessed.

As the snow continues to fall, I take a second and perch on the low grey stone wall. The noise from the wedding is intoxicating. Is there a better sound in the world than the laughter of people? Still, I can’t help but see Dan’s dark eyes in my mind’s eye. Then, my stomach rumbles and it sounds like distant thunder, so I shake him off and head back inside to scoff my steak.

Despite my happiness about how my article is coming along, I can’t stop thinking about Kate and her utter disappointment at not being able to marry at Castlemoon. I wish there was something I could do to help.

ELEVEN

‘There ya are! Where’d ya go? I took away yer starter plate. Ready for your mains? You must be famished?’ Mary stands over me, hot and bothered, wisps of grey hair stuck to her perspiring forehead. She has stains on her yellow tie and a pencil and crumpled notepad in her hand. ‘I didn’t take your dessert order?’

‘Mary?’ Draping my satchel over my seat I do a double take and quiz her, ‘Are you double jobbing . . . no, triple jobbing?’ Didn’t someone say that Mary is doing the afters food? And singing? Is it a different Mary?

‘Donal, who took your starter order, is off inside now,’ she says by way of explanation but with her big, heart-warming smile that melts my heart. ‘The weddings drain our staff resources,’ she adds as the music from the ballroom continues to vibrate around the Sweet Orange Room. ‘All of our full-time and part-timers are at the wedding, ya see. Small village, small community.’ There’s not an ounce of sympathy in her voice for herself.

‘I see. Yes, I’m ready for my steak, please,’ I say, settling back and picking up my wine glass, my fingers numb, when she closes one eye tight, sucks in her breath and winces.

‘You alright, Mary?’ Hurriedly, I push my chair back in concern.

‘Ahh, don’t get up, sorry, it’s me ole hip, please sit. I’m waiting on a hip replacement, long waiting lists I’m afraid and I can’t afford to go private. It’ll ease off me now, gimme a sec.’ Mary puts both her hands flat on the table and winces again, then she stands up straight. ‘I’m grand now, we’ve nothing left on the dessert menu bar vanilla ice cream, I’m afraid . . . but if ye take yerself down to the Heartwell Lounge, Marie Woodcock makes an Irish Brandy Christmas pudding with fresh cream from the local dairy you’ll never forget and nor will your waistline.’ Mary winks. ‘Not that there’s a pick on ye!’

‘Maybe tomorrow night. I’ll only be fit to pass out in that great big four-poster bed after dinner,’ I say with a big laugh, but I’m concerned for the older woman.

‘Good idea, lovey. Won’t be long with the dinner plate.’ Mary takes her leave.

While I wait, I download the photos onto my MacBook. They are so natural, so real, I suddenly realise my vision is the complete opposite of the posed, highly filtered, staged shoots that the magazine normally uses. One thing I know for sure is that if I was in the market for a wedding – which I definitely am not – these are the kind of images I’d want to see in a wedding magazine. Honest. Candid. Genuine. A picture of all the men pulling a face makes me throw my head back and laugh out loud. I hope this is a good thing. Should I send a sample to Amanda to proof? Or should I just trust my gut? Lifting my glass of wine, I swirl it. The Sweet Orange Room is all but empty now. I am more than curious to sample the food. Reluctantly, I open a Word document and title it:

CASTLEMOON REPORT:

FOR FREDERICK MACKEN AT ACQUIRED FINANCE

FROM MAGGIE GRACE

PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL

My fingers hover over the keys. What the hell am I supposed to write here? Like I don’t have enough to do. I sip. I think of what Mary told me earlier. What parts can I report without betraying her trust? What have I actually seen for myself that I can stick in a report? I can’t know about the roof, the cracked fireplace spreading, the bedroom windows, the lack of weddings booked in or the need to sell off items like the Rolls-Royce. Maybe I can report on the upcoming castle fundraiser? How do I actually word only that in a report? That’s not going to be enough to satisfy him. I need to figure out a clever creative way to fake my way out of this.

‘Heard you laughing there, care to share the joke? I could do with a good laugh after the day I’ve had.’ That familiar thick accent lilts beside my table again. This time I slam my MacBook shut and look up quickly. Dan’s standing over me. But he’s all cleaned up now. Smartly dressed in black jeans and a black linen shirt, his unruly hair brushed back, still damp. His dark stubble seems to have grown thicker since I last saw him. Those sultry brown eyes hold intensity and charm. Ridiculously, I feel utterly giddy. I can smell his cologne again, it’s rich and alluring, like warm spices and smoky wood. I notice now he is holding a long screwdriver in his hand.

‘Look, I just came over to say, I’m not normally so hot-headed, not quite sure what came over me earlier. You . . . you . . . anyway, what I’m trying to say is I’ve a lot on my plate at the minute.’ He runs his fingers through his damp hair, pulling it from his eyes. ‘So I apologise, it was very unprofessional of me. Mary berated me. I do hope you enjoy your stay here at Castlemoon.’ He flashes his perfectly straight white teeth.

‘Have you come to kill me?’ I’m still eyeing up the screwdriver.

‘This,’ Dan holds it up, ‘this job may be the death of me, never mind you.’ He pushes his free hand deep into the pocket of his snug black jeans. My eyes flick to the brass buckle on his leather belt then slowly rise up to the tufts of dark chest hair creeping through the open top buttons on his shirt. I sit bolt upright, like I need to take him all in before he leaves again. The pitter patter of my heart rate sounds in my own ears. I busy myself by unnecessarily pouring more wine into my already half-full glass.

‘By the way, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced?’ Dan says as our eyes lock. He spins the handle of the screwdriver, it’s almost like a kaleidoscope, the orange and black handle spinning.

‘I didn’t think you’d want to fraternise with a criminal.’ I snort, it’s a lot louder than I am comfortable with. I rest my elbows on the table, drop my chin in my hands. I’m really not behaving like I normally do. I feel completely out of sorts. This man brings out a very different side of me. But despite my unattractive snort, for whatever reason, I feel fun and playful yet strong and bold.

‘Well . . .’ Dan crosses his arms, the bulge of his biceps again not lost on me. Those dark eyes beneath the long spiky lashes bore into me. ‘You never heard me mention fraternising with you, did ya now? I was only after your name. Don’t be getting ahead of yourself.’ He teases me again, still twirling the handle on the screwdriver.

Leaning back in my chair, I circle my finger through my mass of curls. ‘My name is Maggie Grace. I assumed you got it from my insurance details?’ I give him a winner’s smirk, delighted with myself.

‘Maggie Grace, what a beautiful name.’ Dan says it in a very pronounced, slow delivery, and as he speaks, his eyes linger on the Claddagh ring on my hand again. How my name sounds on his lips takes me by complete surprise.

‘And you are?’ I ask yet again.

‘I’m Dan Delaney, nice to meet you.’ Dan extends his hand and I raise mine to take it. As our palms graze off one another and his long fingers wrap around my hand, some kind of fizzle of electricity bolts through my entire body. Swiftly, I pull my hand away. Now I’m flummoxed. Damn, I was doing so well.

‘I-I have a lot of work to finish here, so if you don’t mind.’ I flip open my MacBook, tipping it awake and trying to hide my shaking hand. It doesn’t need a password to reopen so I minimise my Word doc to Frederick. I’m not entirely sure of Dan Delaney’s job description around here but I doubt he should see it.

Mary berated me, repeats in my head. Obviously, Mary told him to apologise out of fear that I would write a bad article about the castle. If it weren’t for Mary, he wouldn’t be anywhere near me now, I think. The thought disappoints me greatly. Much more than I’m comfortable with.

‘Right? That’s not a very gracious way to accept an apology.’ He stares hard at me again, tilts his head quizzically.

‘I’m pretty sure it didn’t come from the heart,’ I say with a knowing, slightly sarcastic half smile.

‘That’s not very nice,’ he says softly but I can tell he’s shocked at my reply and again I’m floored by the tone of his voice, it’s so sultry, so sexy. I could listen to it for hours and never get bored.

‘Well, it wasn’t—’

‘Steak, medium well.’ Mary interrupts us in the nick of time, arriving with a white bowl and plate perched on her outstretched arms.

‘Where is Betsy? She’s supposed to be helping you!’ Dan says, instantly reaching to help Mary with the plate. ‘You should not be working this hard. Let me take over, please?’

‘Ah, leave her off inside, she’s enjoying herself. Gráinne popped back to gimme a hand there earlier. Careful, the baked potato is very hot, lovey.’ She places the plate in front of me as Dan puts down the bowl. ‘Mind away now, lad, and fix that lock before the céilí! I’m grand.’ She shoos Dan away from the table before he has a chance to say another word then follows along after him, slowly but steadily.

‘Thank you,’ I call after Mary.

Snapping my linen napkin out with more force than is necessary, I place it on my lap. I’m annoyed now because Dan is distracting me and I don’t like how he’s making me feel. I pick up my knife and dig it into the middle of my soft baked potato. I have to avoid him for the rest of my stay. I add a knob of creamy butter and watch it melt as the steam rises and swirls.

‘Good plan,’ I mutter under my breath.

He wouldn’t look out of place in a Tom Ford aftershave commercial, I know that much, I admit with a shrug, picking up my fork now and cutting into the tender steak.

I spear a piece of the chargrilled meat and pop it in my mouth, chewing slowly, tasting it.

‘Mmmmmmmm.’ My eyes roll as I groan in culinary appreciation. It’s so succulent and tender and tastes utterly divine.

Cutting another soft strip, then another, I eat hungrily. The creamy butter has fully melted into my potato and I scoop some out. Also absolutely delicious. It has a natural starchy sweetness. Potatoes do not taste like this in New York! I look across the table to the empty chair facing me.

What would it be like to share a meal with Dan, I suddenly wonder.

‘Maggie. This Irish air really has gone to your head,’ I mutter under my breath, then giggle lightly.

And what would it be like to be kissed by him? The hardness of his stubble, the softness of those lips? I shock myself! It’s been so long since a thought like this has crossed my mind, I’ve been so shut off to any romantic endeavours. Sweeping the thought away, I concentrate on devouring the most delicious meal I’ve eaten in ages. Clearly the quality of the food is not the reason the dining hall is empty. Or the service. With less than half my steak left, I make myself take a time out. I minimise my Castlemoon report to Frederick and open the one for my article. I type:

‘The atmosphere of the Sweet Orange Room is elegant without being stuffy, just like the menu which boasts simple Irish food, cooked to perfection. No bells and whistles. All organic from Jimmy Murphy’s local farm. The room is filled with simple round tables with starched white linen tablecloths, straight backed wooden chairs and heavy antique cutlery. Sophisticated, real, done in a way this writer has never experienced before. Reader, for the night before, or indeed after, your wedding, this is the dinner spot for you. I dined on a succulent chargrilled striploin steak so tender that it melted in my mouth and all sorts of flavours exploded. Crispy fried onions, salty and slightly caramelised, that didn’t stand a chance. As I write, a wedding is in full swing next door and there is undeniable aura of love in the air. There is a magic between these sandstone walls, I can feel it . . . I can almost taste it . . . I’m starting to believe . . .’

I pick up my fork and spear another strip of meat, pop it in my mouth, pick up a long stem of broccoli with my fingers, when suddenly a light bulb sparks in my brain. Dropping my cutlery, swiftly I push my chair, slam the MacBook shut, wondering what I am thinking sitting here? Hadn’t Mary mentioned this was the only wedding booked in this month! I have to see the Heart Ballroom in full wedding swing so that my readers can too. I’ve been far too distracted with this Dan Delaney guy and all the goings on. I need to pull myself together. Pushing my camera, Dictaphone and MacBook into my satchel, I snap the copper clasps shut, but not before I pop the last piece of steak in my mouth and throw back the rest of my wine.

I decide against going back up to my room to change into my red ball gown, I’ve already been invited as I am – Aisling did ask me in after all. Instead I make a quick dash to the ladies to fix my face. Inside the grand old-fashioned bathroom, there is a huge vanity table with a backlit mirror and two old armchairs siting on a carpeted floor.

Running my fingers through my curls, I dab on concealer and gloss my lips. Luckily, there is a little box with hygiene products and I pick up a body spray called Coconut Passion and give myself a good spritz. I take a glance in the mirror and smooth myself down. Happy with my reflection, I head for the wedding, eager to see the Heart Ballroom and also excited to feel like a tiny part of this incredible wedding party.

TWELVE

Following the powerful beat of live music along the corridor, I walk down to the end of the hallway. As I walk past the now empty reception desk, the original beams become lower. I can only imagine that Dan Delaney has to dip his head walking down here, then I give a frustrated sigh and run my hands through my curls. Stop thinking about him, I hiss in my head, annoyed with myself.

‘Hiiiiii Maggie!’ I turn to see three of the bridesmaids I’ve just photographed in their off-the-shoulder lilac dresses all waving at me. They are doing a funny dance, happily making what I assume is a TikTok outside the ballroom.

‘Hi!’ I smile, waving back as I pass them, feeling touched that they remembered my name as I slip inside the open doors of the wedding reception.

It’s a huge wedding. I know from my research that the ballroom has a hundred and eighty capacity, and it looks filled to the max, yet it still doesn’t look busy. People are sitting around circular tables that surround an old parquet dancefloor. I do a quick head count of twelve per table. A few older people are dancing and the bridal table sits under the three Venetian windows that I first saw when I drove in earlier. Aisling and Aaron are doing the rounds as a live band play in the corner. I hold myself tight against the back wall so I can observe.

It is stunning, but I can see why it’s so expensive to hire. It must cost an absolute fortune to heat, especially in winter. I can’t help wondering what I would do here, if this were my room to organise. I cast my eye around, lost in my creative vision, oblivious and muttering to myself.

‘I’d one hundred percent use a divider and make two ballrooms out—’

‘They say talking to yourself is a sign of madness but I do it all the time.’ I nearly jump out of my skin as Dan slides along the wall beside me. It’s hard to tell from his voice whether or not he’s teasing again.

‘Jesus.’ I grab my chest.

‘No, it’s Dan. But you can call me Jesus if you like?’ he declares, this time giving my arm an affectionate squeeze. I stiffen.

‘Ha,’ I say, feeling giddy at his touch, not to mention how close he is, but determined to cut this conversation short and get on with my job. ‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ is what comes out of my mouth as I turn to look at him, noticing how he links his thumbs into the strap of that leather belt.

‘You know what they say: third time’s a charm.’ He drawls lightly.

‘True but clearly the universe has a sense of humour.’ I look at him.

‘Meaning?’ He raises a bushy eyebrow, a crooked half smile, and I am pleased to see he looks happy and that sadness he wore earlier has lifted.

‘Nothing.’ I try to keep my tone professional now as I glance out at the dance floor.

‘You weren’t very gracious about my apology so I’m taking it back.’ His body language is now a little guarded as he crosses his arms.

‘You can’t. Anyway, I was assuming Mary put you up to it?’ I accuse but I keep my voice light. I take a step along the wall away from him.

‘When you assume you make an ass out of you and me.’ Dan steps after me, elbows me playfully with his arms still crossed.

‘Yup, I’ve heard that one before.’ I refrain from elbowing him back.

‘Where are the Irish roots?’ he suddenly asks me.

‘How did you know that I had Irish roots?’ I say confused.

‘The red hair is a bit of a giveaway now.’ He raises a finger to my hair.

‘My great-great-grandparents were Irish on my dad’s side. Though I’m not sure exactly where from . . .’

‘Hang on! Are you tellin’ me you’ve never traced your Irish roots and you call yourself an American?’

‘One day, maybe when I get more time. I wouldn’t have a clue where to start. My mom suggested I do it while I’m here but once you have internet, I guess you can do it anywhere.’

‘Not necessarily. Sometimes you need to speak to real people in this life, Maggie, not a MacBook.’

‘This is a beautiful wedding to be invited to,’ I tell him, shifting my satchel further up my shoulder. I need to get away from him. I focus my eyes on Aisling and Aaron dancing cheek to cheek.

‘I didn’t know you were invited?’ Dan jokes with me.

‘I was. By the bride in fact, by . . . Ais-Aisling.’ I recall the pronunciation.

‘How is the article coming along? Did you want to interview me?’

‘Not really,’ I throw back, looking directly at him now.

‘Ouch!’ He play falls to the side, clutching his heart. ‘Take my picture?’ He strikes a pose. He leans to his right, pointing into the distance, a pout on his lips.

I laugh despite myself. ‘Not necessary. I’m only interested in the castle and the wedding,’ I say as he takes a step closer again, and my body jolts as his shoulder brushes off mine. Though he’s barely touching me I’ve shivers down my spine.

He rubs his jaw as that look falls across his eyes again, sadness and deep thought. He seems to snap out of it as quickly as it came over him as he laughs lightly. ‘Anyway, you’re a busy woman, I just came over to check you weren’t thinking of stealing the gifts? I can’t trust you, you see.’

‘Funny, aren’t you? No, I-I just wanted to see the ballroom. It’s amazing but it’s colossal.’

‘Aye, Maggie. It is.’ His voice low and that tone so sexy and when he says my name I experience that odd sensation again, like my blood is heating up as it flows through every vein I have, catching fire.

‘I’m going to go take some photos if that’s okay?’ I have to get away from him. Calming myself by rummaging in my bag, I pull out the Canon camera, hang the short strap around my neck and adjust the focus.

‘Course.’ He moves away then stops and steps back. ‘C’mere to me. I had that déjà vu feeling earlier when I met ya, ya ever get that feeling?’ he asks, pushing his hands down deep into his pockets, the glint of that brass buckle catching my eye again.

‘All the time.’ I nod, fiddling with the depth of lens on the camera.

‘It was like we’d met somewhere before? Or maybe someone who looks just like you? The whole scene played out,’ Dan says. ‘Bit mad.’

‘Maybe someone you swiped for online . . . a little Tinder action maybe?’ It’s my turn to tease him now and I completely surprise myself when it sounds a little flirty.

‘Tinder! Gimme a break. What a load of— No, I don’t do none of that.’ He takes both his hands out of his pockets and holds his hair back, as though the action will help trigger his memory.

‘We’ve never met before, believe you me, I would remember,’ I tell him with a slight flirt, slight sarcasm to my tone.

‘I’m not so sure . . .’

‘People read so much into déjà vu. Don’t be silly it’s just . . .’

‘. . . an illusion of memory. Although I don’t believe that,’ he says quietly now.

‘You think I reversed into your Rolls-Royce in a past life?’ I take a few test snaps of the dancefloor, shaking my head, look back at him, amused.

‘Funny you should say that, Mary said maybe we were married in the castle in a past life.’ He’s bending a little lower to meet my eyeline. It feels like a curiously intimate gesture.

‘Why would Mary say that?’ I ask in wonder. I barely know Mary, she barely knows me.

‘Ah, well she has a bit of a sixth sense.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ I check my auto-focus mode, switching it to a single-shot focus.

‘I made her a cup of tea after she served you earlier, insisted she put her feet up. Well, I made us both a cup in fact, and told her I’d thought I’d seen you before so she read my tea leaves. She said we might have known each other in a past life. In fact, we might have been married right here under this roof.’ He raises his hand toward the ceiling.

‘God, I hope not!’ I blurt the words without thinking but again he just smiles.

‘Ouch! You’re fierce hard on me, but let me tell ya this, I only parked the Rolls-Royce in the car park five minutes before you crashed into it. I never, ever, ever park it there and I’m not sure why I did.’

‘Again, my bad luck.’ I continue to use the camera as a crutch, twisting and turning the lens, ensuring the battery is fully charged, anything to avoid meeting his eyes.

‘Do you not believe in fate, Maggie Grace?’ Dan says, even quieter now, and I’ve shivers down my spine again. He’s clipped my Achilles heel! I can hear my mother in my head, year after year, pooh-poohing fate – my dad always said he almost went into the Polish bakery across the road, but something drew him into Soft Dough, where she was working.

‘No! Absolutely not. No, no chance. Never!’ I know I’m overreacting because he’s so close and I’m hyper-aware as I let my eyes drift back up to him. I see that strange look come across his face and his eyes dip once again.

‘Ah, that’s a shame, I do. I think life has a way of pointing ya in the right direction. I believe fate lends its hand.’ The sad tone that tugs at my heartstrings is back.

‘And I think you make your own luck in this life,’ I tell him more softly.

‘I disagree.’ He shakes his head.

‘Well, once again we will have to agree to disagree, Sir.’ I’m well aware I’m wasting precious time here; I can’t seem to get my feet to actually walk away.

A small distance of silence falls between us.

We say nothing more as the band launch into John Lennon’s ‘Woman’ and couples take to the dancefloor. Then, Dan leans in closer, his lips almost grazing my ear. Is he going to ask me to dance? The hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

‘As for Mary, she may be the village blabbermouth but a lot of folk around here believe in her sixth sense . . .’

‘I-I better do some work . . .’ I swallow hard and finally take another step away, feeling a little unsteady on my legs.

‘I hope your bedroom is to your satisfaction?’ It’s how he says bedroom – it’s bizarrely sexy. I clutch the camera strap around my neck even tighter.

‘M-my bedroom?’

‘Number nine, aren’t you? Superb views. My favourite bedroom in the castle. If you stand on the footstool under the dresser, you can see all the way to the ocean.’ He takes a few steps, by my side once again. Is there no escaping this man?

‘Um, yeah, it’s amazing, I must try that.’ Again I inhale him now that he’s shoulder to shoulder with me. His cologne is fresh, earthy, smoky and musky – it’s a scent I’ve never been exposed to before. It’s a scent I will never forget.

It’s intoxicating.

He’s intoxicating.

Crap, I think. This cannot be happening. I can’t really fancy this strange Irish man?

‘Séamus! Congratulations, what a son-in-law Aaron will be!’ Dan suddenly shouts out and moves to the older man approaching us waving his arms wildly in the air, his braces down off his shoulders, hanging by his sides.

‘There ya are, Kathleen! Let’s dance, my love,’ he says to me almost in my face now. I see his eyes are wild, his pupils pulsing.

‘Nice to see you, Séamus.’ Dan carefully shakes the man’s hand. He doesn’t let it go as he turns him gently away from me, gripping it tightly.

‘Is this not my wife?’ Séamus points to me. ‘Is this not our wedding?’

‘Ah now, Séamus, you remember where we are? Your Aisling just married Aaron earlier. That’s Aisling there in the white dress, isn’t she a beautiful bride?’ Dan points to Aisling and I see real confusion cross over the older man’s face.

‘That’s my wife, Kathleen, you know darn well that’s Kathleen.’ Séamus rubs his bald head, then scratches the back of his head as I notice food stains on his white shirt. I watch Dan intently, unsure how to react.

‘Isn’t Aaron going to be a great addition to your family? Great builder too.’

‘Kathleen, why aren’t you wearing your fur coat? We’re going to the pictures.’ He wags a finger at me and before I can answer Dan puts his free hand on my shoulder. A bolt goes through me again, from the top of my head down to my toes. What the hell? This is like something from a movie I’d call far-fetched. But it’s my real life and Dan is having this actual effect on me.

‘There now, take it easy. Well, ya know what we’re going to do, Séamus, we’ll go get a brandy and port, your favourite. Then we’ll sit down and have a chat about the Irish rugby team, how about that?’ Dan drapes his arm around Séamus’s shoulders and steers him towards the tables.

‘Bring back Brian O’Driscoll, that’s what I say!’ Séamus shouts, waving his fist.

‘That’s it, I have ya, everything is okay,’ Dan says oh so gently then looks back over his shoulder at me with a wry smile and without even planning to I smile back and mouth, ‘See you later.’ Dan smiles, nods as I finally move away from the wall and walk around the dancefloor.

Calm down, calm down. What is wrong with you? You are here for the biggest job opportunity of your career, not to get distracted by a man. Focus.

So, I do. I try my best to focus on my work. The Heart Ballroom is simply too big, I decide. The wedding, though magnificent, loses some of its intimacy. A divider in the centre is what is needed. It would still leave a huge dancefloor, even though halved, and will easily fit close to one hundred guests. I’m not sure how to write about it, though I need to be true to my readers.

‘Care ta dance with me, pretty lady?’ A young guy no older than fifteen stands in front of me.

‘Not tonight, but thank you.’ I smile, highly amused but flattered. He shrugs, not caring, and moves on. My eyes follow him and that’s when I see a stressed looking Mary behind a long trestle table at the back of the room, laying out knives and forks. I head straight for her.

‘Let me help you?’ I pull my satchel from across my body.

‘I thought you’d never ask! Lay these out for me, lovey?’ Mary hands me a huge pile of disposable white napkins.

‘Mary, why do you not have linen napkins you can re-use over and over? They are a much cheaper option in the long run. You guys should think about saving on small but vital costs like that,’ I tell her as Mary arches her hand on her hip.

‘We need someone around here who thinks like you do! I keep saying it! Be back with the grub in a jiffy.’ Mary limps away as I stash my satchel and camera under the table and roll up the sleeves on my sweater. Taking up a fork and knife, I wrap a napkin around them. Speedily I work away, all those early mornings working in the bakery in New York coming in handy.

‘See you later?’ Why did I say that to him? What on earth was I thinking?’ I replay the exchange in my head with a roll of my eyes. As if on autopilot, I wrap napkin after napkin, all the time thinking what I just saw with Séamus. That kindness, empathy and compassion from Dan Delaney will be etched in my memory for life. In fact, I can think of more than a few examples: how he sat talking with Mrs Geraghty, did her Christmas shopping for her, helped her to the car, even just insisting Mary sit down and making her a cup of tea. It’s those little things that make a man. When I finish the job, I look up across the room, tapping my foot to the music. Dan is sitting with his arm wrapped tightly around Séamus, who is now sobbing quietly, but his eyes are firmly focused on me.

THIRTEEN

A cacophony of wonderful sounds delights my ears the following evening as I enter the Heartwell Bar and Lounge, shaking snow off myself. After a late night, where I’d helped Mary and watched Dan take care of Séamus all night to give his wife a break and let her enjoy her daughter’s wedding, not surprisingly I slept like a log. I’d been expecting jet lag but it never appeared. This morning, after a sinful thick ham and cheese omelette and a large mug of tea, I left Castlemoon. I spent the most wonderful quiet day with my earbuds in, listening to Irish music, while strolling around the grounds and then, in the afternoon, into Heartwell village. I took lots of pictures to add to the mood board I’m creating for my article on my Pinterest. I put in a lengthy spell in Heartwell’s library talking to Clare, the librarian, who happily filled me in on the disastrous blind date she had brought to Aisling and Aaron’s wedding to get back at Jack, her ex-boyfriend.

‘He thinks I won’t move on, well he’s sorely mistaken! Now Damien, my blind date, is not the one. He kept calling me “honey pie” and he grinded his teeth through Aaron’s entire speech, plus he’s a teetotal vegan and I can’t be doing with that. Where’s the craic with a teetotal vegan? It’d be like going to a theme park and only sitting on the benches – plenty to see, but missing out on the rides. Speaking of rides, he is sexy and I could see Jack looking over.’ She had to lower her voice as she was setting up for a story time session for a group of children who were piling inside in their woollen hats and mittens, reading them The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

I’d been more than amused at Clare’s lack of inhibitions and the way in which she freely spilled her life story, despite never having met me before. Also she was dressed as Santa’s Little Helper, in a candy cane onesie and a Christmas pudding hat. I loved this part of the community. The openness. It really was like one big family, something I craved so often as an only child. Armed with a pile of local history books about Castlemoon and the family that originally built the castle, I’d settled down with my MacBook in the Teapot Café. Betsy, the owner, had heard all about me and dropped me over a slice of her homemade Christmas cake and coffee. I’d got down to work writing my piece on Aisling and Aaron before Betsy sat down opposite me and proceeded to fill me in on the goings-on in the holiday apartment above the café the night before.

‘I met them when they arrived last week.’ She’d swept crumbs off the table into her cupped hand. ‘I was icing Aisling and Aaron’s wedding cake. An English couple, looked boring enough but by all accounts they had strangers coming and going all night, according to Peadar. He was power hosing the benches in the square in the middle of the night.’ Betsy had disappeared to serve a customer and I’d just opened my library book on the history of the Castlemoon family, still enjoying my cake, when my phone rang.

The tense call from Frederick Macken had been the only fly in the ointment of an otherwise perfect Christmassy day in the utterly delectable Heartwell village.

‘Did you photograph that book yet?’ he’d barked at me.

‘No.’ I’d turned away from the couple at the table beside me feeling conspicuous.

‘Hurry up. Tick-tock, tick-tock!’

‘Sorry, Frederick, I need to tell you something . . .’ I had cast my eye around the Teapot Café and to Betsy who was busy serving another customer, wrapping up tea cakes to take away behind the flashing Christmas garland that surrounded the counter top. Then I’d lied. ‘I can’t find that book,’ I’d told him.

‘Are you stupid?’ His reply stopped me in me tracks. The last of my Christmas cake fell off my fork into my clotted cream.

‘No . . .’ My timidness had come thundering back.

Frederick had taken a few moments before he spoke.

‘Find the book by tonight or I will send Salma across to find it. Getting promoted isn’t a given, use your time there wisely. Use your brain, Maggie, the publishing business is dog eat dog as you have seen over the years.’ The line went dead.

More than a little upset, I had tried to pay my bill but Betsy had refused to take my money. Instead of going back to the castle, which was my original plan, I headed straight across the road to the pub to buy a stiff drink and try and talk to some more locals.

A traditional Irish music session is now in full swing in the pub. People are packed into every snug and alcove like tinned sardines. Novelty flashing Christmas jumpers blind me. A turf fire blazes warmly in the centre, paper chains are looped across the room and the Christmas tree is stuffed, with piles and piles of mismatching wrapped gifts underneath, spreading out on the floor. Bodhráns and tin whistles blend together in beautiful, melodic harmony. It’s an undeniable Christmas vibe, and so quintessentially Irish.

How amazing is this atmosphere? I think, automatically tapping my feet to the noisy beat of the heavy bodhrán. Welcoming the heat, I can hardly feel my fingers from the short trip across the village square. It’s all so vastly different to New York. The thought of New York brings me right back to Frederick. What am I going to do? If I don’t photograph the book tonight, I have no doubt in my mind that Salma will land here tomorrow night and do it anyway! I will lose the article and the promotion. I have no choice, I’ll look for the registration book at reception when I get back and photograph one page but that’s it, I am not doing anything else. I will email my report to him with one photo and tell him it’s a brand new book or something then I’m done. That is not the reason I am here. Less than content with my decision, I squeeze my way through the packed bar.

‘Excuse me? Pardon me? If I might just squeeze past you? Thank you so much,’ I say as the crowd opens up to let me through and although I’m completely alone I have never felt less lonely in my entire life. Spotting a free stool at the very end of the curved bar I move towards it. Unravelling my scarf, I plonk down wearily onto the worn red cushion where the stuffing is escaping. I’ve never been in a bar this busy. Removing my coat, I drape it over the stool as I eye up the bartender. I can’t get Frederick’s rude remark from my mind, nor can I shake the unease of what he’s asking me to do. A drink will help me relax, I hope. A woman with a tie-dye bandana in her hair, multiple piercings and a tea towel slung over her shoulder is flat out behind the bar. She’s tapping up pints of Guinness lined up on a tray under the bar and taking new orders from shouty, thirsty punters every time she looks up. I’m too shy to shout, so I just sit back and wait and watch.

‘That’s how you pour a perfect pint of the black stuff, lass. A Guinness has to be left to settle, it lives and breathes you know,’ a very old man with a ginger beard and tin whistle in his hand tells me, as he lifts one of the creamy pints. He takes a long drink and, with the white of the Guinness stuck to his beard, he makes his way back to the band area.

‘What can I get ye?’ Finally, the bartender wipes her hands on the tea towel in front of me then swipes it across the wet bar top.

‘Hi. Oh, I’ll do a glass of Guinness, please.’ I give her my order gratefully.

‘Coming right up.’

‘Tell me you’re not working on your own with a crowd this big?’ I have to raise my voice to ask her.

‘Afraid so.’ She adjusts her bandana, but she’s smiling like it’s no big deal. ‘That accent isn’t local. Welcome to Heartwell, I’m Gráinne.’ She extends her hand across the bar and I shake it. ‘I saw you last night at the wedding, you moved that hungry line for food along swiftly! The mushroom vol-au-vents were amazing. Are you working up at the castle yourself? I didn’t think they were taking on new staff with all the shit that’s going on up there?’ Gráinne spins a fresh glass in her hand.

‘Me? Oh no, the wedding afters you mean? I was just helping Mary out.’

‘Mary’s my mother,’ Gráinne tells me, tilting the glass as the black liquid flows out of the tap through the thin pipe.

‘No way? I mean what are the chances . . .’ Then I take one look at Gráinne’s amused expression as she raises her eyebrow and I laugh. ‘Every chance of course.’

‘Thanks for helping her. The Guinness is on me.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, ‘your mother is amazing.’

‘She is but she shouldn’t be working so hard, her hip—’

‘Needs replacing, I know.’ A blonde woman with a swinging high ponytail and the biggest brass hoop earrings I’ve ever seen, stops at my stool. She shakes a big black bucket roughly with her right hand while clutching a book of pink raffle tickets in her left.

‘Maggie!’ she says, much to my disbelief although she is slightly familiar.

‘Eh, yes . . .’ I narrow my eyes, looking at her lengthy fake eyelashes that touch the bottom of her eyebrows.

‘It’s me! Kate! From the wedding. I’m in my platforms!’ She lifts her foot to show a huge, spongy platform shoe, giving her at least five extra inches in height.

‘Hi Kate! Sorry I didn’t recognise you for a second.’

‘Ah sure, how would ya? There was a gang of us and only one of you. Now the big Castlemoon céilí is on this Friday night, would you like to buy a ticket? It’s a fundraiser.’ Kate shakes the bucket furiously up and down. ‘It’s a dance, a traditional Irish knees-up, ten euro a ticket, plus you’ll get a nice plate of Betsy’s chilli thrown in.’ Kate does a little jig on the spot. ‘And if ya could spare any change to this secret bucket fund that would be awesome.’

‘I leave for New York early on Sunday morning,’ I inform her, apologetically, ‘but I’ve got to write up my article and submit it before I go. I don’t think I’ll be able to attend but I will buy a ticket anyway to support.’ Reaching into my satchel, I pull out my purse, flick through my dollars in search of euro notes.

‘You hope you leave for New York, if Faith holds off.’ Kate nods to the small TV mounted on the wall as a yellow banner runs across the bottom of the screen warning of a snow storm they are calling Faith on the way.

‘Faith? You give your storms names?’ Amused, I search for some euro notes.

‘Oh yeah, they all have names. Every storm gets christened here in Ireland. Storm Emma was one of our greatest, she is Mother Nature after all,’ Kate says as a passer-by drops a handful of coins into the bucket. ‘Thank you, Bucko, I hope Theresa gets better soon, woeful dose going around. I know Syd is waiting on those new tablecloths she’s making him for the Airbnb,’ she calls after the man. He just raises his hand in the air and gives her a thumbs up.

‘Does everyone know each other around here?’ I question, genuinely impressed.

‘Heartwell’s big in heart but small in community. No secrets around here.’ Again, she shakes the black bucket as people pass by not missing a beat.

Not sure about that, I think. For one, Castlemoon is definitely up for sale. But I’m here to do my own job and that is the only thing that is my business.

‘As you know, I’m interested to learn more on the folklore of the lasting marriages at Castlemoon. The longevity of the romances will be so inspiring to our readers. The zero divorce rates! But I saw how you seemed a little devastated you can’t marry at the castle, so I was wondering if we could chat about that and if I could pick your brain, Kate? Ask you a few more questions? Maybe about that couple you all mentioned – Esther and Michael, wasn’t it?’ I ask politely while trying not to feel uneasy about the castle fundraiser.

‘I am gutted, Maggie. I mean I try not to dwell. It’s out of my hands. We’re getting married at the Moritz Hotel on the outskirts. It’s only a small wedding. But I’m happy to help ya and chat to ya? Follow me,’ Kate sing-songs, side-stepping two girls twirling under each other’s linked fingers and outstretched arms. ‘Dance up the front, there’s good girls, yiz’ll do yerselves an injury down here dancin’ on the sawdust,’ Kate tells them as they twirl away in dizzying circles towards the front of the bar.

‘I didn’t mean right now.’ I reach across to put my hand on Kate’s shoulder.

‘If ya don’t get me now, ya mightn’t get me again. I’ve a busy life. I work two jobs. I work up the castle as a server and in Jimmy’s family’s market all weekend. Not to mention my volunteering to fundraise.’ Kate shakes the bucket again and turns away so I jump off the stool, my satchel tightly clutched under my arm. Kate, who’s already headed out towards the back of the bar, is disappearing through two green slatted swinging doors. I follow, twisting and turning myself through the heaving, happy holiday crowd, and push the doors open behind Kate.

‘There you are.’ I heave a sigh of relief, as the doors flap and then shut. It’s quieter and cooler back here as Kate plonks the bucket on a round high table and drinks from a pint of an orange-coloured drink that’s sitting on it.

‘So then.’ Kate wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Whaddya wanna know?’

‘Everything you can tell me. I always put myself into the shoes of the reader. I’d want to read all about all the romances of this village because I feel it everywhere. I want to know about the marriages in Castlemoon that have lasted a lifetime. Mostly, though, I’d love to talk to you about why you wanted so desperately to marry there, Kate? You mentioned being the first of your siblings not to marry there. You all believe in the magic?’ I blurt everything in one go.

‘Oh, we believe because it’s all true! You just mentioned Esther and Michael – they themselves celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary in Castlemoon just last weekend. Pity ya weren’t here then, we all had a hooley. Dan even stayed after midnight, which in itself is a miracle!’ Kate drains her orange now.

Just the very mention of his name makes my stomach swirl.

‘It’s simple. Jimmy and I can’t afford it. We both work two jobs, but the castle has become just too expensive. Aisling and Aaron could barely afford it and Aaron’s a successful builder with his own company and Aisling’s a midwife.’ Kate’s lip wobbles.

‘It really means that much to you,’ I state. It’s not a question.

‘I can’t even tell you. I believe in the blessings that getting married under that roof brings to a couple. I truly do.’ Kate sniffs lightly, her shoulders slump.

‘I understand.’

‘As I said, just look at Esther and Michael.’ Kate rubs her nose roughly.

‘Oh yes, I’d love to talk to them!’

‘Say what? You’re writing an article on Castlemoon and you haven’t interviewed them yet? Esther and Michael are Castlemoon! Can’t believe you legit haven’t talked to them! They live in the Little White Cottage, right across the road here, down the crooked path, past the old phone box that now a free book box. If it’s a real love story you’re after then look no further than the—’ Kate suddenly gets distracted, craning her head to look over my shoulder at the noise of the flapping green doors.

‘Dan!’ She grabs the bucket and puts it behind her back then cocks a hip, slides her hand on it as Dan steps in. My breath quickens, my head muzzled at the sight of him once again.

FOURTEEN

‘How’s it goin’, Kate? Am just checking in on the ticket sales for Friday night.’ Dan does a double take as he sees me. ‘Oh? Maggie?’ His arm flies out wide and his hand waves as he looks at me quizzically but I notice that his eyes take me all in. Immediately, I feel my face flush. My mouth dries up.

‘Hi Dan.’ I manage, turning my back on him and busying myself unnecessarily in my satchel. He crowds this tiny back room. He has a presence like no other man I’ve ever encountered and it’s completely disconcerting. Kate looks at me, then at Dan, then at me again and back to Dan.

‘Is it me or did a bow just shoot across this room?’ Comically she does three double takes again.

‘Get away outta that, Kate O’ Toole.’ Dan moves past her to the round table where she left the pink booklet of tickets. ‘These all the tickets we have left?’

‘Right. Yes, I’m not doing too bad actually, I think I sold another eight. Jimmy has that English couple – swingers apparently, according to Betsy – out on a private heritage trip. He’s showin’ them all around Heartwell, so I sold them a pair of tickets too!’ Kate looks pleased with herself as I just stand there, my back against the wall, observing. I know exactly what they are talking about and feel like I’m a part of this conversation, but I am in fact a total outsider who only arrived yesterday. How can that be?

‘Why are they not stayin’ at the castle?’ Dan quizzed Kate.

‘More backpackers, they’re above the café in that new Airbnb Syd and Marv set up.’ Kate rolls her eyes under her heavy fake eyelashes.

‘Bloody hell, Heartwell doesn’t need anymore feckin’ Airbnbs!’ Dan’s eyes cloud over as he pulls out a chair and sits down. The heaviness seems to fall over him again. He crosses his left leg over his right, his boot balancing on his sturdy thigh, props his chin in his hand.

‘Maggie here is a high-flying reporter from New York, asking about love and the long-lasting marriages from the castle. Should I tell her to talk to our famous Lord Bachelor of the village? We’re sick of trying to get that fella married off, aren’t we?’ Kate laughs as Dan shakes his head.

‘Ye all need to leave that poor man alone, is what ye need to do. He’s exhausted with ye all. I’ve told him he needs a holiday. A sunny one. He’s looking at going to Thailand, says he may never come back. I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Dan stretches his arms above his head as his shirt rises and I see a glimpse of his taut, toned stomach. ‘We’ve met, a few times, isn’t that right, Maggie? We’re old friends at this stage.’

‘More like frenemies!’ But I crinkle my nose and smile warmly at him. He returns my smile. For some reason it feels like we’ve just broken the ice.

‘Ah, of course ya have met above in the castle. Keep yer clothes on, Dan, we have guests.’ Kate playfully pokes him.

Dan fixes his shirt, tucking one side into his jeans. My eyes dip and he catches me looking down before I stare in deep concentration at the thatched roof above us, only short of whistling my way out of this one.

‘I had to spin Séamus and Kathleen home from the wedding last night, ya know, he was fierce confused,’ Dan tells Kate with sorrow swimming in his voice. ‘I ended up letting Kathleen sleep in the spare room and I sat up with him until he fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.’ Dan stifles a yawn.

I wonder if this explanation is also for my benefit because he didn’t return last night or am I being totally nuts?

‘Poor Séamus, but you’re so good to him, Dan, so good to Kathleen too. But did ya hear he wandered out toward the lake last week? Kath nearly had a nervous breakdown. I’m not sure how much longer that poor woman can mind him for. Aisling has her own life to live now too. She’s helped Aaron and Kath for so long with him but she wants a baby right away. There’s another great love story for ya, Maggie, those pair had the most wonderful marriage before Séamus was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago,’ Kate tells me, finishing her orange.

‘Ah sure, we’ll all help her. We’ll be okay. He’s not going into any home.’ Dan sounds determined.

‘’Tis okay you saying that, Dan, but it’s his safety we need to be concerned with now,’ Kate tells him but with a soft sigh.

I sit down, open my MacBook on my lap, feeling like I’m eavesdropping on a private conversation, so I begin to type the names of Esther and Michael. Dan stands, slowly flicks through the tickets book, reading the names written on the back, then looks at me questioningly.

‘She’s interested in our marriages. I’m helping her with her article,’ Kate explains.

‘Not personally!’ I add with another unglamorous snort. ‘I’m not the marrying type,’ I say, looking for my composure.

‘Maybe you’re just not with the right man,’ Dan replies and before I can answer Kate says, ‘Well, I’m with the right man but my chances of a happily-ever-after marriage are precarious!’ She sounds defeated.

‘I wish I could help yis, Kate, you know my hands are tied.’ Dan shakes his head.

‘It’ll be grand, Dan, don’t be mindin’ me. You better be coming to the wedding? You missed Betsy’s divorce party when you were in America,’ Kate says but again emotion peppers her voice. ‘There ya go, Maggie. Prime example – Betsy married up in Dublin.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but I’m glad I missed the divorce party, stupid things.’

‘I tell ya what if you’d married Denise, I bet you’d have a different opinion.’ Kate tilts her head at him, her ponytail swinging.

They both laugh as my ears prick up. A feeling of insane jealousy washes over me for a man I don’t know and a woman I’ve never met!

‘If I’d married Denise, I’d be in a straightjacket!’

‘Where did you say you were getting married again, Kate?’ I ask abruptly, pretending I didn’t hear all that.

‘The Moritz Hotel. It’s a small hotel on the outskirts of Galway that my aunt manages. Just holds fifty. We’re supplying our own food and drink. It’s just the room really and she’s giving us the hire for free. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I’m gonna go call Esther and Michael, see if they are up for a visit? In fairness, they love nothing more than to talk about themselves, isn’t that right, Dan?’ Kate pulls her phone out from the pocket of her knee-length denim skirt. I watch her dial a number and press her phone to her ear as she walks away, pushing open the swinging doors with her foot.

‘You’re looking to interview them?’ Dan asks me with a narrowing of his dark eyes.

‘If possible.’ I nod.

‘Just don’t drive into their front porch and kill them now, do ya hear?’ Dan’s eyes holds mine again but with what I recognise now as a flash of mischief in them as he crosses the room.

‘You really should consider a career in comedy,’ I pretend to look out over the doors, ‘maybe you can go on after the band?’

‘Blue suits you.’ Dan’s eyes roam.

‘Oh—’ He stops me in my tracks with the unexpected compliment as I look down to my sweater. When I look up, Kate has stepped back in and Dan nods at me as he passes her. I realise I’m holding my breath.

‘Alright, the pub is sending them a plate of freshly caught fish and chips for their lunch tomorrow. Esther said if you can take them over, they’ll have a chat with ya?’ Kate squashes her phone back into her front pocket as I release a long exhale. ‘Y’all right?’ Kate’s shoulders hunch in wonder.

‘I’m fine, bit jet lagged is all, only hitting me now,’ I fabricate.

‘A hot whiskey, thick white batch bread toasted with melted cheddar cheese, tomato and onion and you’ll go out like a light. Ask the kitchen up at the castle to rustle you up one.’

‘I’ll try that and thanks so much for setting that interview up for me.’ Delighted, I beam at Kate. If this goes well it can be my second interview for the article. Then I can write around Aisling and Aaron’s wedding. ‘One more favour?’ I ask her.

‘Go on? I’ll have to start chargin’ ya for my time,’ she jokes, tipping her finger off her wrist watch.

‘You and Jimmy,’ I look to Kate’s simple diamond engagement ring, ‘could I interview you guys?’ I ask hopefully. Ever since I spoke to Kate at the wedding, I’ve been thinking they would be a brilliant third and final interview for my piece.

‘Us?’ Her eyes widen. ‘In a New York magazine? I’m all for it but I need to ask Jimmy first.’

‘Of course,’ I say, nodding.

‘Better get back out there, it’s my night to volunteer. Check back with me tomorrow? Shit! He didn’t spot the bucket, did he?’ Kate lifts the bucket up as I shut my MacBook.

‘Dan? No, I don’t think so. Why?’ It’s only then I see the writing on the bucket: SAVE CASTLEMOON.

‘We’re trying to raise extra funds on the side. A few of us have been collecting all year. We’ve quite the haul in the credit union. Look, I better fly, my bucket’s not nearly full enough.’

‘But where will I find you tomorrow?’ I jump in, following Kate. What the hell is going on that people are fundraising so damn hard for a castle that is being sold?

‘At the organic market, drop in any time after ten.’ Kate exits through the swinging doors. ‘I’m on the till,’ she calls over her shoulder.

I push the doors and the sound of the trad band serenades my ears. Once again, I squeeze though the heaving crowd, this time happily saying a few hellos to familiar faces as I sit back down on my stool.

‘I put a fresh head on the Guinness for you. Sláinte, we say here.’ Gráinne grins.

‘Sláinte!’ But as I raise my glass the pub falls silent. ‘What the—’

I look at Gráinne who smiles, leans on the bar top, her finger over her lips.

‘A sean-nós song, in Irish,’ Gráinne says quietly as an older woman begins to sing. The woman’s voice is so sweet that even though I don’t understand the words, it moves me tremendously, so much so that a lump forms in my throat and my eyes fill with tears. The song ends to rapturous applause.

‘Sure you’re not Irish?’ Gráinne laughs, hands me a tissue as I blow my nose and pick up my Guinness.

‘Drink up. I’ll walk you home if you like? We can stroll back through Heartwell village and I’ll show you the sights?’ Dan stands in front of me now and instantly I nod in agreement, but as I finish my drink, I’m already wondering what the hell I am doing.

FIFTEEN

The snow has finally stopped but the air is numbingly cold and a light white coverage dusts the rooftops. Dan walks on the roadside and I’m on the higher ground of the footpath so he doesn’t seem as towering.

‘Thanks for walking me home,’ I tell him. My heart is still fluttering at the closeness of his physical presence but I’m feeling more alive now than anything else.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he says in that husky, lilting voice of his as the orange glow from the lampposts casts down on us.

‘You know, I think I’ve always wanted to live in a small village but never realised it until I drove through Heartwell.’ My curls blow wildly in the night breeze. ‘It must be from all the books I read as a kid, small village life . . . the Gilmore Girls TV show. It reminds me so much of Stars Hollow.’ I wrap my arms around myself.

‘I haven’t seen the show but we get that a lot. I love this little village,’ Dan concurs and we continue our walk through the square in companionable silence.

‘These trees, I mean, they must be hundreds of years old.’ I stop as we enter the village green. Snow-covered benches sit under the huge bare trees that are wrapped in twinkling fairy lights. ‘You rarely see trees of this stature in Manhattan,’ I lament.

‘Yew trees, they are known for their longevity, they can live for over a thousand years.’ Dan stands beside me. ‘Go on, I know you want to.’ He grins, showing me those perfect teeth.

‘Hug it?’ My eyes widen, as I just realise he’s actually read my mind.

There is something so safe about him, but I don’t know what it is? I’m normally a nervous wreck around strangers. If I’m in a cab on my own at night I pretend to talk on my phone the whole way home. I’m not this person who allows a, let’s face it, complete stranger to walk her home.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he says just before I wrap my arms around the ferocious tree, and cock one leg back. His laugher is music to my ears.

‘Did you get the Rolls-Royce fixed? Sorry, I never asked.’ I try to face the wind to control my hair, catching it back in my fist, as snowflakes begin to softly flutter down again.

‘New bumper, door needs a panel. Will be grand, won’t cost too much. Terry did some panel beating.’ Dan pulls a bright yellow woollen hat out from his wax jacket pocket. ‘Allow me?’ He stops and I nod as he steps inches from me and oh so gently pulls his hat down over my hair.

‘Better?’ he asks me.

‘Much,’ I say, slightly trembling and feeling like a teenage girl, so happy am I with this simple chivalrous gesture.

The night is silent. Castlemoon glows from the cliff-top above and illuminates our path. Dan doesn’t talk too much and I like this; he doesn’t talk for the sake of talking. More notably, it’s the most comfortable silence I’ve ever felt. I could stay in this silence forever. We stroll on through the square, past the bandstand and towards Heartwell Hall. My mind starts to settle. My heart still skips the odd beat but I’m becoming used to the effect Dan Delaney has on me.

‘What goes on in there?’ I ask him as we approach the hall.

‘Village business, the Heartwell Drama Society, community gatherings. We have a village meeting at the end of every month,’ he says, walking so close to me now his arm brushes off mine. The moonlight reflects off the snowy roof of the old hall.

‘I’d love to take a look inside before I go?’ Stopping I look up at the quaint old stone-built structure, weathered by time and covered in creeping ivy. Its tall, narrow windows are framed with wooden shutters.

‘We can do that. I’m not looking forward to the next meeting—’ Dan stops suddenly, that strange, sad look crosses his face again. His head drops.

‘Why?’ I gaze up at him. ‘Is it something to do with the castle?’ I say without really thinking.

‘Who’ve ya been gossiping with?’ His dark eyes narrow and I sense a sudden fraught atmosphere fall over us. He stuffs his hands into his pockets.

‘Em, well just . . .’

‘Don’t get involved in idle village gossip is all I’m saying.’ His tone is sharp and curt, and I hear a slight edge that conveys his annoyance with me.

A little shocked at his tone I walk on, then Dan puts a hand gently on my shoulder.

‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a hot head when it comes to Castlemoon. I speak before I think. I tend to mess up everything that’s good for me.’

Although I’m still a bit blindsided by his outburst, his apology, this time, is genuine. I see it in his eyes.

‘Of course, it’s okay. It was my fault for prying, I won’t ask again,’ I declare but immediately I’m curious to know more about him and his involvement with the castle.

Dan runs his hand across his stubble, then the start of a smile creeps along his lips as he pulls my hat down further to cover my cold ears. His handsome face lights up.

‘Cute. Take four?’ he asks, holding his palms together under his chin.

‘I’d say this is take five!’ I tell him with a dramatic but playful roll of my eyes.

‘Can I offer you a nightcap as a peace offering?’

‘I really should get back, I’ve a ton of work,’ I say but very half-heartedly.

‘My bark is worse than my bite. I-I can be a stress-head, I know. Don’t hate me, please?’

‘I don’t . . .’ I look around. It’s late, the village is all but asleep.

‘So say yes then?’ he pushes.

‘To a nightcap? But where?’ I wonder.

‘Inside. In Heartwell Hall, follow me.’

I follow Dan around the back of the hall and he lifts a small iron statue of a dog at the back door and lifts up a key. He opens the back door and I step in behind him.

‘It’s pitch black,’ I hiss.

‘You’re safe with me, don’t worry . . .’

‘I wasn’t worrying until you said that! Hurry up!’ But I’m joking, and even in the darkness of this hall, I still feel more than safe with this stranger. Sometimes it’s just a person’s aura, I think, because I really can’t explain it.

‘Hang on. You’ve no patience, Maggie Grace.’

He fumbles for a minute, then a small light glows as he steps out holding a lantern.

‘And then there was light.’ I laugh as I look all around. It’s a typical hall you’d expect to see in a small town. It’s spacious, featuring wooden beams that stretch across the ceiling, has a distinct musty smell that hints at its age and history, which I find quite appealing. Rows of long wooden benches are on either side and a small stage area at the top. I follow Dan as he heads up to the front of the hall, properly feeling the fact we are all alone now.

‘It’s a set. I don’t want to turn on the house lights. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll be back.’ He points to a small two-seater couch, with a table in front and a sheepskin rug on the stage. ‘All left over set from the local drama society. I fell asleep during it, I was jet lagged, so don’t ask me to review it.’ He unzips his wax jacket, wrangles himself out of it revealing that tight white T-shirt underneath. He quickly tucks it into his jeans.

As I sink into the soft couch, I get the smell of spices, like someone made mulled wine in here earlier. It’s cloves, maybe? Dan returns with a bottle and two water glasses.

‘No wine glasses.’ He holds them up.

‘Where did you get that?’ I laugh.

‘We had a mulled wine party on Tuesday night. Jimmy Murphy Senior makes it every year. If I remember correctly, and it is a bit hazy, Kate got up and did the Riverdance, Clare was shifting that weird lad Damien to annoy Jack, Aisling sang “Oh, Little Town Of Bethlehem”, very off key, and Aaron was on the ground laughing and Mary’s sons wrestled. Normal enough village Christmas madness. It’s strong stuff, so just a few sips is advisable.’ Dan unscrews the top and as he pours us two glasses I think of how much fun that night sounds, how I’d love to be part of that. The community don’t need anything but themselves to live a great life here on the stunning Wild Atlantic Way.

‘Cheers.’ We clink, then he eases himself into the very small space beside me. His strong arm squashed into mine, his bulging thigh touching mine. For the first time, I realise he must like me. Why else are we here? I take a huge gulp. It goes against my breath and I cough. Dan pats my back.

‘S-sorry.’ I hold my hand up, my eyes watering as I pull off his hat. ‘Strong!’ I add. I hiccup, wipe my eyes and when I look back at him, he’s staring at me with a smirk and curiosity in his brown eyes.

‘I’m not much of a drinker, an odd glass of wine here and there. You’d probably call me a lightweight,’ I say.

‘I rarely drink myself. A pint of Guinness now and then. Don’t believe all you hear about us Irish being drunk all the time . . . we wish!’

‘Oh no, no I don’t mean that!’ I feel my face redden, but then I see he’s teasing me again. His gaze is attentive, lingering on my face. I can see the slight variations in colour on his thick stubble, the way the hairs intermingle.

‘I don’t normally pursue a woman who is taken but in your case—’ He glances away now.

‘I’m not taken,’ I almost shout. I gulp again, cough again.

‘But your Claddagh ring?’ His lilting voice is low but filled with hope.

‘No! Oh no, I just got it from my landlady, a Christmas gift. I don’t have it the right way round, I’m . . . single. I have been for a long time, my choice.’ I look away, laugh softly and flip my hair over my shoulder coquettishly.

‘Well now, that’s the best news I’ve had in quite a while.’ He clinks my glass again.

‘Is it?’ I turn to face him, the mulled wine instantly warming my belly, relaxing me. We are eye to eye.

‘I hope so because I think you’re fascinating, Maggie.’ Those big brown eyes of his are wide and utterly desirable.

It’s how he says the word, with such meaning and desire. I have never thought of myself as fascinating. I take another gulp of the spicy wine.

‘Thank you, I think you’re . . . interesting too,’ I tell him, silently kicking myself for such an unromantic reply, but I know this can’t go anywhere. I’ve promised myself I will never let a man hurt me ever again. His shoulders bounce up as he laughs at me.

‘Ack, I’m not that interesting but I am interested in you.’ Then, he reaches and gently removes something from my hair. The act is so intimate I freeze for a moment.

‘Woodchip.’ He holds it up and I can see his breath quicken and his nostrils flare a little as they work overtime.

‘I see that,’ I manage.

‘I’ve met you at a very bad time.’ Again, that dark look crosses his perfect face.

‘Why?’ I almost whisper.

‘I, ah, I don’t want to ruin this moment.’ He shakes his head.

‘We’re having a moment?’ I ask as I try to get my brain to engage with my concerns here.

‘We sure are. I’ll tell you another time.’ His face moves closer to me. His cologne flirts with my nostrils.

‘Okay.’ I wipe the damp palm of my free hand on my coat.

‘I’m a complicated man,’ he says, turning the tumbler between his strong hands with his prominent knuckles and confident grip. His fingers are long and sun-kissed with faint scars that I assume come from hard work.

‘That’s okay, this is a very complicated situation,’ I admit.

‘I find it very hard to trust people,’ he says carefully.

‘Me too. Who was Denise?’ I have to ask.

He leans back a little, his dark eyes flick from left to right. He sips his mulled wine.

‘Kate was saying how you dodged a bullet.’ I fill in the blanks.

‘I did. We were engaged but it wasn’t me she was after, it was . . . can we have this conversation another time?’ Dan leans back in closer to me, his expression calm and reassuring.

‘Sure.’ I feel weightless. I feel like there is no one else in the world except him and me.

‘Can I kiss you?’ His voice is a soft whisper hung on desire.

‘Yes.’ I barely get the word out but I nod.

‘You’re so beautiful, Maggie. So, so beautiful. The minute I set my eyes on you I was under your spell.’ His words are filled with longing. ‘I haven’t fancied a woman like this in so long. You are something special.’

I can’t speak. Then he leans in. He brushes his lips off mine, oh so softly at first and I gasp a little. His touch so gentle, so hot. He moves back.

‘S-sorry.’ His eyes stay connected with mine. ‘I just need to look at you again.’ He takes me all in, then his lips find mine once more, harder this time. Passion erupts inside me as I taste him. Never have I experienced anything like this before. It’s a connection that’s unexplainable and suddenly the hall lights whirr on above us, and the whole room is illuminated like a sun blast. I pull away.

‘I have to go! I have to file my article tonight.’ I jump up, suddenly terrified of having my heart broken again.

SIXTEEN

I barely slept a wink, tossing and turning, not quite able to believe I let Dan kiss me. Or that it was the greatest kiss I’ve ever shared. I’m more than mad with myself. I don’t want to leave this place and we’ve only kissed once and I don’t know him at all and I’m an idiot! Okay, so I got over Cooper a long time ago and, yes, I could have opened my heart up again. But I chose not to and I’ve been just fine.

I wait for the green Fendt tractor to chug past me.

The farmer waves down. ‘Afternoon,’ he shouts with a friendly smile, and lifts four fingers from the titanic steering wheel.

‘Afternoon!’ I shout freely and wave back with one hand as I carefully cross the icy road. I’m carrying a huge plate from Gráinne that I collected at the pub, all warm and safely wrapped in layers of tinfoil for Esther and Michael’s lunch. My MacBook, Dictaphone and camera are in my satchel cross body. This morning’s hailstones mixed with last night’s snowfall gather in pools in the dip in the valley of the village. I have to make sure to tread carefully in my boots.

‘Morning, Maggie.’ Clare, the librarian, is coming toward me.

‘Hi, Clare,’ We stop to chat as Clare sits on a stone wall of a white cottage, a To Let sign in the garden.

‘How are ya getting on?’ she asks, her breath swirling on the cold air.

‘Yeah, it’s going well. This is such a cute little cottage?’ I look at the overgrown garden, the rusty gate swinging off its hinges and the peeling paint on the door.

‘Rosehip Cottage, yeah it’s been To Let for ages, it needs a lot of work. No one has been brave enough to take it on. Where are you off to?’

I have to tear my eyes away from Rosehip, it’s so quintessentially Irish and beautiful. ‘Just heading to see Esther and Michael.’ I move the hot plate in my hands.

‘Fabulous. Did you read about the Castlemoon family in that book I recommended?’ Her phone rings in her bag.

‘Eh, no, not yet, Kate suggested I meet them,’ I say as she takes her phone out of her fanny pack.

‘Speak of the devil!’ Clare raises her phone to show me the incoming call. It’s a picture of Kate and Clare on the top of a mountain, each waving an Irish flag. ‘Ya never guess what she wants from me this morning? A load of thick spine books so she can stand on them for her pre-wedding pictures so that Jimmy isn’t towering over her! Catch ya at the céilí. Hello.’ Clare stomps off as my own phone rings.

I pull it from my pocket. It’s Frederick again. I ignore the call and shove the phone back.

Unable to sleep, I had eventually got up for a walk around the castle with my camera. Obviously, I hadn’t sent that report to Frederick last night as he demanded, as I didn’t have one, or a photograph of the book. I had fired him off a text saying the WIFI was down – to keep Salma from the door! However, on my way past an empty reception this morning I saw the registration book open. Though I felt terrible, I’d opened it and quickly taken a photograph of the first page on my phone. I was about to email it to Frederick when I had second thoughts. Instead, I emailed him.

from: Maggie Grace Maggie.Grace@ULWM.com
to: Frederick Macken Fmacken@acquiredfinance.com
date: Dec 20, 2025, 6.18AM
subject: Castlemoon

Dear Frederick,

I have found the registration book. However, it is never unattended. I will keep trying. Report to follow.

Maggie.

It buys me some time to see what he will say in response. Although I’m mad with myself for the Dan situation, I do feel so grateful on this bright Irish morning and I can’t help but suddenly laugh as I recall the trad band from the pub last night, standing in Heartwell Hall, staring up at myself and Dan kissing on the couch.

‘Sorry Dan, man, we’ve a late practice in the hall for Friday night’s céilí,’ one of them shouted as Dan had jumped up and grabbed my hand as I was making my excuses about needing to write my article while trying to run away.

‘No worries, Seán . . . we were just leaving. Just showing Maggie here around.’ Dan had picked up the bottle of wine and glasses and cleared them away.

‘Course ya were.’ They’d all said, ‘Hello Maggie’ at the same time.

‘Let’s go.’ We had walked home making polite chit-chat but I knew he could sense my body language had changed. It had. I needed this to stop.

The Little White Cottage plaque catches my eye and I dart out of my flashback. It’s far from a little cottage. It’s a very tongue-in-cheek name for a huge, sprawling, grand farmhouse. I’m really beginning to get this Irish sense of humour and I love it. The front door is almost like a stable door in blazing yellow. There is no doorbell or knocker.

‘Hello, anyone home?’ I cock my head around the open half of the door. My priority today is my article. It’s really time to focus now. I leave so soon. Dan will soon be just a distant memory.

‘In ya come, pull back the latch.’ An older woman’s voice flows from the back of the house so I follow her instructions and let myself in.

Stepping on cobblestones, I cross into a room that can only be described as a parlour. Old horseshoes and Blacksmiths’ anvils hang on the walls and horses’ bridles and saddles are on the ground. Two overly fed black cats purr on the stone counter while a lazy Labrador snores. I take it all in as I continue through another half-open door into a large dining area. A long rustic table is in the centre of the room but it’s the photos on the wall that really catch my eye. They seem out of place in a farmyard – older men and women draped in fine clothes, serious poses in oil painted portraits, regal-looking almost. The frames are gold and embellished and look very expensive. I spot an almost identical painting of the black horse galloping that’s in my bedroom.

‘Maggie, I presume?’ A tiny white-haired woman, slow and steady on a walking frame, enters the room. ‘I’m Esther. Welcome.’

‘Esther, hi, lovely to meet you. Thank you for talking to me.’ I have to crouch down to make eye contact with her and she immediately reminds me of Mrs Schwartz.

‘Aren’t you ever so pretty,’ Esther compliments me. ‘Those eyes you have, they tell a story.’ Esther runs her hand up and down my arm, in a gentle, motherly way, I welcome her touch. ‘You’re like a young Maureen O’ Hara.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile warmly at her, ‘I loved her in Only The Lonely with John Candy, my mom loves a good comedy.’

‘Michael!’ Esther’s loud voice shocks me as I jump up to my correct height and put the heavy plate down on the farmhouse table.

‘Deaf as a doornail.’ She holds a white hankie to her eyes. ‘Sorry, I’ve terrible watery eyes. It’s all watery – a bit like my gin these days! Life becomes watery after eighty.’ But Esther’s smile lights up her old, well-weathered face. All the years on a farm, outdoors in all weathers, I think. A life well lived.

‘I’m not deaf, Esther.’ Michael, I assume, shuffles in, his feet half out of his brown slippers. He wears knee-length shorts with a shirt and tie, black socks pulled up to his knees and holds a pipe.

‘Did I not tell ya to put yer trousers on, silly man?’ Esther scolds.

‘Ack, I’ll be sitting down, stop fussing, woman.’ Michael puffs on his unlit pipe.

‘Sit down, please, will you have some tea?’ Esther wriggles herself down into a chair.

‘No, thank you, I’d another huge breakfast up at the castle.’ I pat my stomach as I remove my damp wool coat and remember the big Irish fry-up I’d had this morning, bacon, sausage, pudding, poached eggs, and mushrooms. It was a stark contrast to the wilted fruit breakfast Amanda had served me a few days ago.

‘And it’s the castle you want to talk to us about, is it not?’ Michael asks, extending his hand to me now.

‘Hello Michael, yes, I’m Maggie . . .’

‘Give the girl a second to sit down,’ Esther butts in, as the old couple hold intense eye contact for a moment.

‘It’s alright. Yes, so I work for a wedding magazine called Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine and we’re based on Fifth Avenue in New York . . .’ I rummage in my bag and pull out my card.

‘Our son just brought us back a bottle of Crafty Cask whiskey from New York,’ Esther tells me.

‘I don’t drink it but I’ve heard it’s a good whiskey. It’s a personal favourite for my mom. So, I’m writing a story about the legend of the castle, the long-lasting unions of marriage, and you both come highly recommended to talk to.’

‘Ahhh, I see, I see.’ Michael puts his pipe down on the table and reaches for a phone that is sitting in a bowl with a TV remote control and a box of matches. He’s oddly familiar in his mannerisms, how he picks things up.

‘Not now,’ Esther tells him and gently slaps his hand away. ‘Now, ask away.’

‘Is it okay if I use a Dictaphone recorder and type as we chat?’ I flip open my cracked MacBook, they both nod. ‘So, how long have you been married?’

‘Sixty years, last week just gone.’ Michael puts his old hand over Esther’s. Her skin seems like paper and translucent under his.

‘Oh, yes I did know that, Kate told me. Oh, sorry!’ I reach forward for the plate on the table. ‘Your lunch! Gráinne’s given me your fish and chips, shall I serve it up first? It will go cold.’ Annoyed with myself for not doing this first thing, I stand up.

‘If you’d be so good? Our plates are on the sideboard there. Mine’s the white one, his is the brown with the pheasant pattern. Gráinne always leaves the salt and vinegar in the drawer on the dresser.’

‘A holy saint that girl is, they all are. The Heartwell community minds us so well, don’t they, darling?’ Esther says as Michael sits beside her. They seem so small squeezed in alongside each other at such a massive table.

‘It certainly seems that way to me. I’ll be right back,’ I tell them as I find the plates and the salt and vinegar. Peeling back the tinfoil, I inhale the incredible aroma of fresh cod in a golden crispy batter and thickly cut chips with the skin still on. I plate up their lunches, planning to get myself this dish before I leave.

‘Only salt on my fish, please. Mind your nice clothes,’ Esther warns me as some salt I’ve sprinkled ends up on my trousers.

‘Gráinne normally butters me a few slices of white bread?’ Michael points the end of his pipe towards the sideboard.

‘She does not, Michael, ya big liar, ya! He’s a dicky ticker, needs to watch his cholesterol. I don’t want to end up a young widow.’ The two of them crack up laughing, then when I place the plates in front of them, they tuck into their lunch. I just sit quietly, feeling very lucky I’m getting to meet these two people and trying desperately to forget about Dan Delaney.

‘Ask away as we chomp.’ Michael pops a chip into his mouth, chews slowly.

‘So you’ve been married for sixty years. You got married at Castlemoon, do you both believe that the castle holds some kind of magic, that a marriage celebrated there lasts a lifetime? That your marriage lasted because of it?’ I look from one to the other.

‘’Tis an unbreakable bond,’ Michael tells me.

‘The unbreakable bond under the castle roof is as real as this table.’ Esther knocks on the hard wood.

‘This woman came to me when I needed her most. I wasn’t looking for love, I was looking for someone to understand me, to help me, to be my partner and my ally. She was filled with kindness and goodness and I fell in love with her instantly.’ Michael hands her a tissue from his pocket.

‘You are clearly still very much in love,’ I say, feeling a knot in my throat.

‘Never loved one before nor another after,’ Esther says and I notice she’s barely touched her lunch.

‘Esther, please eat, I can come back later?’ I say to her.

‘I try, don’t I, love? But the appetite isn’t good. All the medication I’m on for the cancer makes me feel terrible queasy.’

My heart plummets as my eyes immediately dart to Michael who looks away but not before he puts his hand over hers.

‘What I’d really love, what Gráinne does for me, is to make me a little hot Jemmy?’ Esther links her arthritic fingers together and I notice she too wears a green stone Claddagh ring, but her heart points towards her own heart.

‘A what?’ I ask confused.

‘A Jemmy, a little hot whiskey with cloves. I prefer the Irish drop,’ Esther tells me.

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Where’s the whiskey?’ I stand up, push my chair back and this time the old Labrador barks.

‘Whisht, boy!’ Michael says. ‘Kitchen through there and the Jameson whiskey’s in the glass cabinet next to that New York one he bought in,’ Michael tells me.

‘Shall I make that two Jemmy’s?’ I look back over my shoulder at him as I pat the dog softly. He puts his head back down on his paws, content again on his old threadbare rug.

‘We’d be obliged if you’d made it three and join us?’ Esther says, nibbling on some batter, with a slightly shaking hand.

‘I’d be delighted, I’m not driving.’

As I make my way into the kitchen, I have to compose myself for a second or two. Esther is ill. It’s too sad to think about. I only met this couple less than half an hour ago, but there’s something about them that makes me want to protect them. Locating the bottle of whiskey, I fill the old kettle and set about preparing the drinks. As I wait for the kettle to boil, my attention is drawn to the fridge. On the door are old photographs. I look at a large one of a young-looking Esther and Michael, huge happy smiles on their faces, outside Castlemoon with two very small boys, holding each of their hands. What a place to raise a family, I think. Heartwell is really getting under my skin. The kettle clicks off and I make the three drinks and take them back inside.

‘I thought you’d like to see our wedding album,’ Esther says, a large old photo album in plastic open on the table now.

‘I’d love to, and if it’s okay, can I take some photos? Just one of you both here today and maybe I can take a snap of one of your wedding at the castle? I’m going to need you both to sign these releases forms that say you consent to the article and your images being published.’

‘No bother,’ Michael says as I pull out the two forms from my satchel.

‘Do you think people will book a wedding at the castle when they read your magazine?’ he asks, biting on the end of the pen as he awaits my answer, his eyes wide, his fingers long.

‘I really do. It’s a very special place,’ I say truthfully as he nods and makes the sign of the cross.

‘Please God.’

‘So how did you actually meet?’ I don’t want to take up too much of their time so I get ready to type as Esther signs her form slowly. Her hand is wobbling but she’s steady and determined, displaying a dogged strength.

‘I was a cleaner at the castle. My best friend’s mother worked there for years, and she got me in. Have you ever seen Downton Abbey?’

‘Every episode, binged it, loved it.’ I smile.

‘Well, that’s what Castlemoon was like back in the day. The lord and lady lived very well and us less so . . .’

‘Terrible,’ Michael says, tapping his pipe off the table, releasing tobacco, tut-tutting to himself.

‘It really wasn’t, love. They took good care of us, Michael, you were just cut from a different cloth,’ Esther says to her husband as she slides her form towards me.

‘True,’ he concurs.

‘Anyways, I had to go out to work at a young age, I worked in service as a teenager and then His Lordship died and the castle started to fall apart a bit. He was a great man and ran that place like a military operation. Then Her Ladyship met another and she moved to France. Most of the staff left. It left their only son to run the castle and one night I brought in the post, into the Sweet Orange Room. He looked so lonely and sad and desolate, head in his hands sat by the dying fire.’

‘Sure what else would a nineteen-year-old boy with no idea how to keep his father’s family castle running be doing?’ Michael’s old face lights up so much that, for a brief second, I can see that he must have been incredibly handsome at one time. ‘I was about to give up, until this light stepped into the room. Sent to me from heaven above,’ Michael continues with a break in his voice.

My head jerks up from my MacBook, my fingers hover over the keyboard. The old couple are holding hands again. My head spins. What is he saying? I open my mouth then shut it tightly like any good journalist to let him continue uninterrupted, but Esther takes over.

‘We’d never spoken, believe it or not, he’d been away a lot and I was in the kitchen by then. But I took one look at him that evening, in the Sweet Orange Room all on his own and I said to him, “What’s the matter?”’

‘I took one look at her and I fell in love right there and then. It was how she spoke to me, like I was just a person and not this entitled young man who had inherited a castle.’

I audibly gulp but remain tight-lipped.

‘So, he told me all the problems and I gave him some home truths. I told him he needed to make use of the place, turn the castle into a hotel. Make use of all the empty rooms upstairs, turn them into guest bedrooms and start over.’ Esther coughs now, takes a drink and steadies herself.

‘Music to my ears.’ Michael laughs, but watches his wife closely. ‘This woman here turned my fortunes around. I proposed to her four weeks later on her twentieth birthday. We married in the castle, the very first wedding there, and had two children. She worked like a dog with me to save the castle and together we turned it into a very successful hotel, working side by side seven days a week. A team, through good times and bad.’

‘I loved it. I love that castle. I was penniless when they took me in, and I ended up meeting the love of my life and being the lady of the castle. It was written in the stars. I’ve had a life of blessings and I’m forever grateful to the lord beside me and the Lord above.’ Esther blesses herself now.

‘So, you owned the castle for how long?’ I can’t believe the story I am getting to write, or these two incredible people in front of me. This is gold, pure gold. No way Amanda isn’t going to love this.

‘Until we stepped away. We retired ten years ago and settled here in my family’s old farmhouse,’ Michael says.

‘I’m sorry, Maggie, I’ve gone a little lightheaded, think I need to have a lie down,’ Esther says, suddenly looking very pale and holding her hand on top of mine.

‘Oh, of course.’ I make sure to press save, close my MacBook and click off the Dictaphone.

‘But you wanted a picture, where do you want us?’ Esther asks me, rising slowly.

‘Where you both are is perfect. It’s all perfect. It’s a perfect love story.’ I gulp, pull the Canon out, and decide against the ring light. This couple are authentic and real and I want my story to reflect that. I know this is probably the greatest love story I am ever going to write about. I’ve waited all my life to write this story.

‘Smile,’ I say but instead, at the exact same time, they turn to one another and gently kiss. A lone tear falls from my eye. I can’t help it. It’s so beautiful. Maybe my ideals about love are shifting. Maybe when I get back to the city I’ll open myself up more. Maybe I’ll find a Dan Delaney in New York.

Maybe.

SEVENTEEN

‘How sick is Esther?’ is the first thing I ask as I slide into the soft booth opposite Kate and Jimmy in the busy circular shaped café while Betsy fusses around us. The skylight above is scattered with fresh snowfall giving the most wonderous light from the afternoon’s December sun and the Christmas garland flashes on and off.

‘She’s a fighter that one. She’s had cancer before so she’ll kick it this time too, despite her age,’ Kate tells me with a purse of her lips as Gráinne puts a plate of freshly baked mince pies down in front of us.

‘Compliments of the house,’ she says as I do a double take and Kate immediately recognises it.

‘Yes, we all double job in this village, don’t we, G?’

‘And we wouldn’t have it any other way, would we, K?’ The two girls high five and giggle.

‘So, you know I write about love. I’m really interested to hear your love story?’ I set my Dictaphone in the centre of the table beside the small reused jam jar that holds fresh snowdrops.

‘Well, I grew up in Heartwell village planning to marry the lord of the castle . . .’ Kate crosses her legs dramatically in her platform boots.

‘. . . but he was nearly twenty years older than her so she had to settle for me!’ Jimmy laughs and peels the silver paper off a warm mince pie.

‘We met in the Gaeltacht, Irish summer college, and we’ve been together since we were fifteen. Even though he’s not from Heartwell, he’s my lobster.’ Kate makes a heart shape with her hands.

‘More like her prawn!’ Jimmy laughs loudly, pulls a funny face. Kate laughs heartily.

‘But you really wanted to get married at the castle?’ I probe gently.

‘Oh, don’t even go there.’ Jimmy takes a massive bite from his pie, rolls his eyes.

‘I do. So badly, but like I said, we can’t afford it.’ Kate drops her chin in her hand.

‘It’s breaking her heart, so it’s breaking mine!’ Jimmy mumbles through the pastry. ‘She won’t be happy at the Moritz because she believes in this everlasting marriage shite.’ Jimmy wipes his mouth, drapes a long arm around Kate’s shoulders.

‘Watch your language! Because it’s true! You can’t be from Heartwell all your life and not marry at Castlemoon.’ Kate shrugs his arm off. ‘He just doesn’t get it! He’s from down the road in Little Green Valley. He’s a blow in.’ But she laughs again.

‘Kate . . .’ Jimmy sits back. ‘We don’t have to go through with this wedding. It’s so small, no one’s travelling from beyond the local villages. Your aunt would probably be glad! We have ten thousand euros saved for the wedding day, we can keep adding to that. All I care about is being with you.’ Jimmy shakes his head.

‘I’m sorry, that was so ungrateful of me. I-I love you Jimmy Murphy, I can’t wait to marry you and start our family, I will never mention Castlemoon again. Excuse me.’

Kate gets up to go to the bathroom.

‘I feel like such a failure,’ Jimmy abruptly tells me, leaning his long body across the table. ‘The one thing she really wants I can’t give to her. She works so hard, she’s so good to everyone. It breaks my heart, don’t tell her that, but it does. And I pooh-pooh the folklore but she’s right, look at all the people we know whose marriages have seen them come through rocky times. Take Una and Harold, for example, their marriage hit a rough patch during the recession when Harold went bust, but Dan gave them a free weekend at the castle, they were pampered, they fell in love again. It has healing powers, just don’t tell Kate I believe that.’ He sits back quickly as Kate returns to the table.

‘I just needed to wash my hands and I was thinking as I was drying them, so you want to encourage your readers to get married at the castle?’ She sits.

‘Yeah, well we do suggest ultimate locations,’ I tell her.

‘Well just say this,’ she picks up her coffee cup, cradles it, ‘Castlemoon is the most romantic place on earth to be married in. When the going gets tough you can always come back and relive the best day of your life and know that it has the power to heal a relationship like nowhere else does.’

‘Why?’ I ask the million-dollar question.

‘Why? Because it was built on true love.’ Kate shuts her eyes for the briefest moment. ‘Show me another hotel in the world that you can say the same thing about.’

‘I get it now,’ I say and sit back. I have my article.

* * *

Dan gave them a free weekend. I’m still thinking of Jimmy’s words as I close my MacBook and arch my back. I only notice now that it’s dark outside. Slowly, I get up and pull the brass handle of my drawer and get out my loose white jeans and red sweater. My phone rings. I grab for it and at last I see Amanda’s name. I’ve been waiting for her to call me back to discuss Frederick’s demands!

‘Amanda!’ I cry. ‘I’ve been desperately trying to reach you.’

‘So I see, what’s wrong?’ She sounds fine, I’m relieved to hear.

‘Well, I’m not sure if Frederick has told you but he’s been pretty hard on me in regards to me photographing a registration slash guest book here,’ I tell her, sitting back on the bed.

‘Oh, okay. No, he didn’t say. Is that a problem?’

‘Well yeah, it feels a bit . . . weird?’ I say, really emphasising the word weird. ‘And he . . . well, he more or less threatened my job saying he’d send Salma over if I didn’t do it,’ I say with trepidation.

‘He’s a hot head. I’ll call him now. How’s the article? Nearly there?’ She is tap-tap-tapping on keys, not really engaging as I’d hoped.

‘I just finished it. I’m going to go get dinner now, stretch out my breaking back and I’ll have it over to you soon. I just need to proofread . . . although I know that will be someone else’s job now!’ I try to see if she’s actually listening, but all I can hear is the banging of keys.

‘Cool. Great. Be back to you. Ciao!’

The line goes dead.

Just trust all is okay and file the article later tonight, I tell myself. Pulling on my clothes, I run the comb through my curls. I look at myself in the mirror. What does Dan see what he looks at me, I find myself wondering. I know one thing, I feel more attractive than I have done in years. No man has ever looked at me the way he does. I pick my satchel up off the antique dresser, and slide in all my work stuff to re-read over dinner. I slip out of the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

It’s only four o’ clock but the smells of dinner being prepped ooze down the hallway. I take the staircase down to see the reception desk is being fronted by a young guy. I wander into the Sweet Orange Room. It’s a very different experience now I can picture a desolate Michael sitting all alone in here sixty years ago. A shaky shiver actually runs down my spine, stopping me in my tracks for a moment. Taking a seat by the window, I watch the heavy sleet as it bashes against the glass. The wind howls through the cracks in the woodwork and I can feel the cold air. Slowly, I am starting to see the cracks in the castle and I find it impossible not to keep coming up with solutions in my head. I need to file some kind of a report to Frederick now so I am complying with my commission and get it over with. Shut him up.

I shiver so I move closer to the cosy turf fire burning behind the black iron safety shield and I sit down. I bring up the Word doc I was putting together for Frederick and start typing.

CASTLEMOON REPORT:

FOR FREDERICK MACKEN ACQUIRED FINANCE

BY MAGGIE GRACE

PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL

Dear Frederick,

Here is my report on my findings at Castlemoon:

1. It is clear the staff/locals do not know the castle is up for sale. I think this will be utterly devastating for them and terrible for morale after the sale.

2. I cannot gain access yet to photograph the guest/visitor registration book as requested, I will keep trying.

3. There is a draught in the Sweet Orange Room and though I am no expert I imagine the Venetian windows will need a lot of work to preserve/insulate.

4. The staff are overworked, you will need to hire more . . .

. . . I stop typing. That unease drops over me. This feels all wrong. Even though I’m not reporting anything crazy, I’m so torn! This is so unfair. But what if Frederick does come down on me and makes Amanda promote Salma? What if he sends Salma over when I submit this report now?

I pull the Canon out of my bag and scroll through the pictures of Aisling and Aaron and the wedding party, of Esther and Michael, and Kate and Jimmy. The shots I took yesterday of Heartwell as I strolled through, the village under a blanket of white snow. The pictures are really good, if I do say so myself. Three wonderful couples. With no one else around, I decide to kick off my Timberland boots and curl my feet under me. I feel far more at home in this magnificent castle than is in any way normal. I download the pictures to my desktop and clear the photographs from my camera so I have more storage space. Then, I settle back into the seat, enlarge that picture I took, the one I knew as soon as I clicked it I would look at for a long time. Maybe forever.

Dan.

The one of him standing at the red castle door, looking right down my lens, as though he is staring into my soul with that sadness in his eyes.

‘What is it about you?’ I whisper. ‘What makes you so sad sometimes?’ I lift my head as a guest walks in with his phone in his hand listening to a weather report.

It’s predicting that the snow storm Faith will sweep in after midnight tonight bringing heavy winds and rain. I leave very soon and ever since Kate mentioned the storm in the pub and I saw it on the TV I’ve half hoped I’ll get stuck here.

The guest picks up a newspaper and sits down. I save Dan’s picture to the folder on my desktop marked: Married by the Light of the Castlemoon, byline Maggie Grace.

Now the aroma of sizzling garlic is really trickling into the Sweet Orange Room. Maybe I can pop back and see who is cooking in there and ask about the wedding menus? I unravel my legs and just as I stand up a door suddenly swings open at the very end of the room. I crane my head and see there is a staircase behind it.

‘W-what the? Where does that lead to?’ I mutter as I put my MacBook on the table and get up to investigate. Turning my head as I pad across the soft carpet, I notice another large crack down the wall. The plaster falls away; I hadn’t noticed it in the dark of the evening. That too is quite the repair. Holding the door, I see a winding staircase that goes down and down and then down again. At the very bottom, there’s a tall iron gate that’s closed. What is this? I wonder.

Puzzled, I take a hold of the cold steel bar and put my stockinged foot on the first step. Down and down I go underneath Castlemoon. When I reach the bottom, I push the squeaky gate and walk in. It’s dark and the cobblestone floor feels uneven beneath my feet. There is a small beam of light at the far end of the room and I aim for it.

‘Helloooooo?’ Slowly and carefully, I put one foot in front of the other when suddenly, out of nowhere, I am thrown back onto the ground and the gate bangs shut behind me as I hit the ground hard. A dog barks wildly.

‘Ow!’ I yelp, feeling a sharp pain.

The dog continues to bark. I’m terrified. My heart’s racing as I scramble backwards on my bottom and hands. I try to get up but a sharp pain shoots through my ankle again.

‘Help!’ I cry out.

‘Who’s there?’ A voice is nearing.

‘Help me!’ I roar again over the yelping of the dog as my eyes begin to adjust.

‘Red! Red! Here, boy! It’s okay, hang on! My torch has died! Who is it? Who’s there? Is that you, Mary? Are you hurt?’ There’s concern and panic in the now recognisable man’s voice.

‘D-Dan?’

EIGHTEEN

‘Yes?’ He reaches me and I slowly begin to make out his shadow in the darkness. Dan stands over me now, in the tiny crack of daylight that is coming down through the gate. My eyes fully adjust to the darkness as we hold eye contact. I’m beyond relieved to see him.

‘Maggie! What happened? Are you okay?’ His voice heavy with concern for me.

‘I-I think so, I just twisted my ankle a little, I’ll be fine.’ Extending my leg, I rotate my left ankle around, and it’s feeling a little better now. Thank goodness.

‘Don’t frighten me like that.’ Dan takes a hold of Red’s collar. ‘Enough. Good boy. It’s Maggie.’ He quietens the dog who is now licking my hand.

‘I’m so sorry, I feel like an idiot. I didn’t know what was going on there for a second, I was terrified,’ I tell him feeling rather foolish.

‘Don’t worry, I have you, you’re safe with me. It’s all okay. But what are you doing down here in the first place?’ He offers me his warm hand.

‘I was just exploring for my article,’ I say as I reach up to take it and again that bolt of electricity runs up my arm and through my entire body. This is nonsense, I think as I finally get to my feet and brush myself down, careful on my sore ankle. ‘I saw the door open and I was just curious. I hope I’m not . . .’ I trail off as I realise we are still holding hands. I pull my hand free.

‘Sure your ankle is okay?’ Dan still looks more than concerned in the dim light.

‘No, I’m fine, honestly.’ Tenderly, I put my full weight on it. ‘Just bruised I’d say.’

‘That’s good, I was down here trying to fix the lock on the bloody gate again.’ He holds the screwdriver in the air, the same one he had at dinner. ‘Then Red ran off, must have sensed you. I swear Red has an agenda. He keeps knocking you over.’ Red, no doubt hearing his name, barks again. ‘I’d run and get you ice if we weren’t locked in,’ he says with a curl of his lip.

‘W-what? W-what do you mean locked in?’ I stare at him.

‘Gate shut. We’re stuck. I don’t know another way to say it,’ Dan says.

‘Stuck? Stuck, how?’ Then, as my eyes start to adjust further, I see Dan is not wearing a top. He is naked from the waist up. His dark chest hair and his well-defined biceps on full display. The shine of sweat on his bare skin. He’s wearing his low-slung jeans held up with that leather belt with the brass buckle. That feeling washes over me again, the one where I feel hot and dizzy and completely out of sorts. All I need now is for ‘Lover’ by Taylor Swift to start playing and I’ll start blubbing. I’m a walking cliché!

‘W-why are you half naked?’ I ask in shock at the closeness of his naked skin.

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting visitors. I took off my shirt as it’s the only clean one I have today and I’m on my belly trying to fix the under of the gate. I just went on into the cellar bar for a drink.’

‘What cellar bar?’ I ask.

‘Well, I call it a bar, it’s a tap. A water tap in the cellar.’

‘Oh, right, I’ll – can we call for help? Have you got your phone?’

‘I don’t. And even if I did it wouldn’t connect until we went up those stairs, no coverage down here.’

‘How do we get out?’ I pretend like I care, I really don’t. The shock has subsided. We’ll get out soon, I know that much. This might be the last real time I get to spend talking to Dan Delaney, and even though it’s absolutely none of my business, I still really want to know what happened to his engagement with Denise.

‘We don’t. We spend our lives here. Hallelujah! The fates have aligned. Told ya so.’ Dan claps his hands, and his muscles clench.

‘Stop messing,’ I say.

‘Don’t panic, Terry will be in soon to throw more turf on the fire in the Sweet Orange Room, he knows I’m down here. Follow me.’ Dan takes my hand.

‘What is this cellar used for anyway?’ I try to steady my heartbeat.

‘Nothing nowadays. Well, storing wine and beer kegs, that kinda thing. Years ago it was a gathering area for staff in service to relax in. I’ll show you properly, just need to get into the main room so I can put on the light. We haven’t been able to access it for a few days as the gate keeps sticking. Not ideal with a wedding on the other night and more wine needed! Anyway, head down!’ He jerks my hand and Red barks as I drop my head and the floor underneath becomes much smoother. The heat from Dan’s hand radiates and once again that feeling of being protected flows through me. In all the dates I’ve been on, over two years with Cooper, this kind of chemistry has never happened to me. His fingers flutter and move over mine. Ha, maybe I finally understand what Cooper meant when he said he never felt about me the way he did about Tanya. I also have every intention of calling Cooper Dwight after Christmas and telling him what I think of how he treated me. Then I finally will block his number! Just the thought fills me with strength!

‘Voila!’ Dan lets go of my hand and as he hits a button the sounds of a generator kick in and the lights start to flick on above.

‘Welcome to Castlemoon’s cellar. It’s my absolute favourite part of the castle, truth be told.’ Dan watches me as my eyes widen and I take it all in.

‘You have got to be kidding me!’ To say I cannot believe my eyes would be an understatement. Slowly, I turn three hundred and sixty degrees to take in the magnificence of what I’m seeing. ‘Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any better.’ I gasp, wildly.

The cellar is a perfect circle with unexpected height, exposed brick and nooks and crannies everywhere. Inset into the wall are old steel antique candle holders and a wine-rack mounted on the wall is home to what appears to be hundreds of bottles lying flat. Red tapestries hang on one half of the wall, and kegs and crates are scattered around. There’s a huge open space in the centre where a cobblestone floor spreads out. It’s like someplace the Knights of the Round Table might have gathered for their feasts.

‘Really? Oh, that’s great to hear, so glad you like authentic as much as I do.’ Dan is pleased, and still half naked!

‘Dan, who actually owns this place? I know it’s not my business but I need to speak to them because this is a gold mine! This is where Kate and Jimmy should get married! Feel how warm it is down here? This has romance seeping out of it and it’s smaller and easier to manage. It’s so much more compact than the Heart Ballroom, yet you still get married in the castle and have all those blessings of a long-term marriage,’ I explode with elation.

Dan says nothing, just leans back against the brick wall. His mouth falls open, he scratches his stubble.

‘At your service,’ he says finally, extending his hand.

‘Huh?’ I crinkle my nose in confusion.

‘Lord Dan Delaney. Owner of Castlemoon. How can I be of service?’

My mouth drops open in shock. ‘Say what?’ I lean so far into him I almost fall over.

‘Watch yourself.’ He puts a strong arm out to steady me. ‘I mean I’d hoped you were falling for me but . . .’ But his eyes hold mine and I can see he’s curious to see my reaction to this bombshell. I mean I knew he worked here but I did not realise he was the owner!

‘Y-you own the castle? You own Castlemoon?’ I almost choke on the question.

‘I do.’ He nods.

‘Esther and Michael are . . .’

‘My parents, yes,’ Dan says, oh so matter-of-factly, watching me oh so carefully.

‘Oh my God,’ I gasp. ‘I love them so much!’ I clutch my heart.

‘I was going to tell you . . . in Heartwell Hall.’ The smallest flicker of a smile at the edge of his mouth. ‘But, well, ya know.’

‘Well . . .’ I compose myself. ‘You have a beautiful . . . castle.’ I laugh at the absurdity of my words.

‘And cellar by all accounts. Please, tell me more?’

I try to pretend that I’m not as shocked as I am. I am talking to a lord. I kissed a lord! He is so humble. I can hardly wait to get out of here and call Jill. But I turn to him and focus on his cellar.

‘Oh what I wouldn’t do to turn this cellar into a wedding venue.’ I watch him now reaching for his white shirt draped over a barrel, the sinew of muscles rippling down his bare arms as he slips an arm into each sleeve and pulls on his shirt. He lets it hangs open. Don’t button it up, I think.

‘How on earth would a bride and groom dance on a cobbled floor?’ he questions me.

‘Eh, we cover it with a parquet flooring.’

‘How much would that cost?’

‘Not that much.’ I know that for a fact. I had Jill’s barn floor in the outhouse covered for a very reasonable amount.

‘There’s feck all light?’ Dan’s still staring at me but I can see his mind is whirring, his eyes narrow, his brow furrows.

‘Oh this isn’t the place for some gawdy fluorescent light! This is hundreds of white fairy lights all the way. What says romance more than candlelight and roses? This is a unique wedding venue, perhaps the most unique I’ve ever seen in all my years at the magazine. This could be out of this world. Magical. Affordable,’ I say fiercely with total belief in my words.

‘So let’s just say you did ever want to get married, which, by the way, I recall you saying you weren’t the marrying type. Are you telling me you could see yourself getting married down here?’ The way Dan asks me make me feel like he trusts my opinion – there is a respect in his voice I don’t hear often enough in my job back in New York.

‘Hypothetically, absolutely!’ I tell him with glee.

‘This is what you do, of course. No wonder you’re writing an article for a big New York publication, you’ve an amazing eye.’

‘It’s a gold mine, Dan.’ I glance up. Though we are underground, the roof is high. ‘It’s your gold mine!’ I shake my head still trying to register His Lordship’s news.

‘Hmmm.’ Then he looks away, begins to close his shirt, fastening one slow button at a time. ‘Food for thought alright. Uh-huh. Speaking of food, hungry?’ he asks suddenly, changing the subject very abruptly and moving across the cellar with purpose.

‘Em, um, am I – eh, a lot actually, I came down for dinner,’ I remember, more than surprised at the hastily shut down conversation.

‘I’ve some fruit? Yogurt?’ He offers me.

‘Eh, lovely.’ I wince as I take a step towards him on my ankle.

‘Sit down. Let me look at that?’ Dan folds over.

‘No, please, don’t fuss. It’s fine,’ I protest.

Dan ignores me and turns a barrel on its side for me to sit on. I’m still staring at him, he’s hard to read right now.

‘It’s empty, I’m not that strong. Will ya just sit down, please?’ he says, mistaking my curious stare.

I oblige as he moves behind a partition and returns with two bowls.

‘My parents always believed in snacking on fruit during the day. Like a lot of their traditions, I’ve adopted this one. Terry thinks it’s a bit girly.’ Dan laughs and hands me a bowl with a spoon in it as he dips his own spoon and takes a bite. I decide to give him some space and go with the change of subject.

‘They really are wonderful, inspiring people,’ I tell him and my heart aches that his mother is ill.

‘They are.’ He looks thoughtful as that sadness creeps over him again. Now I know why – he really has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wish I could rescue him.

‘Thank you.’ I need something to distract him, I think as I chew a creamy mouthful. ‘Unfortunately, I got zero parental traditions apart from the run-a-mile-from-marriage one. I didn’t have an easy childhood.’ Unintentionally I open up to him and immediately he looks at me sympathetically.

‘Tough going?’ His lip curls.

‘Ahh, nothing like millions of other kids didn’t experience but it was hard. Both good people but the wrong partnership, disastrous marriage,’ I tell him. To my utter horror, a knot tightens in my stomach. There’s a lump in my throat and I’m finding it hard to swallow the fruit. It’s as if Dan hears the slight shake in my voice.

‘And that’s it, isn’t it?’ He pulls out a small crate and sits on it, nearer to me. ‘It’s what I’ve always said, it’s why I believe there are two people made for each other. It’s what I believe in.’ He raises his spoon as his voice is tinged with support. ‘Love needs to be a partnership. I was lucky enough to witness that with my parents, but also unlucky enough, if you know what I mean?’

‘No, what do you mean?’ I ask in confusion, composing myself, swallowing that emotion as I scoop another spoonful up and taste the sweetest blueberries.

‘Well, I think Esther and Michael are the reason I haven’t gotten married yet. I put their marriage on a pedestal. They had the perfect marriage, Maggie, they gave us the most wonderful childhood and it’s scary to me to settle for anything less. It was true love.’ Dan holds his spoon aloft. ‘That got way deeper than I intended.’

‘Me too, don’t worry, I totally get it. Like I said, my parents’ marriage was so bad, I’m terrified of it.’

‘We’re a right pair.’ Dan gives a small laugh. ‘You don’t want to get married because you’re afraid it will be a disaster, I don’t want to get married because I’m afraid it won’t live up to my great expectations.’

We let that fester as we eat our fruit together. I’ve never enjoyed a comfortable silence the way I do with him. Being with Dan Delaney feels effortless.

‘You were born here, in Heartwell?’ I ask, before finishing my yogurt and clutching my bowl.

‘Yes, and you? New York?’ His soft lilting voice remains music to my ears.

‘No. At sea. Another of my insecurities, I have no idea where I belong.’ I perform a swimming action, extending my free arm out over my head and back.

‘At sea? Wow, that’s unusual alright, but New York is home now, no?’ He runs a finger around his bowl, licks it. ‘It’s beautiful in New York at Christmas. It’s like one big movie scene.’

‘You’ve been to New York? Many times?’

‘Just once, wasn’t the best trip for various reasons although I – ah, never mind it’s a long story . . .’ He stops, like something difficult has just entered his mind, I feel it in his energy again, and I just want to squeeze him.

‘It is home now and, well, for the last twenty-something years but it’s just never felt that way.’ I open up to him again, it just feels so natural.

He takes a moment before he answers me. ‘That’s tough.’ He listens so intently to me I realise. ‘But the job, magazine writer, you love that?’

‘I love to write, and I love to write about love. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But I think what I’d really like is to be my own boss,’ I tell him honestly.

‘I see. Are your parents in New York now?’ He asks me questions a lot which I love about him, just feels like he really wants to get to know me.

‘My mom, Dorothy, is. My dad, Jim, lives in Florida. I was telling you my dad’s great-great-grandparents came from Ireland and you’re right, I am that American that really wants to do my heritage tree, but it’s always been a bit awkward with my mom. She was so hurt by my dad’s affair, we kind of avoided all talk of him.’

‘Understandably,’ he says nodding.

‘But as soon as I landed, I just felt connected to the place, it was odd. Really odd actually.’ I watch him, that unruly hair flopping back down over his sharp features.

‘So you’ve no idea where you belong,’ he repeats almost to himself. He lets the words hang in the air of the cellar under Castlemoon. ‘Is there not a freedom in that though?’

‘How do you mean?’ I ask.

‘Well you can travel, see the world. There are no expectations of where you have to settle?’ Those undeniably sexy eyes are wide.

‘You know what, Dan, I wish I was that person. Someone who just packed a bag, slung it over their shoulder and hit the road, but I’m just not. I always think I’m like a dolphin, I just haven’t found my ocean.’

‘I love that analogy. As you now know, my ocean was written in the stars. But it isn’t what it appears, Maggie. I inherited a title that’s in name only and I couldn’t leave Heartwell village even if I wanted to. I can’t let this place go, but I’m not sure I can keep it going for much longer either.’

Suddenly, I realise I have to tell him about Frederick. I have to tell him what I’ve been asked to do! I have to tell him that I know he’s selling the castle and that he’s in debt.

‘Dan, I –’ I stand up carefully now too, step in front of him. ‘I need to tell . . .’

‘Hellloooooooooooooo?’ A booming voice makes us both jump.

‘What on earth!’ I clutch Dan’s arm tightly, his bicep hard under my fingers.

‘Terry!’ Dan laughs, holding his hand up. ‘Told you he knew I was down here. It’s not the first time one of us has got stuck, but I actually forgot we were locked in here for a second.’

I release my grip and Dan picks up the bowls.

‘What did you want to say?’ he asks.

‘Helllooooooooooooooahhhhh?’ The booming voice again.

‘Another time.’ I shrug. ‘Can we talk later? How many Terry’s are there? I’ve heard his name mentioned so many times I’m curious to know what he does around here?’ I can’t just blurt it all out now, we need alone time.

‘Just the one, but one Terry is all any village needs. And he does everything. He’s my right hand man. He can do it all, can Terry and he’s due a baby any day now so fatherhood is his new priority.’

‘Oh, how lovely.’ I smile, immediately think of my poor Jill.

‘Yeah Giselle, who owns the bookshop, Cosy Reads, is Terry’s girlfriend.’ Dan laughs and stands up. ‘Giselle and Terry are getting married after their baby is born, you could talk to them for your article?’

‘My God, do you guys all just marry one another around here?’

‘Pretty much. Although Giselle is from France – she came here for the oyster festival in 2019 and she never left.’

‘Oh, yes, I saw her at Aisling and Aaron’s wedding!’ I recall her cool maternity outfit now and white side hat with the red pumps.

‘Boy, has she a fascinating story to tell about childhood. She was adopted by her mother’s sister. By all accounts their wedding will be filled with family dramas. Her birth mother and her adopted mother won’t have seen each other face to face in thirty years! Imagine. Nice socks by the way,’ Dan says, extending his hand for me to take. ‘Here, careful on that ankle as you walk, lean on me.’

I look down to my feet. Oh Lord! In the hurry of getting ready I’ve pulled on two odd socks, one black and one white.

‘Oh great!’ But I laugh and, unusually, I’m not embarrassed. ‘That sounds like one drama filled wedding.’

‘Block yer ears.’

I place a hand over both ears, press my palms in.

‘Terrrrrryyyyyy. Feckin’ gate’s jammed shut again,’ Dan hollers, his own hands cupped on either side of his mouth.

Dan reaches back and wraps a protective arm around my shoulder. He holds me tight and that protected feeling that I’ve never had before is back. I feel utterly safe and it’s alien but wonderful. I duck again as we head back through the cellar. When we reach the gate, the biggest man I’ve ever seen in my life is standing there with the gate literally lifted up on his left shoulder. I almost giggle.

‘Well, you’ll never guess what I just found in the . . .’ Terry stops immediately when he sees me. ‘Oh good evening, please pardon me. I didn’t know His Lordship had company.’ He is politeness personified.

Dan releases my hand, but not before Terry clocks it and we go back up the winding stairs into the delicious heat of the Sweet Orange Room to the blazing turf fire that Terry has attended to. It’s a smell I could inhale forever. In fact, I wish I could stay here forever.

But I can’t.

NINETEEN

‘That’s down for the day.’ Dan motions towards the snow still pelting down outside. ‘I need to get into the village, T. Faith is getting closer.’

‘Shall I bring the jeep around for you?’ Terry asks. ‘We’re going to need more turf in case we get snowed in like last year?’

‘Good idea.’ Dan peers out the window.

‘I do apologise, we still have not made an acquaintance.’ Terry’s voice is surprisingly upper-class English, very posh, like Hugh Grant only deeper. Standing at about six-foot-five, I’m guessing, he has a thick black beard that covers his entire neck and black thick rimmed glasses, and is in khaki paint-splattered overalls and black wellington boots. Why I assumed he was Heartwell born I have no idea. Seems a lot of Heartwell folk aren’t from Heartwell originally at all.

‘Maggie Grace, lovely to meet you.’ I take his huge, hot hand.

‘Pull the jeep right up to the front door, please. There is more heavy snow up in those skies there too,’ Dan says.

‘I need to talk to you about the village meeting . . .’ Terry starts.

Dan jumps in.

‘Can it wait? Because this can’t.’ Dan picks up a newspaper scattered on one of the tables.

‘Of course.’ Terry turns to me. ‘It was my great pleasure, Miss Maggie.’ Terry reaches for my hand and kisses it.

‘Well now, I do feel all Downton Abbey.’ Now, I do giggle.

‘I tend to apply the old-fashioned traditions. Courtesy, a gesture of respect and admiration are traits I think the world should hold onto and needs more of. My good lady, Giselle, agrees,’ Terry says but with a glint of humour in his eye.

‘Maggie, go get your shoes and coat on and I’ll meet you at the front door,’ Dan instructs me.

‘What? Where are we going?’ I’m confused.

‘To help you find those Irish great-great-grandparents.’ Dan laughs. ‘We’ll catch Marina before she closes up the genealogy centre for the day. She’s the best in the business, no website can compare. People travel from all over to see her but we need to hurry, she leaves to go home to Berlin for Christmas soon.’

‘Are you sure?’ I clench my fists; I’m thrilled.

‘Course I am, now hurry.’ Dan shoos me on.

‘Is Marina finally off to meet this online man?’ Terry grunts.

‘So I hear, all the girls are terrified she’s being catfished . . .’ Dan’s voice trails off as, without another second’s hesitation, I run to the fireplace and grab my boots. Feeling like Cinderella, I take the staircase two at a time in my stockinged feet, hopping skilfully over the last step.

All I can think about as I unlock my bedroom door is the fact that Dan owns this castle. I have to tell him what I know.

I grab my green wool coat that is still damp after the walk home in the snow and wriggle my feet into my running shoes. Quickly, I pull my comb through my hair and dab on a bit of blusher. Then I shut the door with a click and rush back down the grand staircase. As I pass reception, Mary is there.

‘Maggie, lovey,’ Mary greets me. A young man and woman are standing in front of her with a baby in a pram.

‘Hi, Mary.’ I wave as I jog past.

I hear Mary apologising to the couple and the woman say, ‘But it’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to be married in,’ and the man say, ‘But that’s way over our budget.’

At the castle door, Dan is waiting for me, now dressed in his wax jacket and black flat cap, his head low, hands thrust deep into his pockets. I feel so protective of him all of a sudden. He’s taken on a castle that he can’t keep going. It must be absolutely heartbreaking for him, especially to have to sell it to someone like Frederick, even if Amanda assured me he is keeping it exactly as it is, staff included. He’s deep in conversation with Terry but the chat finishes abruptly as I step in beside the two of them.

‘After you,’ Terry says to me and holds the heavy castle door back.

‘Thank you, Terry.’ I pull on my leather gloves, my fingers already tingling at the thoughts of sitting close beside Dan in his jeep. But I feel a little sick at the thoughts of telling him about my first-hand knowledge of the sale.

‘I’ll take that to the village for Joe to fix too,’ Terry calls after us and Dan seems to raise a thumb in understanding as my running shoes crunch over the gravel. Ducking to avoid the snowy sleet, I haul myself up into Dan’s battered jeep.

‘She’s seen better days.’ Dan hops in. He moves papers off the dashboard. ‘Not much better myself.’

‘Ah, I think you’re holding up alright.’ Stop, I chastise myself. Stop flirting with him. Although I have to admit, it feels fantastic to flirt so unashamedly. I watch the wipers slosh thick white snow from side to side as I buckle up.

‘A compliment? From the sassy American? Well I never,’ Dan tells me as he checks his rear-view mirror and we both laugh.

‘It’s so funny that your impression of me is sassy. I’m literally the quietest person ever, Dan, I—’

‘You don’t say?’ He butts in, looks genuinely shocked as his dark eyes zip from the road to me and back again and his feet change the pedals. ‘Because I’m the exact same. I’m so non-confrontational. Ask anyone in the village. Drives Terry round the twist. He’s always stepping in to fight my battles. But I’ve had the week from hell. Ah, make that a year of hell, Maggie. I don’t admit that to many.’

‘I know . . . I . . .’ Here goes. I clench my fists.

‘Hey, it’s too beautiful an evening to do anything but count our blessings, right? It’s Christmas, look out your window. Look at all this beauty around us.’

‘I do have something I want to talk to you about, regarding my work but . . . it can wait.’ I sit back and do as he says. Thick snow falls, covering the castle grounds for as far as I can see. It’s peaceful, so calm. It’s a million miles away from the festive madness of Manhattan. I can’t have this conversation while he’s driving. I’ll tell him later as soon as we pull back into Castlemoon. I’ll be one hundred percent honest with him then.

‘So, do you have siblings?’ I want to know everything I can about Dan before I have to leave, to add to my memory. To add to my perfect memories of this perfect place.

‘One older brother, he’s married now but he took off years ago, didn’t want to stay here. But sometimes you just have to do the right thing in life, don’t you? Or maybe fate has it all mapped out?’ He does that cheeky wink at me then he turns the jeep past the pub and honks and waves at Gráinne and a blond guy crossing the road. ‘How’rya Gráinne!’ he calls out the window. ‘Uh-oh, Clare is not going to like that!’ he says through gritted teeth as I’m also waving madly.

‘Why? Who’s that?’ I ask.

‘Jack Traynor.’

‘Jack? Clare’s ex?’ I gasp, recalling the conversation we had in the library.

‘How did you know that?’ Dan’s wide eyes dart to me

‘It’s a very chatty village. Women talk,’ I add, that feeling of wanting to belong here becoming stronger by the day.

‘Clare and Gráinne fell out over Jack Traynor years ago. He was dating Gráinne first. He’s not a bad lad, just a bit of a player. He’s an incredible showjumper, a lot say he’ll ride for Ireland one day.’

‘I think Clare wants him back,’ I say. Once again, I feel like I know them all.

‘Ah sure, let fate play her card,’ he says almost whimsically.

‘So, you really do believe in fate, don’t you?’ I’m staring hard at his side profile, taking in the perfect dimensions of his face.

‘I do.’ He turns to look at me and quickly I move my head back, staring straight ahead. ‘It’s been a real thing in the folklore of my life as you now know, having talked to my folks. I can’t dispute those facts. Had my mother not got a job at Castlemoon, and walked into the Sweet Orange Room with my father’s post that very night he sat with his head in his hands, at the end of his tether, I wouldn’t be here never mind the castle.’

‘I wish I could be convinced,’ I say softly. ‘I wouldn’t stress so much about my life. If I knew there was a plan, that it was all mapped out, meant to be.’

‘The legend of Castlemoon is real but I’ll let you be, I won’t try influence your story. I don’t need to.’ Dan drums his long fingers on his left hand on the gear stick.

‘You do know I’m dying to ask about Denise right now. It’s the writer in me.’ It seems the perfect time to ask, while he’s on about fate.

‘Aha, I walked into that one. Well, sometimes fate can work in the opposite way. It protected me. She was pretending to love me when all she really loved was the idea of being a Lady, in name.’ He indicates, checks his wing mirror. ‘She pretended to have the same interests I have which, I won’t lie to you, are mainly the castle, the village and my dog.’ A side glance to me again. ‘But when she realised that Castlemoon is only rich in its very being, she ran a mile.’

‘I’m sorry. Really sorry. No wonder you find it hard to trust,’ I sympathise.

‘You?’ He steers the wheel with the palm of his hand, the wipers move the snowfall.

‘Cooper Dwight. Two years. I thought I was in love with him . . .’ I want to say but now I’ve met you I don’t know what that was! ‘But when he dumped me it was how he did it – he said he’d fallen in love with this girl, Tanya. They worked together and he said he loved her in a way he’d never loved me. It cut me. Really deep. Now though, I realise it was the way he did it more than the fact it was.’

‘Ouch.’ He makes that heart clutching move again he likes to do.

‘Funny thing is, I hadn’t seen him in two years and a few days ago, by complete coincidence, he knocks on the door of the house I have a room in to deliver something and asks me to unblock him so he can text me, tells me he’s single now. I never blocked him, he never even tried once to text me. He’s a liar.’

‘Sounds like a prick.’ Dan’s hands grip the wheel now and I see the white of his knuckles.

‘Yeah.’ I nod. ‘But I have a plan now to text him a few home truths, then block him.’

‘You know what I do when things like that happen to me? When a past life sounds complicated in my head?’ Dan pulls up at a red light, his leg stretched out as he hits the brake. He’s definitely changing the subject for me.

‘What?’ I sigh but only slightly.

‘I turn off the complications in my mind and listen to music.’

Dan turns the dial and the familiar soft beats of ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! play out. Dan drums those long fingers on the steering wheel as he hums along. I feel the weight of happiness wash over me. The connection with George Michael’s lyrics.

Dan sings them under his breath. Ain’t that the truth, I think, listening to the line about giving your heart away as we drive on through Heartwell village, past Cosy Reads and the library, past the organic market and the pub, past the post office, and just before we reach Heartwell Hall, Dan pulls the jeep up outside a small cream brick building to the side. But he doesn’t kill the engine.

‘Here you go. I’ve a few errands to run that Terry reminded me of when you were getting your coat but Marina is expecting you.’ He revs the engine gently.

‘Oh? You’re not coming in?’ My disappointment that he’s leaving rings through in my voice.

‘I’ll be back shortly, I’ve a bit of business at Heartwell Hall first.’ And with that I step out and he drives away again, his aura lingering all over me. What is it about him? I ask myself for the umpteenth time. It’s how I feel when I’m with him, I recognise as a large group of carol singers set up in the square. He makes me feel good. He makes me feel so alive. He makes me feel confident and I’ve never felt that way before, I think. Plus, I’ve never been as physically attracted to a man as I am to him. Ever.

‘Oh, this is getting heavier. I don’t ever want to leave him but I have to!’ I mutter before I push open the door and walk in.

* * *

Two hours later, in the genealogy archives room, I’m utterly mesmerised as I sit at an old school desk, complete with a disused inkwell. I’m still scanning the marriages and deaths in Dublin from the last hundred and fifty years with the Grace name. My phone beeps in my pocket. I glance and it’s a message from Jill. I slide it onto silent mode – I can read it later.

‘More water.’ Marina, a shapely woman in her thirties with a soft German accent and a wonderful warmness to her, puts the jug and a paper cup in front of me.

‘Thanks, Marina. God, it’s fascinating, isn’t it?’ I heave, winding my hair up into a top knot and securing it with an elastic band I’ve just found on the desk.

‘Totally,’ she agrees. ‘So I also found this, a birth certificate in Holles Street Hospital up in Dublin for a John Grace in 1879. I’d be pretty sure this is your great-great-grandfather, and this is his death certificate in Dublin in 1899.’

‘Stop! Oh, no way? Oh, he was so young? Too young to have a family surely?’ I fight for a breath, I’m so excited.

‘Four children, two sets of twins, I see. People married young in those days and with no contraception, well, you know yourself.’ Marina winks as she sits in beside me and begins clicking through documents, black and white slides rush past. ‘See, now I have the family. Look here? Tom Grace, Noel Grace, Brian Grace, Barry Grace, Phyllis Grace, Helena Grace, Mark Grace, Mandy Grace! John! John Grace.’ Marina’s nose is almost touching the screen. ‘Let me delve deeper . . .’ Marina hits various keys expertly.

‘Oh, this is wonderful, thank you.’ Biting my bottom lip, I feel strangely emotional about this whole thing. ‘I mean I aways knew I had Irish ancestors but seeing it in black and white is a whole different experience.’

‘So, we have a birth registered in Boston, a Lawrence Grace. Parents: John and Patricia Grace; and I see a birth in New York, a John Grace, parents: Lawrence Grace and Mary Grace.’

‘What was the date of birth?’ My hands shake as slowly I mouth my dad’s birthday at the same time Marina says it.

‘Oh my God.’ I flop back. ‘That’s him, that’s my dad’s birthday!’

‘Well now, that was quick!’ Marina clicks print and the printer whirrs to life, spitting out one of the most precious documents I could ever have and a sense of belonging I never knew I was actually craving. She hands me the page as I see Dan’s jeep pull up outside. Darkness has fallen now.

‘Anyway, I’ll need to search for your great-great-grandmother after the holidays.’ Marina stands up, tidies the desk. ‘I’m finally meeting Johan, the man I’ve been dating for a year.’

‘So I hear,’ I tell her.

‘We keep missing each other. You like to see?’

I’m nodding as I watch Dan hop down from the jeep. Marina brings up a photo on her phone of a handsome dark-skinned man in a tuxedo holding a glass of champagne.

‘This is Johan,’ Marina says with a goofy grin on her face, twirls her nose ring.

‘He’s gorgeous,’ I say as Dan swaggers on up the pathway. Just the way he walks makes me smile.

‘You must have made quite an impression on our Dan.’ Marina smirks, watching me watching him.

‘You think so?’ I ask her, clutching the page to my chest like it’s a precious diamond.

‘I do, he never takes a personal interest in the guests like this. You’re lucky, he’s quite the catch.’ Marina pats my leg. ‘Lady Grace has a nice ring to it, no?’

‘Hardly! I leave . . . in a few days so it can’t become a thing,’ I tell her, trying to sound far more matter of fact than I really feel.

‘Love always finds a way. I have been in love with Johan for over a year, we have never met. I will finally get to meet him on Christmas Eve. I know Giselle thinks he does not exist. She is a good friend, but I know she is mistaken.’

‘I’m sure she is. Just be careful. You seem like a smart woman.’ I put my hand on Marina’s.

‘So do you.’

‘I like Dan, Marina, a lot,’ I tell her. ‘An awful lot.’

‘Tell him,’ Marina urges as we both watch him get closer to the door.

‘I can’t . . .’ I whisper, ‘there’s no point.’

TWENTY

‘How are ye getting on?’ I hold up the page and Dan seems to read my face with a big grin. My own smile is as wide as the moon.

‘Oh, Dan, thank you,’ I gush.

‘No! Hold on a moment. You found something already?’ His face lights up.

‘A bit of a chat, then a few click-click-clicks and we were in,’ Marina says.

‘My great-great-grandparents, paternal side, born in Ringsend in Dublin 4 in 1879.’

‘Seriously?’ Dan steps forward, carefully takes the paper off me and his eyes pore over it.

‘We need to go to the maternal side next, we did not get to that today. Maggie was telling me about Dorothy, her mother, the Italian baker. I’m fascinated already,’ Marina tells him as I pull my phone out to check it, remembering I silenced it after Jill’s unread text. I still haven’t sent Frederick’s report. I’m not surprised to see a lot of missed calls and text messages from him too. Then, in my hand, it rings again. Frederick Macken’s cell number flashes up on my screen. Dan’s head is still bent, poring over the documents. I dart to one side.

‘I better take this outside, it’s work. Afternoon in New York. Thank you so much, Marina, this is life changing for me, I didn’t know how badly I needed to do this. I had no idea how much it was going to mean to me to begin to find out where I’m actually from. Of course it was all going to start here in Heartwell, in a village I fell in love with at first sight. You have no idea. Please send the bill to my email I gave you?’ I slide the call answer across. ‘One moment please.’ I hit the mute button.

‘Oh, yes, I do. I came here from Berlin to find answers about my ancestors and I never left. Heartwell is a place for everyone, if you seek solace, community and a quiet way of life. That’s in our blood. That goes way back. That part is untraceable. No fee. It’s on me. Any friend of Dan’s is a friend of mine.’ Marina clicks off the computer, the screen goes black.

‘I’m overwhelmed, to be honest. Thank you again and I hope you have the best Christmas with Johan,’ I say tenderly.

‘Ah, thanks Maro,’ I hear Dan say, lifting my coat from the back of the chair and draping it over his arm.

‘Hi, it’s me, sorry about that. I was doing research in the local village . . .’

‘I got your email. Did you find the book yet? Where is your report? It was to be filed last night. I need it. What have you found? This deal is ready to go through. We’re down to the wire. Friday is D-Day. Tomorrow is Friday!’ Frederick is really angry and I feel like a little school kid as Dan holds the door open for me.

‘It’s still pending in my outbox, the WIFI’s been sketchy,’ I say quietly, covering my mouth with my hand. I’m biding as much time as I can so the deadline will run out and Frederick can’t override my promotion, or send Salma over here.

‘Did you manage to get your hands on that book or not?’ he repeats himself like a broken record.

‘I’m afraid not, but I . . . have other stuff.’ I turn my back on the jeep as snow starts to fall again and the carol singers begin to sing ‘Jingle Bells’.

‘Not good enough. File what you have right now. Find an internet café, you aren’t in the outback!’ The line goes dead.

‘That sounded serious?’ Dan says as I climb back into the warmth of his jeep.

‘Work.’ I give a quick roll of my eyes. I need to tell him now. ‘Dan—’

‘You must be still hungry, you only had a fruit bowl and no dinner, so I took the liberty of stopping off at the Teapot Café and got us these. Betsy’s just taken them out of the oven.’ Dan climbs in the driver’s side and hands me a box before I can decide how to begin.

I open the brown box to reveal two small foil-wrapped parcels and two hot chocolates.

‘Turkey and cranberry mini puff pastry pies. She only does them for us at Christmas, they are out of this world,’ Dan tells me, with a lick of his lips.

‘This is so thoughtful of you and they sound delicious. I am famished.’ Carefully, I hand him a hot chocolate which he puts in his cup holder and I hand over a pie wrapped in tinfoil.

I unravel the tinfoil half way down and take a bite, ‘Oh, wow, oh yum!’ I concur, the flavours erupting in my mouth – it’s like Christmas dinner in pie.

‘Right?’ He’s driving with one hand, eating with the other. I can’t tell him now, I will wait until we pull up to the castle door and park the jeep. I’m one hundred percent telling him then. I’m not sure how he will react, but I need to be honest with him before I leave.

‘These are too good to keep to just the café! You need to get Betsy up to the castle and sell these. A Christmas market on the grounds would bring so much passing trade,’ I tell him, settling back into my seat as we drive through the cosy village.

‘Your ideas are unreal. Oh, look, that’s Heartwell primary, where I went to school, and there’s the secondary school right next door.’ Dan laughs pointing out the window. ‘Been there since 1908.’

‘That’s incredible. I went to twelve different schools.’ I twist my pie to bite up the edge.

Dan turns to me. ‘My God, Maggie, I bet that was tough. You didn’t have it easy.’ We are stopped at the crossing, the same one I stopped at just two nights ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. The snow is coming down heavier, I notice, almost a blizzard. Keep coming, I think, keep coming. Let’s see you, Faith. Ground my flight.

‘It was actually.’ I sip the warm chocolate. Dan’s phone beeps in the holder and he leans forward to read it. He doesn’t answer me but he pulls up outside Cosy Reads.

‘You said you wanted to browse the bookshop? I have to get back, I’m afraid, something else has just come up. Enjoy, maybe . . . maybe I’ll see you later? I’d like to?’ he says, but his eyes dart and he has that worried look on his face again.

‘Oh? Right . . . em, sure.’ I sit up. I wanted to talk to him but instead I unclick my seatbelt.

‘Sorry.’ His brown eyes linger on me.

‘Don’t be silly, you’ve work to do, I’ve taken up enough of your time today, that’s fine.’ I pick up my paper cup and open the door, ‘I’m very happy to spend an hour in here. Maybe we can talk later?’ He nods quickly and I get out as he speeds away fast. I pull my phone out and open the texts. Ten of them. All from Jill. All saying the same thing.

‘Maggie, can you call me back immediately!’ Followed by ten scared faced emojis.

‘W-what?’ I say to myself and immediately dial Jill’s number back, turning away from Cosy Reads and heading into the green area of the square across from the crowd gathered around the carol singers. I dry a bench with the most shelter from the snow with a tissue from my pocket and plonk down on it.

Jill answers after the first ring.

‘There you are!’ Jill cries.

‘Are you alright?’ I pant.

‘Sorry! Yes, I need to see you, like now? Can you switch to FaceTime?’ Jill is panting also.

‘All those texts? All okay? Yes, but I’m outside in the square, it’s snowing. But—’ I flip to FaceTime as Jill’s face appears.

‘Can you talk?’ she gasps, her big blue eyes searching behind me.

‘Yes, I’m in Heartwell. I’m alone, what’s up?’

‘Maggie, I’m pregnant,’ Jill shouts.

I lean so far into the camera my nose hits off the glass, in utter disbelief I shout, ‘W-whaaaaaaat?’

Jill holds a white stick up to the camera. ‘It’s positive.’

‘Jill! Oh my God . . .’ My mouth drops in shock.

‘But I need to do another to make sure and I need you with me.’

‘Of course! I-I will book a flight . . .’ I jump up, my head spinning. ‘I’m coming!’

‘No! No! Here with me on FaceTime, I have to do another test right now! This very second. I need you now!’ Panic jogs around Jill’s shocked face.

‘Okay, take it easy, it’s okay,’ I say just as the carol singers start up again with ‘Carol of the Bells’. ‘I need to get indoors. The snow is getting heavier and the wind is howling, there are carol singers and I can barely hear you. Let me go into the bookshop, it’s right beside me here!’ My head down as I run across the square to Cosy Reads, the melodic voices singing ‘ring Christmas bells’ in harmony fading into the distance as I push the door open. A little bell rings.

‘Hello!’ A woman sits behind the counter reading a hardback book, heavily pregnant in an oversized jumper that’s says ‘I’d Rather Be Reading’.

‘Giselle?’ I pant.

‘Oui?’ she answers in French, sliding her bookmark in, closing her book – What to Expect When You’re Expecting – with curiosity on her face.

‘Sorry, I’m Maggie.’ I pull open the door again and stamp the snow from my running shoes, then step back inside. ‘I saw you at the wedding the other night, I met Terry earlier. I really need somewhere to talk to my friend on FaceTime, she thinks she’s pregnant after three years of trying!’ I wave my phone at her.

Giselle takes one look at me and stands up, her hands cradling her lower back. ‘This way,’ she says.

I follow Giselle through the bookshop and out a small door into a stock room, with piles of boxes stacked.

‘You can take as long as you want.’ Giselle smiles warmly and just before she closes the door, she says, ‘This is my first baby but not my first pregnancy. I have lost three pregnancies.’ She holds my eye, wraps her hands around her huge bump, ‘So I understand.’ Then, she closes the door gently.

‘Okay! I’m here!’ I will have to follow up that conversation with Giselle, but right now, I settle myself on the window ledge, bend my knees, tuck my legs up.

‘Thank you! I’m shaking so badly. Right, I’m going to the bathroom to do another, come with me.’ Jill takes the phone with her, props it up on her sink then disappears. I try to digest this wonderful news all the while saying a silent prayer it’s not a false positive.

‘Ok, three minutes.’ Jill returns, picks the phone back up, and lays the new stick by the positive one, the camera wobbly.

‘I can’t believe it.’ I am a little lost for words.

‘Neither can I? It can’t be right? I know it can’t. Can it?’ She squeezes her cheeks with her fingers.

‘Let’s wait and see. Why did you do a pregnancy test in the first place?’ I probe gently, unsure as to what all this means since they had stopped the IVF after the last unsuccessful round.

‘So before Max left for Lisbon we, well, we were . . . together. I didn’t think about it until this morning when I had to jump of bed and throw up! I’ve felt odd a bit but I put it down to eating so many London curries! I got back into bed but I had to run back and throw up again. Then I remembered feeling queasy in Hyde Park yesterday and in Kensington Gardens when I was talking to you a few days ago.’ Jill paces around and I immediately think how pale I thought she looked on that call. ‘And I remembered the metallic taste in my mouth and how things smelled of mushrooms but when I bent to tie my shoelaces, that’s when I felt the tenderness in my boobs. They were really sore and not like the IVF soreness . . . different.’ Jill barely takes a breath, pink creeping up her cheeks, make-up free and so beautiful.

‘Okay.’ I calmly realise I’ve been holding my own breath.

We just stare at one another down the lens, miles apart but right now fully together in this most important moment.

‘There is every chance this test will be positive too and that you’re pregnant, Jill Lewis-Huberman.’ I say softly, ‘But we need to get you to a doctor too. Do a proper blood test.’

‘It’s probably negative.’ Jill swallows so hard I can actually hear it.

‘Even so, you’ve had one positive so you have to get checked out,’ I repeat.

‘I need to call Max.’ She’s fidgeting so much her head is moving side to side off the screen and back on.

‘Maybe just hang on a little bit, love?’ I say as we both sit in silence until Jill’s phone alarm hollers at us that time is up.

‘I can’t look,’ Jill cries into the phone, her eyes wet, tears streaming now.

‘I can. Hold it up to me, just go get it but don’t look at it.’ I hop off the window ledge and start to pace between the boxes of books.

Jill nods.

I take a full deep breath as Jill props the phone on the sink and hovers her hand over the slim white stick.

‘I’m picking it up,’ Jill calls out as with a shaking hand she lifts the stick.

‘More to the right,’ I direct her. ‘No, my right, little more, that’s it. Hold it steady. Back a bit. A bit more. Try to grab your shaking hand by the wrist, that’s it, well done. Don’t move.’

Then, I see it, the writing on the white stick. Glowing like the shiniest star in the sky. One word. One priceless word: PREGNANT. In bright blue lettering. It jumps out at me on screen. But I read the word again and again and once more for good luck. Jill’s hand is shaking like a leaf despite her gripping it with her other hand.

‘It’s negative, isn’t it?’ she whispers.

‘Jill?’ I say.

‘Maggie?’ Jill opens one blue eye.

‘Jill, it’s positive too!’ Now I can’t control my emotions, tears come flowing down my face.

‘Shut. Up.’ Jill jumps up and turns the stick towards her, stares at it. ‘Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God.’

‘Bre-athe.’ I sob the word.

‘What if they are both false? What if it’s something to do with me stopping the IVF? Some falsehood that going on in my body? Mad, leftover bitchy hormones?’ Jill blurts. ‘What if, Maggie? What if?’ Her wet eyes blaze with hope and fear.

‘We can speculate all we want but I think you’re pregnant, Jill. Now, you need to see a doctor and have that proper pregnancy blood test carried out.’ I smile now as I see real colour flood into her face, so thrilled is she.

‘Isn’t life strange?’ Jill laments, ‘In all the years I’ve dreamt of this moment, and believe you me, I’ve dreamt about this moment a million times. No, a trillion times over. I never thought it would be with me in London and you in a little village in Ireland over FaceTime with twenty copies of What to Expect When You’re Expecting sitting on a shelf over your head!’ Jill throws her head back and laughs and it’s the most beautiful sight for me to see, for us to share.

‘Maybe my article has more truth to it than we could ever imagine, maybe this really is a magical place. Now, go call your lovely husband. Tell him the words you’ve been dying to say for years. Enjoy it,’ I whisper to my best friend as happy tears flow like a river down both our faces.

Now, I just need to find Dan and tell him all I know.

TWENTY-ONE

I browse the bookshelves as Giselle is with a customer. In the corner is a tall glass cabinet. Inside I see a shelf of Claddagh rings and book marks with crystals attached. I see a green Claddagh much like my own and remember that I want to buy one for my mom.

‘Thank you so much, Giselle.’ I stand in front of her as she drops the last of a bundle of festively wrapped books into a bag and a customer takes her leave. The door opens again with a tinkle of the bell. ‘It’s great news for my friend Jill, but I’m so sorry to hear you lost so many . . . that’s awful.’ I simply can’t ignore what Giselle told me.

‘It was awful, so I understand your friend’s pain and now happiness,’ Giselle says.

‘I’d like to buy the green Claddagh ring for my mom back in New York and one of the crystal bookmarks – stick it in a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting too, will you? It’s for Jill.’

Giselle is wrapping my purchases when the bell rings out and the door is flung open.

‘There you are! You’re still here, great!’ Dan fills the small space, panting. ‘I was hoping you hadn’t headed back to the castle, I got . . . I got—’

‘Did everything go okay?’ Giselle says, clear adhesive tape perched between her teeth, looking past me and straight at Dan.

‘—delayed. Yeah, sure. Hey Giselle, how are you doing? How’s the sciatica?’ Dan takes a few steps to the counter, tilts his head at Giselle, genuinely interested.

‘I am good, a little sore, a little heavy but I don’t dare complain,’ she says in her sweet French accent as she tapes the wrapped book.

‘It’s almost six o’ clock and as it’s Christmas week, I was wondering if I can buy you a drink, Maggie?’ Dan asks me, looking more than a little rattled.

‘You okay?’ I ask him.

‘Yup!’ he replies with a clap of his hands.

‘Well then, Dan, your timing is impeccable!’ I tell him.

‘Is Terry still at the hall?’ Giselle asks, handing me my bag and turning the sign on the door from open to closed.

‘Terry’s setting up for the meeting for me. Yes, I need a little break, he’ll be down for you in a few,’ he says but I hear that heaviness and his eyes dip.

‘Well, I’m celebrating some great news! My friend Jill is expecting a baby!’ I wave my phone at him, trying to lift his mood.

‘Excellent. That is gorgeous news. So let’s celebrate that too with a drink too . . . let’s go.’ For a split second, he holds out his hand but then he pulls it back. I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking: I leave soon.

The snow is sleeting a blizzard as we run across the road and into the welcoming Heartwell Lounge and Bar. The place is buzzing. The fire crackles, Christmas revellers are enjoying themselves, pints are being raised and laughter and vibrant chatter fills the air. But as Dan slips out of his wax jacket, I wonder if it’s my imagination or if a sort of hush just fell over the entire pub? I look around, confused.

‘Wine?’ Dan ignores the hush, asking me.

‘S-sure.’ I look around as people stare at us.

‘As you were,’ Dan says to no one in particular and the chatter pipes back up. ‘Bottle of the Saint-Émilion Merlot please, Gráinne,’ Dan orders. ‘Two glasses.’

‘Coming up. Hi Maggie. The snug is free, Dan, if ye want the fire, like? Some privacy?’ Gráinne suggests, drying a glass in her hand, her tone more solemn than I remember it as I return her greeting.

‘See you later, Dan.’ An older man passes them, lifts his cap, replaces it.

‘Shall we move on in?’ Dan slaps a hand on the man’s shoulder but says nothing as I stand close behind him, slightly bewildered but also amazed to feel my heart fluttering again at the proximity of his body.

‘Cheers, Gráinne, take a drink for yerself.’ Dan hands her his credit card as he takes the bottle of wine and an opener from her. I pick up the glasses and I follow him into a tiny room with a wreath on the door.

‘Was that weird?’ I ask him. ‘Did the pub just go terribly quiet?’

‘You’re coming to the céilí tomorrow night, I hope?’ Dan shuts the glass door behind us, ignoring my question. Another open fire crackles brightly, and strings of Christmas lights are draped around the window frame, blinking on and off.

‘The fundraising céilí?’ I tread carefully, knowing I need to talk to him right now about Frederick before we leave this snug. In fact it’s the perfect place to talk to him.

‘That one.’ He extends his arm, twists the corkscrew in the bottle.

‘I bought a ticket from Kate but I don’t know, I still have a whole lot of work to do. I need to talk to you about all that actually, one of the jobs I was asked to do.’

But Dan is busy concentrating, he’s pulling at the stiff cork and then it comes out with a hiss and a pop. Dan examines the cork, smells it. He pours my wine first and now I can really feel the heat, so I remove my sweater and adjust my cotton green long-sleeved T-shirt underneath as the fire throws out a ferocious heat.

‘To us!’ Dan makes a toast and I clink his glass gently. ‘Try it. One of my favourites, let it settle on your palate for a moment.’ So we sip the wine. Dan stares into the open fire, the reflection illuminating his face. I could look at that face forever, I find myself thinking.

But you can’t, I tell myself.

Dan swirls his wine glass, he seems miles away. Here we go, I think, I’ll try again, but before I can speak the door opens and Gráinne pops her head around.

‘Dan, food for ye? You’ll need to eat before the meeting?’

‘I had Betsy’s pie,’ he tells her.

‘Ack, that’s not a dinner, that’s a tiny snack. It’s going to be a long night, you know it is.’ She pulls off her tie-dye bandana. ‘I’m finishing up now too.’

‘Alright,’ he tells her. ‘Still hungry?’ He turns back to me.

‘I am actually,’ I say but more so because I want to stay in this snug alone with him so we can talk in private.

‘Ya fancy anything in particular?’ he asks, rubbing his stubble roughly.

‘Whatever you recommend,’ I say easily, ‘I’m not a fussy eater.’

‘Good to know. Can ya just bring us a basket of warm bread, some cheeses and Jimmy’s green pesto to start?’ Dan smiles at her. ‘You like all those?’ His eyes dart to me.

‘I do, very much.’

‘Coming right back!’ Gráinne tells us.

‘You do not get service like this in New York.’ I cradle the red wine in my hands, cross my legs and balance the glass on my thigh. I could spend the rest of my life, right here, right now. But again, I tell myself, I can’t. I stare out the small round window, at the falling snow, illuminated by the orange glow from the street lamps.

‘You don’t think it’s odd that I spend my life in a tiny village when you come from somewhere as colossal as New York, yet we get on like a house on fire?’ Dan leans forward, I can smell him again, that cologne. Musky, sexy.

‘Not at all.’ I clear my throat as Gráinne returns with a deep bowl of breads, a selection of cheeses and a delicious smelling pesto, puts them all down and leaves the snug again.

‘This looks delicious.’ I put my wine down on the barrel.

‘Allow me to serve you?’

‘Sure.’ I pick my wine back up as Gráinne comes back with four small plates stacked on top of one another.

‘Is she getting a Dan special?’ Gráinne laughs.

‘She is,’ Dan says.

‘Make sure you eat too,’ she tells him with a wag of her finger.

‘Will you be this bossy with Fergus when he returns from Lebanon next week?’ Dan pokes a finger at her.

‘I can hardly wait . . .’ Gráinne shuts her eyes. ‘He’s been very scatty at keeping touch lately! So he better have a bloody ring!’ She snaps them open and both her and Dan laugh.

‘Ya may steer clear of Jack Traynor so,’ Dan says with a tilt of his head.

‘We’re just friends is all. Enjoy, Maggie, see you later, Dan. I’m off to see Marina before she leaves so, I’ll see you up at the hall. I’m praying this Johan romance is for real.’

‘We all are!’ Dan slaps his palm against his forehead.

‘Do you guys really think she’s being catfished?’ I blurt in horror. Again, I have to stop myself from feeling part of this community. I don’t know Marina, I’m just here on a five-day job, it’s none of my business.

‘No, we don’t know . . .’ Gráinne throws concerned eyes at Dan as she leaves again.

I watch Dan set out the four small plates on the big barrel. He breaks the bread into small pieces and places cheese on top, puts them on two plates.

‘It’s like watching an artist at work,’ I tell him, enjoying the time I have to really look at him while he’s deep in concentration before I burst his bubble.

‘I’m a simple man with simple pleasures, I’m afraid. They laugh at me in here sometimes. I’d knock in after a really hard day up above, order a pint of Guinness and a basket of warm bread and butter. Read my book by the fire. That would do me.’

‘Sounds amazing.’ My mouth is watering as I watch Dan now break up the other bread and dip it into the green pesto. ‘What do you like to read?’

‘Autobiographies. I love a true story. You like to read?’

‘Do I. I read all the time . . .’ I have a sudden flashback of my bedside locker and the tower of self-help books. ‘Actually, I lie, I haven’t read anything bar self-help and confidence-building books in so long. I miss actually reading other things.’

‘I have a book for you. Mary Robinson, our first female president. You’ll love it. In fact, there’s a copy in the phone box we can grab, now tuck in,’ he tells me as I pick up some warm bread and cheese and taste, groan in delight.

‘White Stilton Gold?’ I ask him, my hand covering my mouth as I chew.

‘Yes.’ He looks impressed with my knowledge.

‘I know my cheeses. So, tell me something,’ I say, handing a pesto one to him now. It’s a question I have to know the answer to. ‘You told me about Denise, but I’m wondering have you been properly in love before? Like, head over heels?’ I ask, not quite believing my confidence at this question. He just looks at me, his unruly dark hair falling over one eye. Again, I feel my face flush but he is flushing too, his neck a little red.

‘No. I told you I think there is the one for everyone. My parents had it and I’ll never settle until I find it either.’ He says the last few words so slowly and carefully that I stop chewing for a second. He drinks his wine. I swallow.

‘Is this for yer article?’ he asks me now, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

‘No, it’s for me.’ I bite my lip. Steady, I tell myself.

‘But what about you? Were you head over heels in love with that Cooper idiot?’ Dan whispers in this truthful moment and I’m shocked he remembered Cooper’s name.

‘N-no.’ I stumble on the one word but manage to reply honestly.

Then, we look at one another. It’s like a staring competition, neither of us blink.

‘You fascinate me, Maggie. I think, I, well, I know you are leaving . . .’ Dan breaks the silence as he leans forward on his seat, blocks the heat from the burning turf for a moment. ‘But you are so beautiful . . . so fascinating.’

‘Thank you . . . I-I don’t really know what to say, it’s all very overwhelming and thrilling,’ I add, leaning forward too, my mouth dry but I feel wonderful. ‘I just think this is all so mad, so unbelievable, I came here sworn off love for life but you – you’ve changed that somewhat,’ I say with a confident laugh.

‘It’s hard to believe, right? But I just felt this instant connection with you, you know? Like we’d met before? It’s your eyes, they’re unforgettable, your soul was seeping out through them, I was just pulled right in. When you whipped off that woolly hat and your hair tumbled around you my heart leapt out of my chest. This has never happened to me before but you’re leaving me soon, so I don’t think . . .’

He doesn’t think! He doesn’t think. It’s all I can hear.

‘I don’t want to leave here . . . ever,’ I blurt, shocking myself by speaking my truth and leaving myself so vulnerable.

‘So, what are you saying?’ He stares at me.

‘Nothing. I don’t know, I’m just being silly, that’s just it . . .’

‘It’s all so fast, I do know that, but . . .’

‘But?’ I stare back into his expressive eyes, trying desperately to read them, ‘I also have to tell you something about—’

‘Dan?’ Gráinne sticks her head in again, wrapping a scarf around her neck. ‘Sorry. Terry’s on the landline, says your mobile is switched off and it’s urgent. The hall is filling up. Sorry, Maggie, he’s needed.’

I feel dizzy. I still haven’t told him I know he’s sold the castle, nor has he told me. He doesn’t know I am more or less working for Frederick, the man he has sold his castle to. I am suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety as I stand up, all a fluster.

‘I better go. I-I have to get back to work, my deadline has come and gone, so if you’ll excuse me, Dan.’ I almost knock the wine glass off the barrel as I hit against it but I steady it just in time, droplets spill. I grab my coat and sweater in my hands.

‘But wait, please, one second. We didn’t—’ Dan’s eyes are darting to the glass door as all of a sudden Séamus walks into the snug with a slice of pizza perched between his teeth. He steps in and leans on Dan’s shoulder.

‘Not a great time, Séamus man, but are you okay? Gráinne looking after you out there? You need anything?’ Dan says, but again with utter kindness and a warm smile to the older man and I melt once more. This is a man with a truly good heart.

‘We all want you to marry a local lass, not a bloody American!’ Séamus says with a wag of his finger.

‘I’ll marry the woman who takes my breath away,’ Dan says, standing up from his chair to let me out as Gráinne reappears and leads Séamus back out.

‘Terry. Phone!’ She eyeballs Dan.

‘T-thank you for the wine and the f-food,’ I stammer.

‘Most welcome,’ Dan tells me.

Dan holds the door to the snug back for me and I exit the now completely empty bar. There’s not a person in sight. As I depart out into the snowy evening, I wonder what on earth is going on.

TWENTY-TWO

It’s only as I cross the road at the pedestrian crossing and reach for my hat to protect me from the sleeting snow that I realise I’m missing my satchel.

Abruptly, I pat myself down as if I might somehow find it on my person. Then I remember, I left it in the Sweet Orange Room this morning when I saw the door swing open to the cellar. That’s how distracted I am today, I think. I speed up, noticing now how a lot of people are walking briskly through the village square heading into Heartwell Hall to that meeting.

I just feel so discombobulated. I’m so happy for Jill and Max but I’m also so confused about Dan. I really am falling for him. But how can that work? It can’t! We live in different worlds. If it’s heartache I’ve been trying to save myself from by not dating, a long-distance romance with the lord of a crumbling castle who is strikingly charismatic, with chiselled features, is not the way to go

I know I’m only going to get my heart broken again. I’m going to get hurt and ruin my career in the process if my mind is elsewhere. I’ve worked too long and too hard for a fling in the Irish countryside to kill my chances of getting into that feature writers, room, no matter how great a fling it might be. This thought keeps my mind occupied up the tree-lined avenue until I reach Castlemoon. Surprised to see reception empty again, I rush inside to collect my stuff and get my work sent off. A few guests are quietly relaxing, reading books as I make my way over to the chair I sat on by the fire earlier.

‘What the—?’ I do a double, then a triple take. My MacBook, Dictaphone and the Canon camera are gone. All my work! ‘Nooooooo,’ I hiss. ‘Okay, okay, don’t panic, someone’s left it behind reception for safekeeping,’ I tell myself as papers shuffle and heads peer above the pages of books.

An instant dread bites me knowing that I haven’t been emailing the article to myself as I go like usual. The WIFI has been sketchy and I just cleared the Canon by downloading my photographs to my desktop. This can’t be happening. How could I have been this stupid? As if on cue, my phone rings.

It’s Amanda.

‘Oh, come on!’ I groan. There are disgruntled noises from the guests now as the intrusion of my ringing phone is disturbing the peace. I slip out to the lobby.

‘How is the article coming? Still good to submit tomorrow?’ My boss’s tone is blunt and professional. Straight to the point, no pleasantries. ‘And don’t forget I need to see the pictures for quality and approval first and any necessary release forms. Plus, Frederick is on the war path.’

‘Eh, yeah, all good here . . .’ I move down towards reception.

‘I had to stop him booking a flight for Salma, just email him a bloody report, Maggie!’ her tone raised now, sounding a little more stressed.

‘I’m actually in the middle of something for Frederick. Can I call you back in . . .’ I try desperately to get her off the phone, ‘fifteen?’

‘Sure.’ Amanda rings off.

Now where the hell is my stuff? Berating myself that all my work with Aisling and Aaron, Esther and Michael and Kate and Jimmy could be lost. Where could my stuff be? Now everything for my article, not to mention my promotion, hangs in the balance.

‘Mary!’ Draping myself over the desk, I’m so relieved to see the older woman back. ‘Please tell me someone handed you in my MacBook, Dictaphone and a camera?’

‘No, lovey.’ Mary, buttoning up her tweed coat, bends slowly to look under the desk.

‘Seriously?’ I hold my cheeks in my hands, dread swirling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Can you look again?’

‘Nothing has ever been stolen from the castle in the twenty-five years I’ve worked here, lovey, I wouldn’t worry. They’ll turn up,’ Mary tries to reassure me in a calm voice.

‘I am worried! What do I do?’ I cry, my head bent.

‘We’ll retrace your steps,’ Mary tells me. ‘Have ya had a little drinky?’ Mary sniffs.

‘Just some wine, but I know I left my belongings in the Sweet Orange Room earlier!’

‘Ah sure the vino can make us all a little forgetful, I’ll put up a notice in Heartwell Hall. I’m on my way there now, to the emergency village meeting.’

‘But I left them here, I know I did!’ I protest. ‘How could I have been so careless?’ I chastise myself. It’s so unlike me, I’m usually so careful with my things. It’s because all you were thinking about was Dan Delaney, the voice in my head says. In fact, all you’ve really been thinking about since you met him is Dan Delaney. Because you’ve never met anyone quite like Dan Delaney. But he lives in Ireland and you live in New York and it’s hopeless!

‘Sometimes the mind plays tricks on us. I’d be fairly certain you left them in the village, lovey. Let’s go!’ Mary grabs me by the elbow and we move to the castle door.

‘I really hope so, I don’t think so, though.’ Steadfastly, I repeat what I know to be true.

‘It will turn up! Don’t fret, child!’ Mary says, ushering me out of the door before I can even think straight.

We push on through the elements and track back down the driveway and back into Heartwell village. My mind whirrs with the consequences of what it means if my stuff has been stolen. My stomach is like a washing machine as I’m fully panicking now. We retrace my steps back to Marina at the centre. The door is shut so I knock on the window. Marina opens the door.

‘Did I leave anything behind? A laptop? Camera?’ I rush my words.

‘No, sorry, I’ve just cleared up, nothing left here. I won’t make the emergency meeting, Mary. I’m leaving now before the storm comes in. Don’t worry, Maggie, it will turn up. This is Heartwell. Why don’t you pop into the post office, people often hand things in there?’ Marina is buttoning up her coat.

Head down against the driving snow, I see the post office on the corner of the green, its Christmas lights flashing.

‘I’m just going to pop into the pharmacy, lovey, need some painkillers. Then I have to head straight to the village meeting, good luck.’ Mary disappears into the next door.

I take my place in the queue of villagers, wrapped up in hats and scarves, getting last minute Christmas presents weighed and posted off to friends and loved ones.

‘It’s going to be a block of apartments I heard!’ one woman says to another in front of her.

‘Ah now they can’t do that, sure. It’s a listed building.’

‘They won’t tear it down, Lucy! They will just put luxury apartments in it! That’s what I heard!’

‘Nooooooo!’

‘Yessssss!’

‘Well I heard it’s a big conglomerate from New York that’s buying it for a hotel chain,’ someone else who is licking stamps and applying them to a huge pile of cards says from the corner.

‘Let’s hope Dan can answer all our questions!’ another person adds.

‘He better have good answers!’ comes from behind the glass.

When I finally reach the top of the queue my ears are still perked. I say, ‘Hi, I have lost a MacBook and some other items up at Castlemoon. Marina at the genealogy centre says people tend to leave lost and found in here?’ Hopefully I stare at the man behind the glass in a flashing reindeer jumper.

‘Nothing in today but give me your name and phone number on here and I’ll let you know if they turn up.’ He pushes a green form through the gap between us. I scribble down my details as he continues to make the same chit-chat to the lengthening queue.

‘Lar, we’re desperate to get these parcels out before cut-off and Storm Faith does arrive. We have to get going to this village meeting.’ A voice in the queue from behind is greeted with rumbles of agreement.

I leave. The wind has whipped up and the snow is sent flying diagonally across Heartwell village.

It’s blowing a very heavy gale now as I fight against it and cross the square. I’m beyond furious with myself. How will I afford a new place to live if I’m unemployed? I can’t recreate the magic I captured with Aaron and Aisling. Anger bubbles up inside. I know for sure I left my satchel in the Sweet Orange Room. Someone definitely took it.

But who?

TWENTY-THREE

Fretting wildly, breathlessly I rush down through the square past Heartwell Hall towards Castlemoon again. I’m intrigued to see Jimmy in a very animated conversation with two men outside the door. Out of nowhere, my mind replays my night inside with Dan and our kiss. More villagers hurriedly file past me and there is an air of urgency about the place. I take a second to catch my breath, hang back and watch Gráinne and Giselle, deep in conversation, head inside arm in arm.

‘What is going on?’ I whisper as I recognise the bald man who was driving the power hose truck and told me to hug the brambles moving a doorstop. Just before the door shuts, without thinking, I slip in.

At the very back of the hall I find the furthest corner bench and I sit quietly. The noise level is ferocious. People are all talking at once with raised voices. I can’t make out what anyone is saying. Then, I watch as Dan steps out onto the stage. Just in front of the couch we sat on together. I slump further down on the hard bench. A complete hush falls over the hall.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ Dan says as the mic gives feedback and hisses. He takes it out of the stand and holds it in his hand, his shoulders slumped forward.

‘What the hell is going on, Dan?’ A man stands up in the first row.

‘Sit down, Ben. I will explain all,’ Dan says.

‘Is it sold?’ Another yell from the back. ‘Have you sold the castle?’

Oh no, I think. My eyes open wide and I grip the edges of the bench.

‘Tell us the truth, man. That’s all we ask.’ I recognise Aaron.

Jimmy stands up. ‘We deserve to know, pal.’ His voice is kinder.

‘You can’t do this to our village!’ Another raised voice.

Gráinne jumps up. ‘Can everyone stop shouting at him!’ She throws her hands out wide.

‘He needs to be honest with us!’ a woman yells.

Betsy stands up. ‘What do Esther and Michael say? What does this mean to Heartwell? To our tourism? For my café?’

‘If you will all just let me explain?’ Dan shifts his weight from foot to foot, worry etched on his forehead.

Clare stands up now. ‘Did you sell Castlemoon, Dan, yes or no?’

Loud rumblings of ‘answer her’ echo around the hall.

Then I see Terry stand out beside Dan. He raises both hands in the air, brings them down slowly by his sides.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, come on, we’re better than this. Let the lord speak to you all. Let Dan talk. Given all he does for every one of you, has done over the years, have some respect.’ Terry’s calming accent seems to work. Dan throws him a look of relieved thanks. I notice his free hand and the clenched fist.

‘As you all know Castlemoon is struggling. This is not breaking news, people. The hotel is losing money hand over fist. I can’t stop it, no matter how hard I try. And believe you me, I have tried. So, that’s why I’ve called this meeting. Yes, the rumours are somewhat true. You all know I was in New York last week and, yes, there has been an offer to buy Castlemoon . . .’ Dan goes on about no deal being signed just yet but his hands seem to be tied. As I listen, my heart in my mouth, Terry leaves the stage.

The villagers gasp and voices are raised even louder, people stand and everyone talks over one another, hands are waved in the air. It’s loud and chaotic.

‘Knew it!’

‘Told you!’

‘This is our castle!’ someone shouts from the back beside me. It’s deafening in my ear.

‘Calm, calm down, people, please. If – and it’s still an if – Castlemoon is sold, we are assured the new owners will keep it exactly as it is. I’ve made that abundantly clear. We shook on it. There will be no changes at all, except ones for the best. No one will even notice it has changed hands. Nothing will change, you have to trust me. I would never lie to you all. But they can fix the roof, repair the cracks, fix the windows, and make it more affordable for all of you to celebrate weddings, christenings and twenty-first birthdays in your castle. They can save Castlemoon. That’s what you all want, right? Isn’t that what matters most?’ Dan says in that heavy voice I have come to know and my heart aches for him up there.

‘There has to be another way!’ Another angry voice.

‘Excuse me.’ There’s a light tap on my shoulder. I spin around. ‘What are you doing here?’ Terry bends over and speaks slowly in my ear.

‘Oh, Terry, hi, I—’ I whisper as Dan continues to talk from the stage.

‘This is private Heartwell village business.’ Terry’s voice is completely different. Unfriendly. Stern. Scary.

‘Oh.’ I look at him, more than a little bewildered.

‘You are not a part of this village. Kindly leave. Now.’ Terry’s eyes are blazing and I keep looking at him in utter confusion.

‘Terry? It’s me Maggie?’ My hand flies to my chest as though I’m pointing out who I am.

‘Oh, I know exactly who you are, madam, we both do!’ Terry raises his booming voice now. ‘Taking notes, are you?’

‘W-what?’ My head spins as Dan stops talking and everyone turns to look at me.

‘Get. Out,’ Terry repeats, slowly but with force.

‘I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.’ I scramble to my feet.

‘You are not welcome here.’ Terry throws his arm out wide to the exit door, his index finger pointing straight at it like a compass needle.

I stumble out the door, trying to catch my breath, feeling humiliated and utterly confused at Terry’s behaviour. Is it to do with Frederick? How could it be? He can’t know that I’ve been asked to file a report, can he?

* * *

Back at Castlemoon, I slam my bedroom door with a bang and with my eyes shut tight I lean my back against it, trying to catch my heaving breath. My chest burns from running up the hill. Hot tears of embarrassment run down my wet cheeks.

I collapse onto the bed and my head hits something hard. ‘Ow!’ It’s my MacBook, Dictaphone and the Canon camera. All of them are propped up on my pillow, my satchel beside them. ‘What the?’ I flip open the laptop with haste and the screen has been mysteriously fixed. It’s perfect. ‘How in the—?’ Even though relief floods through me for my recovered work, I grab for the room phone and dial reception. There’s no answer. I ring again. And again. Eventually someone answers.

‘Who had access to my room?’ I spit. I’m furious and upset.

‘Whaddya mean?’ the male voice asks lazily.

‘I’m in room nine. Someone took my stuff from downstairs, they got the screen fixed on my MacBook and put it back in my room! That’s just creepy! And illegal!’ I’m really raging now.

‘Oh.’ They say quietly.

‘I want to speak to someone in charge!’ I spit. ‘Now!’

‘I’m afraid no one is available right now.’

‘Well I want answers!’ I say, appalled by what is going on. Logically, I know my reaction is more about how I’ve just been utterly humiliated by Terry and the fear I will never see Dan again, the only man that’s ever made me feel this way, after I leave.

‘Right, so.’ The voice is still on the line.

I hang up. Tears continue to fall fast. I dial my mom.

‘Good afternoon, honey!’ Dorothy shouts and just hearing her friendly voice makes me feel better.

‘Hi M-Mom.’ My voice comes in sharp breaths. I’ve never realised just how much I rely on her to be there for me . . . and she always is. Always.

‘Are you alright? Are you crying?’ Mom’s voice is raised and shrill.

‘No, no. Just a bit of a head cold. I j-just wanted to check in.’ I sniff and sniff.

‘Take some Vitamin C, a few oranges, none of that drugstore stuff. All is good, George is here. He’s painting the back wall. I’m going shopping now for our Christmas dinner. I’m doing two starters now, a prawn cocktail for us and a smoked salmon roulade for him . . . we are, well, dating, I guess you can call it.’ She rushes on. ‘I miss you, can’t wait to see you. How is the article coming along?’

It feels wonderful to hear a friendly voice and I tell her how happy I am she’s found love with George. I feel calmer as I chat to her for a while, even happy to be getting Alice’s latest varicose vein update. I just listen as I gaze out the window in a daze then I jolt when I see Dan’s jeep speed up the driveway. My breath quickens. Dan and Red hop out and Terry drives around the back, gravel spraying. Quickly, I hide behind the white drapes. The meeting didn’t last long. I say goodbye to Mom and tell her I love her.

This is nuts, I think, shutting my eyes tightly. All of this work has been towards me getting my promotion so I can finally do what I want to do: write about love and be able to afford a new place. I must not lose sight of that. I have to forget any romantic illusions I have about Dan. It’s obvious that Terry has heard something and doesn’t want me here, and he’s Dan’s right-hand man. Thoughts fly through my head as I pace up and down the room. I simply have to get back to my real life, to my actual commitments. Now, I have the MacBook back, I will concentrate on submitting the best article I can tonight. My career depends on this! My breathing calms as I stop pacing, giving myself an excellent pep talk in my head. My phone rings in my hand.

‘Eliza?’ I answer. Though we’re really good work friends we rarely contact each other outside working hours.

‘Hey Magpie,’ Eliza says, but her tone is unusually low and serious.

‘Is everything okay?’ I sit back down on the four-poster bed, cross my legs under me, pressing the phone closer to my ear.

‘I’m fine, but I’m here with Ben. Is it okay if I put you on loudspeaker?’

‘Of course.’ I feel an immediate sense of dread and I’ve no idea why but I have a tightness in my chest.

‘Hi Maggie,’ Ben says.

‘Hey Ben, what’s going on guys?’ Outside, the white flakes spin by horizontally.

‘So we’re here in Ben’s apartment. We were at the Acquired Finance Christmas Ball last night. We heard a few . . . unusual things,’ Eliza tells me.

‘Oh? Like what?’ Now my nerves are starting to feel as though they are being fed through a shredder.

‘Ben,’ Eliza says, ‘you go.’

‘Yeah so, Maggie, you know Frederick and the team are trying to buy this hotel, Castlemoon, in Ireland. Where you are?’ Ben asks me.

‘Yes,’ I answer, ‘I know.’

‘And he’s trying to get a report from you? On the place? An inside one?’

‘Yes,’ I say slowly.

‘Just get to the point, Ben!’ Eliza says quickly in her no-nonsense way.

‘Well, okay, there’s no real way to sugar-coat this, but Amanda has promised you a false article in the magazine.’

I feel a wave of despair, my head feels light. ‘But-but I’m doing the article,’ I try to take the information in, ‘and maybe even the cover for June.’ Maybe Ben doesn’t understand.

‘The facts are Frederick wants to buy Castlemoon but his plan is to gut it inside and develop it into eight luxury apartments. He’s not keeping Castlemoon as a hotel, Maggie.’ Ben sounds as anxious as I feel, his voice breathy.

‘No! Amanda said that nothing would change!’ My head is really starting to spin. ‘I’m . . . I’m writing this article, Ben.’

‘But it won’t be a wedding location, Maggie, don’t you see? So it can’t feature in the June edition. Castlemoon won’t be a hotel by the time the magazine comes out,’ Eliza stresses, knowing I’m struggling on the other end to take this information in. ‘It will be apartments.’

‘Amanda knew this all along?’ I ask in a daze.

‘I don’t think so, no. She believed Frederick was going to buy it and keep it as a hotel. So when he heard she was featuring it in the June magazine with a possible cover, he told her his plans had changed. I was at the table, Maggie, I was sitting right next to him, I heard it all!’ Ben says, rushing his words. ‘He told her the board had met and now it was going to be eight luxury apartments. He said he will keep some staff on to work in the gym and as cleaners and it will have a front desk, but that there was simply too much work to repair it as a hotel and it needed to be gutted inside but that he needed you there to have a sense of what the locals were feeling and report back. He wanted you to send a report on some book about how many bodies are actually passing through the castle? In his words, he wants you to get a sense of the lie of the land so he knows what to expect when he arrives on January tenth. I’ve booked his travel already.’ Ben exhales slowly, his voice faltering slightly as he says, meekly, ‘Sorry,’

‘Right . . .’ I take that all in. ‘You heard this too, Eliza?’

‘No, I was at the guests, table for the meal.’ I can hear she is close to tears.

‘Why hasn’t Amanda told me?’ I despair.

‘They are afraid you will tell the owner,’ Ben says.

‘Right,’ I say again.

‘This is super shit, I’m so sorry. But you will get the promotion, though, of that I have no doubt! I’ll make bloody sure you do!’ Eliza sniffs. She is livid.

‘I don’t care about the promotion or the article anymore but Frederick can’t do that to the castle. He can’t destroy Castlemoon!’ I am horrified. ‘They’ve just had a village meeting about it. The castle means so much to this community!’

‘He can and he is. This time tomorrow the deal will be signed,’ Ben informs me.

‘Over my dead body.’ I stand up, focus again on this white December night out my window.

‘There is a Zoom set up for five o’clock and it will be signed automatically online. The owner, Dan Delaney, gave us a digital signature when he was here,’ Ben tells me. He is a smart guy, no doubt his facts are correct.

‘So what do I do? Amanda was just onto me to file the article tonight? Now that I think about it she sounded rather vague. Except for Frederick’s report. Do I play dumb? I don’t want to get you guys in trouble!’ I ask them, pacing the room now, phone in hand.

‘File it, please. That’s what I was saying to Eliza, we can’t lose our jobs, Maggie. Frederick knows I heard the conversation, it was only when Eliza joined me at the table after dinner that Amanda got uber paranoid. Frederick has sworn me to secrecy.’ Ben sounds so stressed.

‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure. I have to go find Dan right away. It’s my own fault I’ve taken this long to confide in him. I will tell him everything. Finally tell him exactly what is going on. He needs to know the truth!

There’s a loud, pounding knock on my door. Three times. I almost jump out of my skin. Then another three times. The frame of the door rattles.

‘I have to go. I’ll file it now, I won’t say a word.’

‘Do it,’ Ben says.

‘Thank you, guys.’ I wince as the banging on my door gets louder.

‘See you after the holidays,’ Eliza tells me. ‘Keep the faith.’

I almost laugh at the irony of her words as I hang up and pull open the door. Dan stands there, hands on his hips and a face like thunder.

TWENTY-FOUR

‘Care to explain this, Your Highness?’ Dan’s face blazes as he waves an A4 sheet of paper in front of me.

‘Dan! W-what?’ I take the piece of paper from his hand, read the top line:

CASTLEMOON REPORT:

FOR FREDERICK MACKEN ACQUIRED FINANCE

BY MAGGIE GRACE

PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL

‘H-how did you get this?’ A watery sensation floods my mouth. Oh no. Not like this!

‘Never mind how I got it. You really are a piece of work. Now, if you don’t mind, we’d all like you to get your stuff and get out of the castle!’ Dan paces around the corridor, his fists balled tightly.

This can’t be happening. I was so happy just a few hours ago.

‘Dan, let me explain? Please!’ I beg him.

‘Not a hope in hell,’ he roars at me.

‘Please, Dan!’ I implore.

‘You work for the man who wants to buy this place yet you never said. Terry found CCTV picking you up searching through the registration book at the desk and taking photos of it! Who are you really, Maggie Grace? Do not lie to me!’ Dan’s eyes look so sad, so dark, so hurt.

‘I don’t work for Frederick Macken. Well, not really . . .’ I feel like collapsing, my legs feel like rubber. ‘Please, Dan, let me at least try to explain that report to you, which I never filed by the way! I tried to tell you a few times today about all this, I swear. Please listen to me!’ I beg, unsure of how to get him to sit and listen to me.

‘Terry found your computer in the Sweet Orange Room and I asked him to take it to Joe in the repair shop to fix the crack I was responsible for, as a surprise to you. When he opened it to show Joe the damage they saw this! It was left unlocked. Stupid rookie error!’

‘This is what happened,’ I start, talking over his shouts, I have to just explain. ‘Listen to me!’

He stops. His breath still coming in short, sharp pants. His hair falls over his eyes.

‘Please, listen to me. It is not what it appears to be. Look at me?’

And he does, he really does. Slowly, I take his shaking hand. He uncurls his fists and I pull him inside and make him sit on my bed.

I tell Dan my entire story right up to what Ben and Eliza have just told me. I leave nothing out.

‘The dirty rat!’ Dan punches his fist into his palm.

‘I know,’ I gasp, trying to control my own breath. ‘But you believe me? Say you believe me?’ I’m desperate to hear him say it.

‘I believe you,’ Dan nods, ‘but I made him sign a contract that stipulated he can’t do that. Well, I mean, he said he wouldn’t. The contract was to say the building would be preserved, and the staff . . . not necessarily that it would remain a hotel.’ He looks so full of despair.

‘He says he will keep some staff on to work in the gym and as cleaners for the apartments and it will have a front desk, Ben told me that too.’ I don’t try to soften anything for him.

‘Maggie, you have to file the article now!’ Dan says. ‘They won’t be getting their greasy hands on this place but your promotion can still stand. It will remain a hotel! File it!’

‘No!’ I shake my head, my curls flying wildly around my face.

‘But this is your job! This is what you’ve wanted for so long. To write about love,’ he says, always selfless.

‘No, I won’t let those kinds of people near this place. I’d rather keep it on my desktop forever. Amanda could easily have called me to tell me, she’s as bad as him. They are horrible, greedy people. I’m out.’ I acknowledge my own words with a sharp dart of reality.

‘I gotta go!’ He stands up, head in hands, his fingers dragging through his hair.

‘What are you going to do?’ I gasp.

‘I need to think. I need to call another emergency town meeting. Come with me?’

‘No, I-I can’t. I can’t face them again. Terry was horrible to me and rightfully so.’ I drop my head, slumping my shoulders.

‘It’s okay, I’ll talk to him and explain. Meet me outside in ten minutes, please?’ He takes a long, slow breath in as I nod.

‘But us, you and me?’ My words tumble out. I can barely wait for his answer.

‘We can talk later. I’ve a castle to save!’

And that’s good enough for me.

* * *

Pulling on my green wool coat, I rush down the stairs but forget to step over the top step and almost lose my footing. I take them two at a time, so desperate am I to see Dan, to grasp for his hand. I try to slip past Mary, who spots me at the last minute.

‘I believe you asked to speak to me, lovey?’ Mary steps out, her face curious.

‘Sorry, it’s okay, Mary. False alarm.’ I stop for a second. ‘I have to go.’ I keep moving, calling back over my shoulder, darting out through the heavy castle door. Outside is a clear blanket of snow, no sign of Dan. I turn circles, walking through the fresh snowfall out into the car park where I hit the Rolls-Royce just three days ago. It’s hard to fathom and make sense of it all, but I am a different person since that happened. I am a better version of the woman who left New York.

I have found my backbone at last. I have found roots that I didn’t even know I needed to find so badly to complete me as a person, and most importantly of all I have found what I know is true love and I’m not afraid of it anymore even if I can’t keep it. It’s all thanks to Castlemoon.

‘I’m not afraid of love anymore,’ I whisper as my breath fogs around me. I stand up on the small grey stone wall and just look up at the castle as the snow flutters perfectly past my eyes.

‘Careful.’ His warning call echoes, always looking out for me.

Dan comes out towards me from behind the castle, Red now panting by his side.

‘I love how your first reaction is the wellbeing of the castle,’ he says to me.

‘Of course it is.’ I look up at Castlemoon again, standing protectively, looking down on us.

‘I’ve made my decision. I can never sell Castlemoon. I won’t sign it over to Acquired Finance, Frederick what’s his face and his tiny vultures. He lied to me and I hate liars. More than anything, I hate liars. I’m pulling out of the deal.’ He looks calmer, more composed now that he’s made his decision.

‘Good for you.’ I fist pump.

‘I do owe him back his deposit of ten thousand euros, though. Terry’s been over the contracts with me on the phone and he’s trying to reach our solicitor who’s abroad. That money must be paid back a week from today or the deal remains intact.’ His tone gathering regret.

‘We can raise that money, right?’

‘Well, I’m heading back down to the hall to tell everyone. Most of the village are still there. They, are drinking the leftover mulled wine according to Terry, who’s been patiently answering their questions while I came up to confront you. I’m sorry that Terry booted you out of the meeting like that . . .’

‘He was right!’

‘It nearly broke my heart.’

‘I’m so sorry, I swear I was going to tell you today about my part but I had no idea about the rest until that call with Eliza and Ben. I was led to believe the deal was already agreed that the castle would remain as is and that everyone was happy. I was so caught up in my own selfish world about getting a stupid magazine feature in print that I didn’t open my eyes properly. Call myself a journalist!’ I facepalm.

‘I understand why you did it, I know it wasn’t malicious.’

‘As you heard, the village was distraught when I told them I was thinking of selling – they had no idea how close I came. I was trying to protect them but I forgot how much this old castle means to us all.’

‘It’s so special,’ I say.

‘By all accounts they have been fundraising with buckets to save Castlemoon all year behind my back and have quite the fund in the credit union. It may well pay for some of the deposit. Terry filled them in on everything, says they are all down there plotting ways to raise more money.’ Dan’s eyes dip, his foot moving back and forth across the fresh snow.

‘I saw that but you were also planning the céilí fundraiser?’ I ask, still wondering why that was.

‘Shit! The céilí! That’s tonight!’ He looks pale again and stressed as he tries to figure all this out. My heart aches for him.

‘It’s okay, I can help, I’m here. Let me help,’ I beg.

‘I only went ahead with this céilí because I hoped the money we raised could go to a private hip operation for Mary, which in fact, believe it or not, is six thousand euros including respite. Now it looks like I’m going to need it towards the Acquired Finance deposit too. I don’t have it, Maggie. I used three thousand five hundred of it to fix the Rolls-Royce and pay overdue bills.’

‘But you told me it just needed a bumper? Why didn’t you claim off my insurance?’ I can’t believe this.

‘Ack, I didn’t want you getting into any trouble with your boss and I still feel horrible at how I treated you when that happened. I was a bit obnoxious.’

‘Dan!’ I can’t believe he did that for me. Again, another reason to love him even more.

‘Listen to me. You can do this,’ I say, suddenly feeling calm and in control, ‘I believe in you. We will find a way.’

‘You being here is a total blessing. Someone sent you. I’d never have known Frederick’s plans to turn the castle into luxury apartments. He promised me face to face he was going to keep it as it was, staff especially. A gentleman’s handshake,’ he recounts again.

‘Like you said, Frederick is a liar. He couldn’t shine your shoes.’

‘My poor parents would have died. I thought I was saving the castle, not killing it!’ Dan paces again in the snow, his footprints making circles.

‘I see that now, and you will.’ I put my hands on both his shoulders to steady him. ‘You can do this.’

‘You’re right. It may kill me but I’ll save Castlemoon. It’s my destiny,’ Dan says, his voice wrought with emotion.

‘Exactly, the castle, it’s everything. How I feel about this building, the village, it’s beyond my wildest dreams. . .’ I tell him honestly. Dan’s eyes don’t leave mine as snow sticks in his dark hair. A huge truck noisily drives up and smothers the rest of my sentence.

‘The céilí band, that’s Seán and the lads,’ Dan says as Red barks and jumps up and down. ‘I gotta help them in.’

‘Let me do it.’ I clutch his arm. ‘You go.’

‘Sure?’ His eyes are filled with gratitude.

‘Yes,’ I tell him firmly.

‘I can’t believe tomorrow is your last night.’ His eyes seem darker as Seán jumps out of the truck.

‘Me either.’ I gulp.

‘Fáilte, Dan, mo chara,’ Seán greets him in Irish.

‘Maggie’s gonna get ye set up in the Heart Ballroom, I’ve to run off for a bit.’

‘It’s not true, is it? That yer selling the castle?’ Seán asks, sliding open the truck doors.

‘No, Seán. Castlemoon is not for sale.’ Dan smacks his wellington and Red bounds beside him as they traipse through the snow, off towards the jeep.

Shivering, I move back inside into the welcome heat of Castlemoon as the trad band follow me. The Heart Ballroom is ice cold. I light all the candles, pull the chairs into a smaller circle.

‘Tea? Coffee?’ I offer the band as they tune their instruments.

‘No thanks, Maggie,’ they call back. I see Mary’s notepad and pencil stub on a table and I scribble down my cell number.

‘Here’s my number, just shout if you need anything at all,’ I tell them.

As the band continue to soundcheck, my head is spinning with an idea. It’s been spinning around and around and now it won’t stop. I run up the stairs.

Back in my room, I busy myself at my desk. I re-read my article. It’s really good if I do say so myself. Maybe the best thing I’ve ever written! Before I get to work, I open my email and bring up the address I’m looking for:

to: Amanda.Crosse@ULWM.com
from: Maggie.Grace@ULWM.com
date: Dec 22, 2025, 19.29PM
subject: CASTLEMOON

Amanda,

Sending me to Ireland was the best thing you could ever have done, I can never thank you enough.

Unfortunately, I will not be in a position to file my article and I am officially resigning from my position at Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine with immediate effect.

Maggie Grace.

A wave of relief floods through my veins. I have no time to think about what will happen when I get back to New York. I have no time to think about being unemployed and having to move back in with Mom and, soon enough, George. Right now I’m bursting with this idea. Right now I have to go find Kate and Jimmy.

TWENTY-FIVE

It’s dark as I open the vanilla coloured door to the organic market and the sweet smells of ripe fruit and exotic spices fill my nostrils. Immediately, I see Kate behind the till at the back of the store in a matching vanilla apron, her blonde hair in a high ponytail with a red ribbon in it. As I make my way through the store, I can’t help but feel ridiculously excited about my idea. Kate is chatting to another woman at the till, sliding her shopping across the scanner with a loud beep each time it reads a barcode.

‘Hi Maggie,’ Kate says to me, ‘what was that all about above in the hall? Saw ya running out? You looked upset? You okay? Dan wouldn’t tell me anything.’ She gives me a look of concern.

‘Just a misunderstanding is all, all good now,’ I say with a casual wave of my hand.

‘Oh phew. Sorry, this is Amy, she’s just moved here from the Northside in Dublin. She’s opening a coffee van Saturday mornings, has a permit for the square, iced-coffees, fancy hazelnut ones and all that. I keep telling Betsy she needs to do that over in the Teapot Café but she’s very traditional. She’s a cuppa tea and a slice of hot apple pie type of woman.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ The younger woman swings around from packing her brown paper bags to look at me. She has dark olive skin and a thick paisley hairband holding her dark hair back.

‘You too, I’m Maggie,’ I say, ‘best of luck with the new venture.’

‘Thank you, I was just telling Kate here, I needed a change. I’m in love with two brothers, it nearly killed me. Had to run away for all our sakes. Fresh start down here in Galway at Christmas, I’m excited.’ Amy puts her avocados on top.

‘Oh wow, sounds terribly complicated,’ I watch as Amy lifts her two paper bags into each arm and moves to the door with a nod.

‘You have no idea, one looks like Paul Mescal and the other like Leo Woodall, it’s a hot mess.’ She uses her foot to open the door and exits.

‘First world problems, eh?’ Kate chuckles as she looks for my basket, her eyes darting to my hands.

‘I’ve no shopping. I need to talk to you. It’s urgent,’ I tell her.

‘Go on.’ Kate leans on the till.

Glancing around, the market is quiet, it’s almost closing time.

‘You told me your wedding is small, right? Fifty people and all more or less from the village? Your aunt runs the Moritz Hotel? I remember Jimmy saying she’d probably be relieved if you postponed it? And you have ten thousand saved to go towards the wedding?’ My words tumble out.

‘Correct. All correct. I’m going to look for the dress in Dublin tomorrow.’ Kate is staring hard at me, her eyes curious.

‘How much is the room hire costing you?’

‘It’s free? Why?’ Kate’s lips part as she’s about to ask another question.

‘Hear me out,’ I raise my hand, ‘I think you should cancel. You told me you’re supplying your own food too, right? It’s a buffet reception so it’s not going to cost your aunt much if we do cancel it?’

Kate nods and curls her lip. ‘Aunt Madge would be delighted!’

‘I think you and Jimmy can get married in the cellar at Castlemoon. We have work to do and I leave in a day’s time but I think we can – no, I know we can make it spectacular. A beautiful intimate Christmas wedding in Castlemoon where you will still receive the blessings under the castle roof, a lifetime of love, but I will need your help.’

‘The cellar? I mean I’ve never been down there but . . . it’s a cellar!’ Kate looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. ‘I know the Moritz isn’t actually the Ritz but it’s a real function room?’

‘Trust me. You have to trust me, Kate, I’ve done this before,’ I tell her, thinking of Jill’s wedding. ‘I’m really good at it. It can be magnificent. Come look this evening when you’re up for the céilí, speaking of – it’s near that time!’

‘Um, okay.’ But Kate looks less than convinced.

‘It’s your dream to marry at Castlemoon, right?’

‘Yes.’ Kate nibbles on her thumb nail now as I can see her trying to visualise it.

‘Kate, I promise you it will be spectacular, out of this world, and we can use your day to showcase the cellar online for other weddings. Dan desperately needs that. Plus you may need to loan him some of that ten grand.’ I lift my shoulder.

Kate shifts. She straightens up, lifts her chin.

‘I’ll see you up there in an hour, with Jimmy.’ She pulls a hood over the till.

Delighted with Kate’s response I leave the market, out into the worsening blizzard as I rush back up the hill to Castlemoon, my head whirring.

* * *

It’s busy in the lobby of the castle with guests and the locals trickling in. I shake the heavy snow from my coat once more and move through the throngs gathered by the heat of the crackling fire. Everyone is chatting, all dressed up beautifully for the night’s merriments. It’s far fancier than I’d imagined. Full black tie event. As Mary moves around handing out eggnog on a silver tray, I just wave and head for the Heart Ballroom. Outside, the young guy who was on reception slumps behind a desk.

‘Are you checking tickets?’ I ask him, removing my coat now.

‘Yup,’ he drawls with a bored expression.

‘I’m Maggie, what’s your name?’

‘Donal,’ he drawls, blows a bubble with the gum in his mouth, and it pops.

Now I recognise him as the young man who asked me to dance at the wedding.

‘Okay, Donal, well let’s sit up straight, can we? And will you put a big smile on your face for me? You take the tickets and say, “Have a great night, come back soon!”, and I’ll drop you over a toasted sandwich, fries and a Coke later? Deal?’

His eyes light up.

‘Throw in a KitKat for afters and you have yourself a deal.’ He chews rapidly.

‘And the gum? Can we bin the gum?’ I nod to the wastepaper basket beside him as he removes it, wraps it in a piece of paper and throws it in.

‘Thank you, Donal!’ I laugh as does he.

Inside, the candles are helping and the chill is lifting somewhat. The burning glow makes the room look beautiful as the light reflects on the windows and the falling snow. I see Mary has added tall glass vases with overflowing snowdrops and the scent lingers.

‘All set, Seán, do you guys need anything before you start?’ I ask the trad band.

‘All good here, Maggie, thanks, I hope you’ll be part of the craic later?’ Seán waves a tin whistle at me, taking in my casual attire.

‘I don’t think so unfortunately, but I’m upstairs if I’m needed to help out.’

Happy with how things are going, I know I need to slip away. I head to the staircase and run up, leaping over the last step. Inside the room, I throw my coat over the chair and pick up my phone. Hurriedly, I FaceTime Jill. The series of ascending and descending notes as we wait to connect seems to go on and on. I pace. Finally, she answers.

‘Maggie!’ Jill’s in her bed, with what looks like a dozen pillows propping her up.

‘Oh great, you’re there! Sorry! Were you asleep, did I wake you?’ I ask worriedly.

‘No, I’m wide awake. Max is being so overprotective already, he put me straight to bed like I’m the baby!’ Jill laughs, pulls back the blanket and I see she’s fully dressed in dark denim jeans and a cream hoody paired with novelty Christmas socks.

‘What did the doctor say?’ First things first.

She beams. ‘That I’m pregnant,’ Jill whoops in delight.

‘So am I!’ Max’s face peeps in.

I’m beaming back. ‘Oh, hi Max.’ I wave at Jill’s hubby. ‘Congratulations! I’m so happy for you guys. It’s just the best news!’

‘And the doctor said I’ve to go about my life as normal and not be wrapping myself up in cotton wool, overthinking. It’s not healthy, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Serena Williams won the US Open at twenty weeks pregnant, for crying out loud,’ Jill says pointedly, turning the phone on Max.

‘Jill, I know my timing sucks but I need your help. But also . . . I’ve met someone and there are sparks. There are so many sparks I’m afraid I’m going to burst into flames! I really like him!’ Flopping back on my bed as the words flow out, I squeeze my eyes shut.

‘How? Who?’ Jill yells.

‘I’ll go put the kettle on.’ Max’s body tiptoes past the screen.

‘Who are you and what have you done with my friend Maggie?’ Jill leans into the screen.

‘I know! Can you believe this? His name is Dan!’ I sit up, my head shaking wildly, my curls flying. ‘He’s just . . . well he’s exceptional.’

‘Well, that was quick! You? Of all people? Miss I Will Never Fall in Love Again! I-I’m speechless.’ Jill gasps again.

‘I know! I can’t believe it myself. I think I’m still in shock,’ I tell her, holding the phone in my two hands up in the air in front of my face.

‘Sparksssssssss, you say?’ Jill asks, holding onto the word.

‘I know!’ I shout for the hat-trick. ‘Oh Jill, so many sparks!’ I heave, shut my eyes tight.

‘This is what you’ve been waiting for since we were teenagers! Airhead Cooper never set any sparks in you! The only sparks he set off were from rubbing two ideas together but nothing ever ignited! Idiot. I’m so happy for you.’

‘But nothing can happen. Dan lives here in Ireland and I live in New York.’ My voice and lower lip both tremble. Hearing the words spoken out loud is even worse.

‘So? Move!’ Jill flings an oversized pillow out from behind her.

‘I can’t just leave my life! What about my mom!’

‘Maggie, I spoke to Dorothy a while ago, I wanted to tell her about the baby myself, and that is one happy woman. She doesn’t need you anymore. George will take great care of her. She’s happy. You need you! This is a huge step for you.’

‘Anyway, he hasn’t asked me to stay! And I quit my job.’

‘Woah, hold on, back up Nelly? What about the article for the magazine?’ Jill sits up, closer to the screen.

‘Frederick was planning on turning Castlemoon into luxury apartments. It was no longer going to be a hotel! We can’t feature it. It isn’t an ultimate wedding location as far as they are now concerned . . .’

‘I won’t say I told you so but I will say I told myself so that Frederick is a shark! And as for Amanda Crosse!’

‘I don’t think Amanda quite knew the ins-and-outs but I’ll need a week to tell you everything. It’s been a rollercoaster, but I have no job to go back to, not to mention no place to live after the holidays.’

‘Even better!’ Jill exclaims.

‘Don’t be ludicrous,’ I say, but my mind is in overdrive.

‘I’m being deadly serious,’ Jill says. ‘Have you kissed him?’ she then asks.

‘Yes.’ I nod my head like one of those bobbing dogs people put in the back seat of their cars.

‘And?’

‘Everything I’d never even imagined . . . and there’s something else. Jill?’

‘W-what? And? What else could there possibly be?’

‘Dan owns Castlemoon. It’s his castle. He’s a real-life lord.’ I can barely believe the words that I’m speaking. For a moment, I think the screen has frozen. Jill is completely motionless.

‘Shut up!’ Jill finally comes to, her jaw hanging, mouth wide open.

‘I know. It’s crazy and now that I’m not filing my article to Amanda, I have another idea for it, a big idea about what I want to do with it. That’s where you come in. This is where I need your help.’

‘Anything,’ she says with a determined nod of her head.

‘I want to set up a new Instagram account now for the castle, and I want to use my Ultimate Locations article and photos for the grid to tell the story of Castlemoon. I want to sell the folklore of the castle on there. They have a website but it’s old and does not do the place, or Heartwell, justice – that’s the surrounding village, which is just as beautiful. It’s so picturesque. I need you to help me. Can I tag you in them so you can share them? Is that possible?’

‘For you, again, anything!’ She keeps nodding in agreement.

‘You’re the best, I better fly. I’ve got so much to do here.’ I sit up.

‘Hang on! Wait! Wait! One sec! When do you plan on posting these?’ Jill swings her legs out of the bed now. ‘Doing stories? Doing an Insta Live? Consider bordering your grid in black and white? We need to think about collaborators to work with.’ I can almost see Jill’s creative mind whirring. She looks just like the old Jill again.

‘Like, tonight! I’m getting to work right away, there is no time to waste! Oh, and I’m also planning a wedding in the cellar under the castle. A cellar that I need to dismantle, deep clean, put back together, design and make spectacular for a wedding a few days after Christmas.’

‘Okay . . .’ Jill is laughing now, shaking her head. ‘I’m telling you, Maggie, the fates have aligned,’ she says with the brightest smile.

‘You know I don’t believe in fate!’ I say but now only half truthfully.

‘Well, maybe you should rethink that one, Einstein! Now what are you waiting for, go get your prince!’

TWENTY-SIX

After I set up the new Instagram account @CastlemoonIreland, working furiously, I upload my article in segments to the grid to go with all the different pictures I’ve captured. Then, I tag every bridal publication I can think of and every bridal venue outlet I can remember. Every bridal designer. I follow everybody that Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine follows and my fingers actually ache! For the profile picture, I use the one of Dan standing at the red castle door. I know he will probably be mortified but it shows the castle in the moonlight with snow falling and a drop-dead handsome man looking into the distance at a young wedding party. It’s very original. Very romantic.

I’ve been so focused on the job that I’ve ignored several knocks on my bedroom door. I’ve had to. Downstairs, the sounds of the iilleann pipes from the céilí rise up through the floorboards mixed with laughter and joy.

I stretch my aching arms over my head as I look out the window. Faith is worsening. It’s late and the snow continues to pelt down and the winds howls around the old castle. Will my flight be cancelled? A tinge of hope seeps through me. I check the flight app on my phone again, where I was told to stand by for further updates. Still no news. I look back at my screen, glad I took Jill’s advice and did a black border around all the pictures – some in colour and some in black and white. It looks like a really stylish wedding album.

‘Looking good.’ Once more I arch my aching back in the chair and my feet hit something. Bending down, I see it’s a small footstool, the one Dan told me he used to stand on to see all the way to the ocean. I pull it out and it topples over. As I turns it upright, I notice the writing underneath in faded black marker.

Dan was here December 1988

Galway are All-Ireland Champions 1998

GO GALWAY! SO HAPPY!

Dan Delaney is cool.

This was his bedroom growing up, I suddenly realise. Carefully, I stand on the stool and, though the weather is too bad for me to have much of a view, I watch the heavy dark clouds being blown by and the snow still falling. I feel closer to Dan than ever before.

‘I have to see him! This is ready.’ I turn on my notifications, hit post on the last image and shut my MacBook. I check the time; it’s almost eleven o’ clock at night!

I jump into the shower trying not to overthink things and then I dry quickly and slip into my full length scarlet designer dress. The luxurious material is a sublime fit that hugs me in all the right places. I dab foundation onto my face and blend it, add powder and blush, wand on some mascara, line my eyes with an olive-green kohl pencil, spray perfume and gloss my lips. Then, I slip into my heels and grab my green wool coat from the back of the chair, the room key and make my way downstairs. The lobby is empty and I take a moment to just stand by the turf fire and soak it in. Someone has carelessly left half a pint of Guinness on the mantle above the fireplace and I remove it, wipe the surface with my clenched hand so it doesn’t leave a ring stain.

The noise in the Heart Ballroom is deafening. The music is infectious and powerful. Once again, I get that feeling of being totally alive. Picking my way through the jolly, happy crowd, saying hi to various people, I spot Kate, in a long pink halterneck dress. She waves over to me, dancing with a laughing Jimmy by her side.

‘We’ll be over to you in few!’ Kate shouts as I more or less lip read her words and nod. I make my way up to the bar, holding my folded coat over one arm. I deposit the empty pint glass there and Mary hands me a drink from behind the bar.

‘You look like a princess, lovey,’ she says, grinning at me as I fold my wool coat over a stool at the bar.

‘Thank you.’ I pat myself down, relieved to see two other young people behind the bar too helping her. ‘Can you not come out and relax?’

‘I like to be busy, lovey, this is how I socialise,’ Mary tells me and lifts a little glass from under the bar top, puts it to her lips. ‘I’ll have my feet up soon enough. The letter came! I got my hospital appointment for January. I’ll be brand new.’ Relief floods her face.

‘Thank God! That’s the best news,’ I gasp. I’m so delighted for her.

‘The best Christmas present I could get alright. I didn’t like to moan too much but I’ve been in serious pain,’ she tells me. ‘JP has been so worried.’

‘You didn’t moan at all! You’re seriously one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. When will I get to meet JP by the way?’ I ask after Mary’s husband and Gráinne’s father.

‘He’s still above in Dublin visiting his sister, Una. He might not be back until Christmas Eve night but . . .’ Mary’s face drops.

‘I’ll be gone.’ I don’t pretend to be happy about it.

‘Hi Mammy! Great to see ya, Maggie! Some craic!’ Gráinne appears beside me, smiling in a beautiful charcoal grey sleeveless jumpsuit with a man by her side in a uniform. ‘This is Fergus, just back from Lebanon.’

‘Hey Gráinne. Nice to meet you, Fergus.’ I raise my voice over the drumming of the bodhrán.

‘You too.’ Fergus shakes my hand; it’s a firm grip.

‘Look at you! You look incredible! Love that dress, you look like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman! Oh my God, stunning! We’re delighted you made it!’ Gráinne shouts back. ‘I knocked on your bedroom door a few times but no answer. Dan’s been keeping an eye on the door all night.’ Gráinne winks at me and turns her head. As I follow her eyeline, it lands on Dan across the room, watching me.

‘Oh lord, literally,’ I say to Gráinne as Dan, who is wearing a sharp black suit, black tie and white dress shirt, raises a hand and I lift mine in a return wave. As he makes a move someone approaches him and strikes up a conversation.

‘Not bad to look at is our Dan. You do know yer the talk of the village?’ She sucks her drink up through a straw.

‘I am?’ I ask her with a grimace. Is it about Frederick, I wonder?

‘Oh yeah, in a good way!’ she says, clearly reading my expression, and reassures me. ‘Seems you’ve captured the heart of the lord himself.’

‘Gráinne? Why did no one tell me he was the lord of the castle?’ I lean into her, glance back over at Dan who is still talking.

‘Ah, we’re fierce protective of him. Many a woman has come along thinking she’ll be rich, then buggered off when she found out he was asset rich but cash poor. One in particular we all recall. Denise Donoghue, horrible, greedy woman.’ Gráinne scrunches up her nose like there’s a bad smell.

‘Ahh, I see,’ I say. ‘Not Denise’s number one fan, I’m guessing?’

‘Nope. She’s Jimmy’s first cousin but very unlike all the rest of the very decent Murphy clan. No doubt she’ll arrive down from Belfast and pop her head up at Kate’s wedding next week. I’ll be steering well clear.’ A man is wrapping Fergus in a bear hug, as Gráinne gets sucked up by the new crowd at the bar.

Denise will be at Kate’s wedding. But I won’t be. The thought flattens me. I sip my drink, watching the dancing for a moment. All the women dance barefoot, their high heels strewn across the floor, heads thrown back, laughing freely. It’s inspiring and stunning to watch. The music is incredibly powerful, and even though I have never heard this type of music properly before, I simply cannot get enough of it. It’s a far cry from the stiff Acquired Finance balls I’m used to attending. Ireland, it seems, is very much part of my DNA. As I watch Jimmy twirl a delighted Kate around the dancefloor, I have a moment of clarity.

‘My God, my life is dull,’ I say as I look down to the parquet floor. ‘It’s so dull.’ Then, a wave of calmness rushes over me, like I have finally admitted the truth to myself. I’ve been living in a bubble of self-preservation that was so unhealthy and closed off to everything life has to offer. I feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz when her life goes from black and white to technicolour. Then the sound of a smooth, fluid bow strike on the fiddle. A rich tone that resonates a soft, melodic tune and the crowd of couples begin to move in closer together. More people rush past me, pushing their way onto the dancefloor. I feel a tingling sensation all along my arms as the powerful music envelops me. The glass of whatever it is I’m drinking may be more powerful than I’d imagined.

‘May I?’ Dan stands in front of me now with his hand reaching out. I finish the drink, put the glass on the bar as I accept it.

‘Hello you,’ I say to him, a little merry.

‘Hello,’ he replies, smirking at me. ‘You look wonderful. When I looked across the room you literally took my breath away,’ he tells me and immediately I recall the words he said to Séamus. I’ll marry the woman who takes my breath away.

‘Thank you,’ I accept his compliment confidently, ‘you don’t look too bad yourself but I don’t know how to Irish dance,’ I tell him.

He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me closer to him. Our bodies tight together. He looks happy, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, and I’m delighted.

‘There is no right or wrong way to dance here,’ he whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my face. I shut my eyes, lost in the slow, haunting music. We dance cheek to cheek and I can’t help feeling I am right where I am supposed to be. When the song ends we stay on the dancefloor.

‘How was the meeting? How did it go with the villagers?’ I lean back a little.

‘Good, they’re an amazing community, all on my side. We’ll all pull together. We’ll make it work. And . . . they were all very encouraging of one thing.’ His dark eyes twinkle.

‘What was that?’ I tilt my head to the side.

‘You,’ he says on a hot breath.

‘Really?’ I replace my cheek against his.

‘Yes, they all want me to be happy and have a life,’ I hear him say into my ear.

‘I’m sorry about earlier at the pub, I didn’t quite know how to react.’ Somehow, it’s easier for me to be honest with him when we’re this close. Every part of my body feels acutely alive but my brain tells me this is going to break my heart. I leave in twenty-four hours!

‘It’s alright, I understand,’ Dan whispers into my ear again, ‘I just have a sense of you.’

‘And I, you.’ My voice wobbles and I hold him tighter to me, his body rock hard. I’m afraid to ever let him go. The irony of how I’ve lived my life for the past two years, sworn off love, is not lost on me.

‘I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Maggie Grace,’ his cologne strikingly recognisable, ‘but much more importantly, the smartest, the most fascinating, the most captivating, the most intriguing.’

I don’t know what to say but my heart lifts to the highest it’s ever been. Every nerve is tingling.

‘I think maybe the fates want us to be together?’ Dan goes on.

‘It almost seems that way,’ I whisper back on a shaking breath.

‘I just wish you lived here in Ireland. I wish that you didn’t have to go back so soon,’ he says as a tin whistle begins on a high note, going higher and higher, mimicking my heartbeat.

‘Me too’ is all I say as the bodhrán joins in with a deep, resonant thump. We stand still, cheek to cheek, just listening to the holistic sounds of the trad band. I feel grounded in energy, with a sense of lightness and joy I want to bottle.

‘Will ya come have a drink with me in my office? Just the two of us? Just for a little while, so we can talk?’ Dan leans back from my face, his eyes sparkle with what I think is happiness and I nod empathically. He follows me as I pick my coat up from the stool at the bar.

If Storm Faith doesn’t keep me here, in Castlemoon, a little longer I will surely cry. As the music continues and the dancefloor sways, I take a quick glance around. Candles glimmer and flicker, the entire room seems to be slow dancing – no doubt many happily married Heartwell couples blessed with their union under this very roof – as we manage to slip out, unnoticed.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Dan’s office is small but tidy. Functional. The walls are painted a neutral colour. Shelves mounted hold books and various bulging folders. His desk is positioned near the window and displays photos of Esther and Michael, along with old framed shots of Castlemoon. A small potted plant in desperate need of attention cowers on the floor. Red sits curled up on an old blanket and he doesn’t bark as we enter, just looks up at us then puts his head back down on his paws.

‘It blows my mind that he likes you. He doesn’t like anyone except me. Good boy,’ Dan says to him as he pulls his wax jacket from a chair. ‘Here, sit down.’ He hangs it on a peg behind the door over a leather jacket. I can barely keep my eyes off him in this suit as he pulls a bottle of whiskey from his drawer.

‘New York whiskey, thought you might fancy a small night cap? A bit of home away from home?’ He removes the suit jacket now. ‘Never feel comfortable in this tin of fruit.’

I eyeball him.

‘Suit,’ he explains and flicks open the top three buttons of his white shirt as he gets the glasses down from a shelf. Immediately, I recognise it as the same one that Esther had. It’s hard to believe he is their son. What parents to have had. What an upbringing. What couple goals to have.

‘Just a tiny drop, I don’t know what Mary gave me but I’m still buzzing.’ I laugh.

‘Poitín. You heard she got the hospital appointment?’

‘I did,’ I say as I shiver. His office is cold.

‘Are you freezing? Sorry!’ Dan comes over and drapes my wool coat around my shoulders.

‘Thank you. This dress isn’t exactly made for winter. So, Lord – can I call you Lord? It goes well with Your Highness,’ I ask, poking him playfully with my foot and he laughs as he sits.

‘Who’s the funny one now? But please don’t. I’m lord in name only, Maggie. Proud son of Lord Michael Delaney and Lady Esther Ni Geallaigh. Inheritor of the crumbling Castlemoon. In debt. In danger of losing it all. But in the immortal words of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive!’ He raises a glass in a mock toast, sits heavily into his office chair.

‘I asked Gráinne why no one in the village told me you were the lord of the castle.’

‘Don’t you hear how pretentious it sounds? We are a very down-to-earth community.’ The light catches the crystal glass as he turns it in his hand, reflecting like sparkles are floating around us.

‘No, it wasn’t that. Heartwell is very protective of you, especially after Denise . . .’

‘Ack, they minded me after my broken heart.’ He half laughs.

‘But you said she didn’t hurt you. At least, I think that’s what you said?’ I ask him. I don’t want him to have loved her; she didn’t deserve him.

‘Hurt? No. Humiliated? Yes.’ He leans across the desk, squeezes my arm gently, as though this is the first time he’s admitted it out loud. He exhales deeply.

‘What drew you to her?’ I simply must know.

‘She’s a first cousin of the Murphys’. I was introduced to her in the organic market one sunny Saturday morning. I remember that day so well, the Wimbledon women’s final was on the telly and I came in for strawberries for my mother. Denise was very glamorous but totally dismissive of me in my wellies and flat cap, so I thought no more about her.’ He shrugs.

Immediately, I think of how I reacted when Dan told me he was the owner of the Rolls-Royce, I questioned him, and my cheeks burn. I did judge him, even if I didn’t think I did.

‘Go on.’ I take the tiniest sip from the strong golden liquid.

‘Okay, I never talk about it but, long story short, Kate obviously told her I was a lord and had just inherited the castle and she was up here like a fly on . . . well, ya know yourself.’

‘She thought you were a millionaire?’ I raise a brow.

‘You got it in one. A few days later she arrived up at the castle. She asked me to help her organise a fundraiser for the Heartwell animal shelter. It’s where I rescued Red from as a scared starving puppy, so I couldn’t say no. She played me. Then she wormed her way in, pretending to be a kind person but she really wasn’t. It was all premeditated.’ Dan removes his hand now and opens the desk drawer and rummages for a few seconds. Then, he pulls out pieces of paper stapled together, crumpled and old looking, with coffee-stained rings. ‘This was the last credit card bill she ran up on me.’ He flicks to the last page and hands it to me.

‘Fifteen thousand euro!’ I gasp as my eyes scan the list of transactions, all designer stores.

‘Yeah, she used to take my credit card all the time and wouldn’t believe me when I said I was in debt from her spending. She started to turn ugly in my eyes. I asked her to move out as soon as she could find a new place and she refused. Terry, let’s just say encouraged her by giving her a few home truths I wasn’t strong enough to admit. Still, she wouldn’t leave. Then she tried to bad mouth me all over the village, saying I was stingy. No one believed her or gave her the time of day after that. Finally, one day she packed up and left with a note saying she still loved me and that she was sorry.’

‘And have you seen her since?’ I ask softly.

‘No.’

‘Dan, that’s just awful. Where is all the stuff she bought?’

‘Took it all with her.’ He guffaws.

‘She wasn’t that sorry then!’ I roll my eyes.

‘But I’ve always had the love of my community. Castlemoon is as much a part of the people of Heartwell as it is of me and my family. None of them believed her and that meant the world to me.’

‘You’re amazing, Dan. I have a proposition for you.’ I sit forward, curl my escaping locks behind my ears.

‘Oh yeah?’ He stretches out his long legs, crosses one foot over the other, gives me those big eyes. Damn, I bet every woman he speaks to thinks he’s the sexiest man alive.

‘Do you remember what I was saying about the cellar the other day? About how it’s a gold mine? Well, I want us to show Kate and Jimmy down there now. I know it’s late, but I think they can have their wedding there next week. I’ve already spoken to Kate and I know Jimmy will do it. If we’re successful in the way I think we will be, we could host an abundance of more affordable weddings there!’ I tell him excitedly.

Dan nearly spits his whiskey. ‘Y-you’ve got to be kidding me?’ His eyes narrow so far they almost close. Then he takes stock of my words. ‘Do you really think so? If only . . . I mean, you are the expert.’ He looks at me with what I think is admiration.

I grow taller in confidence. ‘Hear me out. It costs a fortune to run that ballroom, you need to keep the heating running for two or even three days in winter before an event, right? It’s very big. In fact, it’s too big, Dan. A lot of people don’t want a wedding that size anymore.’

‘Yer right, it is too big,’ he agrees. ‘It was grand for Aisling and Aaron as they both have huge families.’

‘It needs a lot of work, Dan, and you can’t afford to close it off for long if you don’t have another stream of income. It’s stunning but it’s too vacuous, too cold, too leaky, but I also have an idea for it.’

‘The bloody roof, some gangsters came and fixed it or so they said. Like an idiot, I paid them in full – thirty thousand euro and the roof still leaks. The plaster is coming loose in the Sweet Orange Room with a leak in the flashing on the chimney. The reason I got so mad with you when you hit the Rolls-Royce was that, just an hour before, I’d put an ad in the Heartwell Gazette to sell it so I could pay the part-timers’ wages that week.’

My mind is working overtime again. I stand up now, Red barks, I slip my arms into my coat, bend to pet him softly, and he settles.

‘It’s a new day. A new year is on the horizon; it’s time for a fresh start. The legend of the castle is your USP, the everlasting love story is why the money will roll in. You need to trade more on that, it’s a commercial gold mine,’ I say, feeling very confident I know what I’m talking about.

‘And you think the cellar can also be used?’ Dan appears to be thinking hard too.

‘Yes. I can see that as clear as a bell but also the Heart Ballroom . . .’

‘See, that’s the creative in you. I’ve only got a practical head on me. Together we’d made a great team, like Esther and Michael.’ He bolts straight upright in his chair. Red barks again and his words cartwheel around my head but I have to concentrate on what I want to do.

‘Follow me, Dan Delaney. Chop chop, we have no time to waste.’ I take his arm, pull him up.

‘Sure,’ he says in a monosyllabic fashion that I know means he wants to keep thinking.

‘Bring your drink,’ I instruct, bounding towards the door. ‘Let me walk you through my ideas.’ As I open the door, I find Kate and Jimmy waiting outside.

‘‘There you are!’ Kate rushes to me, ‘We’ve been looking all over for ye, I’ve told Jimmy your idea. He’s all for it!’ Kate claps her hands madly.

‘I’m all for it. I, however, I have been down there . . .’ Jimmy places his hand on Kate’s shoulder to settle her. ‘There’s a lot of work to be done.’ He eyeballs me cautiously, puts a protective arm around his fiancée’s shoulders.

‘Aye,’ I say, shocked at how I’ve just unconsciously adopted Dan’s lingo, ‘it’s going to take a village, but we can do it.’

‘I’m doing it, Dan!’ Kate grabs his hand, lifts it in the air. ‘I’m getting married here in Castlemoon! Maggie is going to make my dreams come true. Isn’t she something else? Isn’t she just amazing!’ She holds his arm out and twirls under it, the skirt on her pink halterneck billowing out.

Dan throws a worried look at me but I feel confident and in control as I take his other hand. I try to lead him but Kate won’t let him go.

‘You’ll pull the poor man in half!’ Jimmy chortles.

‘Dan! Can you believe it?’ Kate shakes his hand up and down now.

‘Give us ten minutes, guys. Wait for us here? I just need to show Dan one other thing.’ I step in and prise Dan’s hand out of Kate’s vice-like grip.

‘Take your time!’ Kate says. ‘I’ve waited a lifetime, I can wait ten minutes more. Anyway, Mary’s just put out more food!’

Then, I take a concerned and confused-looking Dan by the elbow and lead him back into the Heart Ballroom.

There is no denying the ballroom has an electric energy and in this late hour of the night, with Christmas almost upon us, the festive vibe just spills over. We walk around the edge of the huge dancefloor that’s now empty with the villagers all queuing for food at the back of the room, so I walk into the middle of the dancefloor.

‘Right here.’ I stamp my foot. ‘The perfect partition. I thought it the first time I stood in here at Aisling and Aaron’s wedding.’ I stamp it again.

‘How’d you mean?’ Dan’s eyes search mine, with that more-than-intrigued look he gives off. I watch as he moves towards me, his hands on his hips and his head tilted in wonder. It feels empowering to have someone really listen to my ideas. Really take me seriously.

‘Okay, so we part the room along this line.’ I drag my foot along the floor moving backwards. ‘You still have what looks like a full dancefloor but now it’s at the top or the bottom of the room depending. We still have the windows, the view . . .’

‘I’ve never even thought of halving this room, but hang on, I’d still have to heat the entire ballroom, though?’ Dan slides his hands from his hips deep into his pockets, but I can see he’s thinking it out.

‘No. Your heating system is killing you. Kill it before it finishes you completely. We bring in storage heaters, cheap to hire for a few days, masked behind classic radiator covers, and take bookings for much smaller weddings. This room should be booked out five nights a week. We spend money on a soundproof divider. That’s non-negotiable. It will pay us back a million times over in weddings, engagements, twenty-firsts, as you said. But also book launches, and wine tastings, and comedy nights. We can run yoga and Pilates classes in here all day if we want to! Dan, my mind is bursting with ideas on how we can generate more income.’

A slow developing smile appears. ‘God, you’re right. How have I not been thinking like you?’ He pulls his hands out, and runs his long fingers through his hair. ‘Is this all my fault?’ His voice shakes. His two fists curl up, as they do when he’s anxious.

‘No, it’s not. It’s because your head is too full of trying to keep the wolf from the door. You’re trying to figure all of this out alone. It’s far too much for one person,’ I assure him with a strong, supportive voice.

Dan lifts his head slowly and looks at me like I’m the answer to all his prayers, a bright expression like sunshine that has just risen above the clouds crosses his face. ‘Tell me more, tell me more! Enlighten me, educate me with your amazing creative business brain, Maggie Grace.’

‘Don’t get me started on all the other ways we have to make money, or my creative my brain will explode!’ I count out on my fingers. ‘Marquee weddings on the grounds in summer, market stalls selling jewellery, handmade goods, picnic benches all down the side of the driveway on the grass for takeaway coffees, castle barbeque days, family fun days, you can even host small gymkhana days for pony clubs with all this green space. I met a new girl to the village, Amy. She’s setting up a coffee van. Get her up here, charge her to rent castle ground space to start, think of all the passing trade you will get. You could even have Castlemoon merch! Tourists love that and there is a huge profit to be made on it. Get a gigantic special board at the castle doors, that will drive passing trade inside. Let local artists display their work on the walls and take a commission on all sales. There are endless opportunities, Dan.’ I’m so excited I perform a quick jig, my feet tapping rhythmically on the floor to the music the trad band are tuning up to.

He watches me. ‘Beautiful. Should I call Riverdance, see if they need any new dancers?’ he jokes.

‘They couldn’t afford me!’ I shimmy my shoulders and smile brightly at him.

Then, there is a long pause. Dan’s eyes hold mine steadily so that even blinking feels impossible.

‘Where have you been all my life?’ He gasps a huge lungful of air, as though he wasn’t sure he was going to say that. He’s shocked himself.

‘I know’ is all I say back to him because I do know. We both know. But the thought of saving Castlemoon for him pushes me on to the business at hand. Saving this place is the most important thing of all right now.

I go on. ‘So, I’ve set up a new Instagram for the castle, that’s what I was doing tonight in my room. In your room, Dan Delaney Is Cool.’ I raise an eyebrow.

He laughs knowingly, and then cringes slightly. ‘What made ya look under the stool?’

‘It fell over. Too cute. Anyway, I’ve used the article that I did for the magazine and my pictures. I think it’s the tool we . . .’ I check myself, I’ve been saying ‘we’ all the time I realise, a flush stabbing my cheeks. ‘You . . . I – I mean . . . the tool you need when the cellar is done and you feature Kate and Jimmy’s wedding as the more intimate option – please never use or refer to it as the cheaper option, it cheapens the cellar and I’d hate that – bookings will fly in. My best friend Jill is a huge influencer, vintage clothing mainly but a lot of vintage wedding gowns too, and she’s agreed to post on her page in a few weeks. I know you can go viral with Castlemoon as a wedding venue, Dan, I just know it.’ I’m nodding so enthusiastically my hair bounces with every movement.

Dan says nothing. So I wait. I now know he’s not the kind of man to rush his thoughts. Dan is a deep thinker. Then, slowly he lifts both his hands, cups my face within them but now I’m used to the physical jolt his touch delivers.

‘I’m hoping you can’t get home in this weather, did I tell you that? I’m hoping Faith is on our side.’

‘Me too,’ I admit. I can’t scan the room to see if people are looking but I know they must be.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says as the céilí starts back up. Seán is on the mic telling the crowd it’s the last few dances and to get up on the floor. Conversation and laughter swirls again as fiddles, flutes, bodhráns and accordions sound out.

‘We have to show the cellar to Kate and Jimmy. They’re waiting for us.’ I put my hands on his and gently remove them from my face. I scan the room for them, no sign. ‘They must be outside,’ I tell Dan as he follows me back out to the lobby.

‘Sorry! Here we are!’ I call out to them. Kate sits on Jimmy’s knee by the blazing fire, her cheeks rosy.

‘At last! The band are back for the last hour and we have dancing to do. Need to dance those Christmas turkey sambos and chocolate Santas off my fiancé so he fits into his wedding suit next week.’ Playfully, Kate squeezes Jimmy’s non-existent stomach.

‘Follow us.’ I lead them back through the Sweet Orange Room, down the winding stairs and open the gate to the cellar with ease.

‘Good job, Dan.’ I smile over my shoulder to him.

‘Thanks, boss.’ He nods as he flicks on the also newly fixed overhead light. A lone hanging bulb shines brightly.

‘Now, I need you both to use your imaginations,’ I say.

‘Maggie, right now I feel like Charlie Bucket himself! I’m bursting with the excitement!’ Kate says but I can hear serious trepidation oozing from her voice.

‘We do have a huge back-door emergency-exit area that will be made available to guests for arrival and departure. I just need to tidy up the area around it,’ Dan tells them, ‘needs a lick of paint.’

‘I need you both to think bougie – twinkling white fairy lights, tall candles, white roses, a quartet, quality food, dancing . . .’

Dan goes on ahead and turns on the generator lights as the three of us follow close behind.

‘Ta-dah!’ I turn to get Kate’s immediate reaction. She’s turned rather pale under those rosy cheeks. ‘Kate?’ I say more quietly now. Oh no, does she hate it? Have I made a huge mistake? Have I got her hopes up for nothing? Have I got Dan’s hopes up for nothing? The voice in my head starts to question my own decision.

‘Ya alright, Kate?’ Dan moves to her, puts his hand on her shoulder.

Kate turns and fixes on me with the most intense stare I’ve ever seen before she bursts into tears. I see her shoulders shake and her breath comes in heavy pants.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ My hand flies to my forehead. What have I done?

‘Give her a sec,’ Jimmy says as he looks around.

‘What have you done? You’ve possibly performed a miracle! I love it! Oh my God, Maggie! I love it! I love it so much! I can see it! I can see it all!’ Kate is as giddy as I’ve ever seen her and now I see Jimmy nodding his head with her, approvingly.

‘Right!’ I heave a gasp of relief.

‘Phew!’ Dan bends, rests his hands on his knees.

‘Ya weren’t wrong about it being all hands on deck alright.’ Jimmy says on a muted exhalation.

‘This wedding is definitely happening!’ Kate croaks, filled with happy emotion. ‘I’m getting married in Castlemoon! We are going to be blessed, Jimmy, our marriage is going to be blessed. We will stand under the same roof Esther and Michael Delaney stood under. And that makes me so happy. That is my dream come true.’ Kate spontaneously bursts into tears again.

‘Group hug!’ Jimmy declares, opening his long arms out wide as all four of us huddle in a hug. His physical gesture displays to me yet again the warmth and closeness of this community.

‘Go, the pair of ya! We can talk first thing. Get back to the céilí for the last hour, all your pals are up there!’ Dan shoos them out as I now try to untangle Kate’s arms from around my neck. She kisses both me and Dan as they rush back up to the céilí.

‘Love ye!’ Kate yells back down the stairs.

For a moment, Dan and I both stay where we are.

Then, Dan speaks first. ‘How does it feel to make someone’s greatest dream come true?’

‘Let’s not jump the gun.’ I laugh. ‘There’s a lot of work to do yet.’

We both let the elephant in the room hang heavy. That I won’t be here to see this wedding. That I’ll be back in New York.

‘Let’s go let you finish your drink,’ Dan says as we make our way out, he shuts the gate and we walk back up the winding stairs into the quietness and the warmth of the Sweet Orange Room. The turf fire blazes, catching the flashing lights on the Christmas tree. I can smell the fresh pine, crisp and earthy-sweet.

‘It’s where they met,’ Dan suddenly says in a quiet whisper. ‘Well, where they properly met, where they first spoke, did they tell you that?’ he asks me, emotion dripping from his voice.

‘Your parents? Oh yes, they did. Of course, your dad was sitting there, right?’ I point to a large seat with a tall back by the fireside.

‘Same seat, reupholstered, obviously.’

I walk over to the chair and rest my hands on the back of it, running my fingers across the tweed, seeing the deep intricate pattern in the woven material for the first time.

‘Your father had his head in his hands if I’m not mistaken? He was afraid he was going to lose the castle?’ It’s easy for me to recall my conversation with Esther and Michael. In fact, I could recite it verbatim such was the impression they made on me.

‘Correct.’ Dan moves towards me now, walking slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, that sinew of muscle catches my eye again.

‘And Esther came in . . .’ I go on as though narrating their love story.

‘And saved his life,’ Dan finishes, so close to me now that his lips are inches from my mouth. ‘Is history repeating itself? Are you going to save mine?’ His words are a low whisper.

I can just see his lips move under my eyeline, our mouths are a needle width apart.

‘Maybe we can save each other?’ I murmur back.

Then I kiss him. It’s soft. Tender. It’s everything I want. He’s everything I want.

I pull away just in time as Terry pounds into the room.

‘There ye are.’ He strides over to us. ‘Maggie, I owe you an apology.’ A genuine expression of regret conveys the sincerity of Terry’s feelings.

‘No, Terry. You really don’t.’ I hold my hand up.

‘I do.’ Terry’s brows join together to form his very own disapproving line. ‘I should have checked out the facts fully first. Most unacceptable of me. Dan explained it all. I think I’ve been so stressed, not just with the castle but also with Giselle – she had . . . in the past . . . issues . . .’

‘Holding onto the pregnancy, I know,’ I say softly. ‘I had my own part to play, I was too focused on myself. I owe you an apology.’

There is a tiny twitch at the corner of Terry’s mouth. ‘Friends?’ He extends his hand, a towering presence, and I shake it, my hand lost in his large palm.

‘Terry?’ Dan says. ‘What is it?’

‘Oh, yes, well I just heard from Kate and Jimmy inside about their wedding down below and how they are paying us the rest of the money we need to pay the vultures to have their wedding in the cellar! That’s all your doing, Maggie. We are forever in your debt,’ Terry says. To have his seal of approval means everything to me. I know Terry is a good man, devoted and dedicated to Dan and to Castlemoon.

‘W-what?’ Dan spits. ‘They are?’

‘Oh yeah. Meant to tell you that too.’ I shrug nonchalantly, as Dan moves to me, lifts me off my feet effortlessly and spins me around.

TWENTY-EIGHT

‘Thank you everyone for coming out again.’ Although public speaking is so far from my comfort zone, somehow I speak confidently into the microphone on the stage in Heartwell Hall. ‘Especially so early after the late finish with céilí last night,’ I add, raising an eyebrow to the packed room.

‘We love you, Maggie, anything for you, ma chérie!’ Giselle shouts up. Terry waves, drapes an arm around his heavily pregnant girlfriend.

I can’t help but laugh. ‘So, we spoke to you all briefly about the cellar in the Heart Ballroom before you all left last night. It’s all hands on deck down there today. Kate and Jimmy will be married there next week.’

‘Another cheer that Castlemoon is off the market! For good!’ Dan jumps up from the bench in the front row. Cheers erupt from all the villagers.

‘But Dan needs all your help. He can’t do this alone, guys,’ I tell the hall authoritatively when they settle.

‘Tell us what you need!’ a man shouts out, his voice croaky from last night’s shenanigans.

‘After what we witnessed last night, you need dance lessons, Markey!’ someone yells back and they all howl laughing.

‘I have drawn up a list on a whiteboard that is at reception in the castle. There is a lot to be done, but I know every one of you can bring your special talents to it. I leave tomorrow morning so I want to get as much done as we can today. I want to assign the jobs.’

‘Don’t go!’ I see young Donal jump up as a sudden hush ascends across Heartwell Hall. I’m shocked to feel I’m strongly fighting back tears. ‘Who will get my toastie and KitKat when I’m checking tickets?’

I forcefully swallow the lump of emotion, curl my hair behind my ears.

‘You heard the lady, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!’ Terry sees and comes to my rescue as he stands up and pats Donal on the shoulder and he sits back down. Protectively, Terry extends his hand for me to come down the sharp side steps.

‘I simply cannot thank you enough, my dear,’ Terry says again to me in his posh English accent.

‘You have thanked me enough, I’m just really happy I could help. Dan is super lucky to have you, Terry.’ Reaching up on my tippy toes, I kiss Terry on the cheek.

‘Avengers assembled!’ A shout comes from the crowd. I gasp as I spin around and look down at what seems like the entire village of Heartwell standing up. Then I narrow my eyes and see they are all armed with buckets, spades, gardening tools, paintbrushes, tins of paint, cleaning products, wheelbarrows, shovels, hammers, bin bags bursting at the seams and all kinds of things. All of them, ready to make their way up to Castlemoon through the snow and howling winds to get the cellar ready for Kate and Jimmy’s wedding. The most unselfish, considerate bunch of people. They define community.

* * *

Out in the square, I button up my green wool coat to the neck and pull on my hat. Dan is pulling on a leather jacket, and steps out behind me.

‘I’ve never seen you in that jacket.’ I look at him. ‘Makes you look . . . so young!’ I joke with him because I’m so aware we haven’t much time left together that it pains me.

‘I feel a hundred this week but thank you . . . I should have brought the jeep, what was I thinking walking with this storm grumbling around us!’ Dan shakes his head. ‘Where’s my hat? I always keep my orange hat in this jacket pocket but its jammed here,’ he pulls at the lining and I can tell he’s uncomfortable all of a sudden. ‘Are you packed?’ He has to shout over the noise of the howling wind, distant thunder and the chattering villagers as he takes my hand, squeezes it tightly.

‘Not yet but I’m a fast packer. I’ll do it later before I go to bed.’ My heart lurches and I pray for this storm to continue raging.

‘I can take you to the airport?’ he offers.

‘I have to return my hire car and explain the damage to it and you need to be here to oversee all of this anyway.’ As my words leave my mouth I feel an overwhelming loss, like I’m grieving.

‘Nice one, Maggie!’ Betsy claps me on my back as more villagers pass us and they all greet me like one of Heartwell’s own, which makes me even more pensive.

‘Come back soon, Maggie!’

‘We owe you one, Maggie.’

‘What a brilliant idea, Maggie.’

‘You’re the best, Maggie!’

‘See? They’re all mad about you,’ Dan repeats as again as I bend to tie a lace that doesn’t need fastening. I need to do something to curb my emotion.

The fact is . . . Dan hasn’t asked me to stay.

And I know it’s totally crazy to think that he would after less than a week. But I would give anything to remain here in Heartwell. I’m going to miss this village so much and the wonderful people who live here. How is it I feel so at home here? Why is it it’s so far away?

A car horn beeps from behind us as I stand back up.

‘Good man!’ Dan shouts as he shelters his eyes from the driving snow and we both see Terry in the jeep, his head sticking out the window and beckoning us over.

When we reach Castlemoon, Mary has the trestle table set up alongside the reception desk. It’s lined with flasks marked ‘Tea’ and ‘Coffee’, with paper cups piled high and jugs of water and juices, bowls of fruit, popcorn, crisps, nachos, hummus and bread sticks, cheese and crackers and sausage rolls.

‘You really are Wonder Woman,’ I tell her, embracing her.

‘Don’t think Wonder Woman had a gammy hip.’ She leans to the side.

‘Not for much longer!’ I clap as Mary folds her arms then limps away as my phone rings. I pull it from my coat pocket, read the screen. It’s my mom.

‘Mom?’ I do a tally of hours, it’s the early hours of the morning in New York. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Honey.’ Mom’s voice is unusually soft and low.

‘What is it?’ I lean against the brick wall as people file past me.

‘Honey, I’m so sorry to tell you but Mrs Schwartz passed away a few hours ago. I was there with George and Jez and Marcelo. She took a turn yesterday and called me, I called Jez and he got the first flight out. It was very quick and very peaceful, honey.’ My mother’s voice is soft and soothing and it’s a tone I hardly recognise but somehow, in this moment, I’m immediately brought back to when she told me she was leaving Dad and we were moving to New York.

‘Honey?’ Her concerned voice again.

For years, I’ve carried the trauma of my parents’ divorce and my father’s infidelity. But now, in this saddest of moments, I remember clearly my mother’s kind but honest explanation. Now, I realise how hurt she must have been. How lonely. How stoic.

‘Maggie? Are you okay? I’m so sorry to have to tell you like this but I knew you’d want to know. I was really hoping you’d make it back in time to see her, but it was so fast in the end.’

‘She didn’t suffer?’ I ask, fresh tears forming, rolling down my cheeks.

‘No, she was smiling when she passed, like she was thinking of something wonderful, or she was in some wonderful place . . .’ Mom continues to soothe me.

‘Ireland, probably,’ I whisper on a shaky breath and I raise my left hand in front of my face to look at her ring. It was like she knew her time was nearly up when she gave it to me.

‘Maggie?’ Dan stands in front of me now, concern etched on his face. I just nod to him, tears still streaming.

‘I’ll be home . . .’ I say, ‘to help with the arrangements.’

‘She left her body to medical science, honey, there won’t be a funeral. In a few weeks, Jez wants to do a celebration of her life though. But she did ask for one thing?’

‘What?’ I sniff. I loved Mrs Schwartz so much; even though her body was weak, she was strong. Another woman I looked up to. A woman who truly believed in true love and its power. Hell, maybe this ring brought Dan to me. My mind has been opened to all sorts since being here in Heartwell.

‘That Benji goes to you,’ Dorothy says now.

‘Benji?’ Dan hands me a soft tissue and I wipe my nose.

‘I have him for now, George is gathering his stuff to take him to his place. He will stay there because I have the cat,’ she explains.

‘He needs his basket. Oh, and he loves his little squeaky bone, it’s under the sink. I put it in there because it smells. And his red lead, it’s hanging by the front door, under my purple raincoat, just don’t let him hear you jangle it, he’ll bark the house down.’

‘Do you have anyone there to give you a sweet cup of tea for the shock? To be with you?’ she asks, her concern brimming over.

I look up at Dan still standing over me, a bundle of fresh tissues in his hand, his lips pressed together.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘She had a good life, honey, remember that?’ Mom is still providing comforting words.

‘I will. I’ll call you in the morning, Mom.’ I take a fresh tissue from Dan and dab my eyes.

‘I love you, honey.’

‘I love you, Mom,’ I reply as I ring off.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Dan pulls me to him and I rest my head on his strong shoulder. I can smell the leather of his jacket as I gather myself together.

‘I just need a minute, Dan . . . upstairs.’ I lift my head, wiping my eyes. I move to the staircase and Dan follows close behind, giving me a little space.

As I climb up, I forget about the dip in the last step and almost trip but Dan catches me just in time. He lowers us to the step. There, in the safety of his arms, I cry for my wonderful friend Mrs Schwartz and also for this life I have to leave behind tomorrow.

TWENTY-NINE

Half an hour later, I’m down in the cellar, amazed by the bodies busily working away. There is a buzz of activity but everyone is pulling together with great heart, kindness and camaraderie. Terry, standing precariously on a step-ladder with his huge frame, has already installed overhead dimmers, as the core group he has chosen to start the clearing-out work whistle away. Aaron and his team of builders hammer away. It’s like a scene from one of those reality revamp shows.

‘Right, first things first, the place needs to be power hosed, top to bottom. We will be serving food down here so it needs to pass all inspections for health and safety.’ Finishing the job I started is exactly what Mrs Schwartz would want me to do. She was not the sentimental type, she was a self-proclaimed grab-life-by-the-pants-and-get-on-with-it gal and I take great comfort she is now with Jacob, the love of her life. She struggled so much without him. I glance down at her Claddagh ring again, so happy that I now have a piece of her with me forever.

‘I’m on that, Maggie!’ Peadar from the power hosing truck I first met on my drive into Heartwell raises his hand.

‘Thanks, Peadar! Next, all rest of the barrels and crates need to be removed from under the trap door of the castle so Peadar can begin,’ I shout, hands on either side of my mouth.

‘I’m sending down a group of men from the local farms for that,’ Terry says, coming down the step-ladder, ticking off a list in his hand, ‘they are ready and waiting upstairs.’

‘Brilliant, and all the wine needs to be taken up and stored properly in Dan’s office?’ I say, ready to delegate to the first taker in the room.

‘That’s me and the girls from the Heartwell Book Club!’ Giselle says, as Terry stares at her. ‘I can carry a few wines bottles, Terry. I’m not drinking them! Allez! Men!’ Giselle says with a laugh.

‘I’m JP, by the way, Mary’s better half. I’m supplying the floor and I’ve ten more of Aaron’s men on the way to lay it when it’s set, you’re getting the reclaimed wood from a job I did out in Bearna last week.’ A small, robust man with red cheeks and a thick moustache.

‘Oh hi! That’s amazing! Thank you. I hope your sister is better, Una, isn’t it?’ I remember Mary telling me.

He looks at me with a lop-sided grin. ‘She is, much better, thank you for asking after her, I was able to get away early. My wife told me you’re a lovely person, I can tell she didn’t spin me a lie. Now, the floor must be left settle for an hour.’ JP twists a tool-belt around him.

‘We will take lunch when the floor is being laid,’ I tell him.

‘We are making the table cloths and matching napkins,’ Clare says from the stairwell. ‘Theresa is here, she’s the expert and she’s setting up in the Sweet Orange Room now with her sewing machine.’

‘I’m making tie-backs for the chairs!’ Betsy shouts from the stairwell. ‘I’m going back to the Teapot Café to do it, so I’ll bring back some apple pies and my mince pies for us all to scoff!’

‘I’m donating some of my castle paintings for the walls.’ Another voice.

‘Thank you all!’ I bend calling up to them. ‘Now, I need a hundred tea-light holders mounted?’ I yell out to any takers.

‘I’m on that!’ Dan says.

‘I’ve borrowed fifty chairs and tables from the Moritz hotel. Kate’s aunt Madge was relieved, she is a one-woman band in the little hotel and they don’t ever host weddings, she was just doing Kate a favour. Seán is collecting them in the trad band’s van so he has a few runs to make. The first load will be delivered at six o’clock when the floor’s settled. Right now, I need someone to drive to Galway city and collect the thousand fairy lights?’ I’m ticking a list off the piece of paper in my hand as a hand tips me from behind.

‘I can do that,’ a man I’ve never seen before offers. ‘I’m Syd, I run the Airbnb with my husband Marv.’

‘Thanks Syd!’ I hand him the address and Eircode as I rip off the end of the piece of paper.

I spin the other way as someone else tips my other shoulder. ‘I’m Father Brady, the local priest. I’ve been sitting upstairs with Kate and Jimmy going over the ceremony. Day off today so I’m in my civilian clothes.’ His nose crinkles in a cute laugh. ‘What can I do?’

‘Hi Father,’ I smile at him, ‘I need place cards and menu cards. I’ve ordered them from this family-run business out by Letterfrack?’ I tear off another piece of paper and hand it to him. He folds it into his wallet. ‘I’m on it, God bless, won’t be long.’

It’s only now, as all these people scuttle around me moving barrels and wine and crates and boxes, I realise I love the hustle and bustle. The pace and flurry of bodies is comforting, a far cry from my reaction to the New York sidewalk outside my old job a few days ago. As I stand in a daydream state, I hear a voice call out.

‘Well, well, well, look at you, my friend.’

My head nearly spins off my shoulders.

That voice. It can’t be?

‘Jill! Jillllllllll! Oh my God! What are you doing here?’ I drop my paper and pencil, run through the cellar to my best friend who is standing at the end of the room in her white bubble jacket. We fall into each other’s arms, almost squeeze the breath out of one another.

‘I cannot believe you’re here!’ I cry tears of happiness now.

‘Of course. You asked for my help, right? I booked flights as soon as I hung up the phone to you.’ From her oversized tote bag Jill produces her phone with the biggest ring light that I’ve ever seen attached.

‘W-what the—?’

‘I’m going to story all of this for you guys,’ Jill tells me, her face lighter and happier than I’ve seen it in years. Old Jill is well and truly back.

‘Don’t squeeze her too hard! Hi Maggie!’ Max pops his head out from behind Jill.

‘Max! Hi! You guys didn’t have to come . . .’

‘You know Jill, right? You try stopping her.’ Max pulls me into a tight embrace, kisses the top of my head. ‘So good to see you.’

‘Thank you. You too!’ I can’t believe this. ‘What did I ever do to deserve such amazing friends? I’m overwhelmed you guys came here like this, for me.’ I can’t stop smiling.

‘Eh, you are literally the greatest friend in the world. I know you don’t see yourself as others do, as I do, and I wish you would. You have the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever met – heck, you were about to jump on a plane to me when you thought I needed you yesterday,’ Jill says throwing her arms out wide.

‘You have been there for her, for us, through it all . . .’ Max drops his hand to his wife’s stomach where their beloved baby is growing.

‘Well, thank you, I love you both so much,’ I say, again choked with emotion.

‘So you carry on, Maggie, let me do my thing.’ Jill flicks on the ring light and it’s so bright it’s like a spaceship has landed! She glides away, talking to the camera now, doing her thing as only she can. The camera loves her because she doesn’t lie, she’s completely natural. I’m glad that she’s here because I want her to be busy, like her doctor said. ‘So, guys, I’m here in Castlemoon in Ireland, in the stunning county of Galway, giving you an exclusive. This is the before . . .’

‘Hurry up there, I need to start power hosing,’ Peadar says to her, rolling out his hose pipe.

‘Put me to work,’ Max says. ‘We’re here for one night only, I just flew home and she wanted to come straight here. I’m back to Lisbon tomorrow night, to wrap things up there.’ Max literally rolls up his sleeves.

‘Actually, Max, we could do with your legal brain? Dan’s solicitor is abroad. But we can’t pay you just yet.’ I turn to him.

‘Anything. Maggie, I owe so much to you, it was you who pulled Jill through all those failed IVF cycles, I don’t know how she would have survived it all without you. Whatever you need from me, you only have to ask.’

‘Dan,’ I call over to him. He’s painting the tops of the barrels with a coat of gloss. ‘This is Max. He and my best friend Jill have arrived to help.’

‘Very decent of you, much appreciated and congratulations by the way, Maggie told me your wonderful news.’ Dan holds up his paint-stained hands and the two men bump elbows instead.

‘I’m sure Jill filled you in on my job?’ I ask. Max nods and his face clouds over. ‘Great, so Dan, I’d like Max to double check all Frederick’s stuff, including the legals of the deposit, and also send him a legal letter saying he is never to approach us again, that he is very lucky we aren’t filing a lawsuit for deception of purchase,’ I say.

‘That okay, Max?’ Dan asks, as he pulls a rag from his back pocket and now starts wiping his hands.

‘Consider me your legal representative on everything from here on in. I deal with sharks like Acquired Finance every day, I make it my mission to call them out. I know all the loopholes better than he does, I can guarantee you that,’ Max tells us, crossing his arms, doggedly.

Dan and Max move out of the cellar up the stairs as Dan calls back. ‘We’ll be back to do the tea-light holders in a few.’

‘Perfect!’ I call back as Peadar rolls out the rest of the hose pipe and gets ready to deep clean the cellar.

‘Everyone out for half an hour!’ he yells. ‘I hope there is a pint waiting for me after this? Me head’s not great after last night.’ There’s an unlit cigarette perched between his lips.

‘A pint and fish and chips,’ I promise him, ‘followed by Betsy’s apple pie and cream.’

‘Jill!’ I beckon for her to follow me back upstairs.

‘This place is out of this world.’ Jill stops at the reception desk, looks all around her. ‘You go, I just want to get stuff down for more content.’ I know better than to argue with her when she’s in work mode. Her muse is back it seems and it’s in the shape of a castle.

In the Sweet Orange Room, I’m thrilled to see it bustling like it should be. Sewing machines purr, glasses and cutlery are being polished. Vases are being cleaned out and a cake stand assembled. I lean against the window to watch and catch my breath. Dan stands chatting to Max, each holding a coffee cup. How Dan drinks from a cup is so familiar to me now in every way. Without him seeing me I just watch him. Yes, he is exceptionally handsome, but my attraction to him is so much more than that now. It’s the tone of his voice, the jut of his jaw when he’s excited, the way he clenches his fists when he’s nervous, his kindness to Séamus, to Mrs Geraghty, to his village. It’s how he speaks about Esther and Michael, his love of his heritage, his commitment to this castle, his soul. Maybe it’s because I’ve dated someone who didn’t display any of these traits that I’m so aware of them. When I think back to dating Cooper, he was as selfish as they come. I was the one who took his elderly mother to her diabetes doctor’s appointments. He was always so uncaring, telling me she had plenty of money and could get a taxi.

‘. . . and let me tell you, I wish this was smell-o-vision because the scent of the turf fire in here. Guys, it’s so romantic . . . this is going to be the greatest makeover you’ve ever seen.’

Something in me shifts and I wave Jill over. Pointing to myself I then curl my index finger at her. She nods in understanding.

‘And here’s the woman of the moment, wedding location expert – and, all-round love writer guru, Maggie Grace. Can I let you guys into another little secret? So many of you asked me about my wedding planner for the barn in Boston. So now I can reveal it was Maggie who designed and planned my wedding . . . down to the very last detail – well, I chose the groom!’ Jill steps in beside me.

‘Hi.’ I smile a little awkwardly into the camera, curling my hair behind my ears, licking my lips.

‘Now, Maggie, how excited are you about Castlemoon as a wedding venue?’

I don’t need to think or perform, it comes out of me oh – so naturally. ‘So excited, Jill. I genuinely think Castlemoon is the most romantic wedding location I’ve ever worked on, and I’ve worked on a lot!’ I answer with one hundred percent honesty.

‘Steeped in romantic folklore, right?’ Jill prompts me.

‘Oh, it’s all true.’ And now I believe every word I speak. ‘If you pop over to our brand new Instagram account you can read about Esther and Michael Delaney, the original lord and lady who married here sixty years ago and are still madly in love. Castlemoon brought them together. I’ve yet to uncover any couple who married here and got divorced! It’s fairytale stuff. Facts don’t lie, the majority of people who marry here stay married. Perhaps it’s the magic or perhaps they don’t want to break the folklore and when the going gets tough they work just that little bit harder at their marriage than other couples do. What I do know is that in all the time I worked at Ultimate Locations Wedding Magazine, I never uncovered a gem like this.’ I grin madly into the phone.

‘I know the bookings are going to be done through Castlemoon’s brand new website which you hope will be live soon?’

‘In the next few weeks, yes. It’s www.castlemoon.ie.’ I nod.

‘But in the meantime, like Maggie says, hop onto their Insta page, which I will tag now in a Jill Huberman-Lewis collaboration on my story. Maggie, what else can you tell my followers about this venue for a perfect Irish and international wedding?’

‘Yes, so we will have three amazing wedding venues here in the castle. The unique Heart Ballroom is currently being renovated but will be opening with two adjoining soundproof rooms that each hold one hundred guests. We hope to have them ready to go by next summer. And then there is the Castlemoon Cellar, a unique, bougie, intimate, candle lit fifty-seater that will be ready for booking as soon as we go live.’ Listen to me, I think, I sound super professional and word perfect.

‘And this folklore, that anyone who marries at Castlemoon is blessed by enjoying a long marriage. You mentioned Esther and Michael Delaney? I had a read and what an inspiring story! I believe you have shared more stories from other couples on the Instagram?’ Jill is probing me for more good stuff.

‘Yes, I have been talking to more couples, including Aisling and Aaron who just got married a few days ago in a huge wedding in the Heart Ballroom, you can see my photos on the grid, and Kate and Jimmy who want to keep the costs down and have decided on a more intimate celebration in the cellar next week.’ This comes far more naturally to me than I ever could have imagined!

‘And I also believe there is a giveaway of a two-night stay here next summer? All you need to do, guys, is like and follow the Castlemoon page and tag three friends.’

‘Yes.’ I nod. It’s the first I have heard of this giveaway but a fantastic idea of Jill’s to get us more followers.

‘That’s Maggie Grace, the elusive wedding venue location guru who everyone wants to employ to do their weddings. Keep an eye out for her very own online business coming soon also!’

Jill hits the light and puts the phone away.

‘Jill!’ I nearly fall over with the shock. I can’t believe she said that.

‘It’s time. In fact it’s overdue! I just thought it would help you to hear it said out loud. Let’s just call it food for thought for now.’ Jill simply shrugs her shoulders and I’m a little lost for words. It did sound good!

‘Okay.’ I feel my head nodding.

‘Good. Now I’m saving all the videos to post on my stories when I’ve touched them up and I have more content.’

‘May I?’ I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to hold my hand on Jill’s flat stomach.

‘Please do! You will be spoiling this baby after all as their godmother.’

‘Really?’ I can actually feel my cheeks flush and my face light up.

‘Who else?’ Jill says as I gently touch her stomach. ‘Now, where is this Dan gone? Dan the man! Have you spoken any more to him? I cannot wait to be introduced properly!’

‘He’s here. Oh, I don’t know, Jill. I probably overreacted on the phone to you. Maybe it just is what it is, a holiday romance. He knows I leave tomorrow. He hasn’t mentioned a future . . .’

‘So, tell him how you feel! I was watching you earlier for a few minutes before I called you, I’ve never seen you so confident, so happy. You seem to belong here.’ Jill puts her hand over mine.

‘I wish,’ I tell her honestly.

‘Where is my pregnant wife.’ Max calls out as he and Dan reappear.

‘Here, darling.’ Jill waves as Max and Dan make their way over.

‘Hi, I’m Dan,’ Dan says in his white T-shirt, faded denim jeans and leather jacket. I don’t think he’s ever looked as handsome.

‘H-hello Dan,’ and I try not to laugh as I see Jill take him all in, her eyes wide, and she side-eyes me.

‘I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to help us promote the castle on your social media,’ he tells her.

‘It’s out of this world. Happy to help, Maggie is very dear to me. Very, very dear,’ Jill says, shooting Dan a warning glance that only I would recognise.

‘You’ll stay with us tonight, I said it to Max,’ Dan says.

‘We were just going to find a local B&B?’ Jill tells him.

‘No chance. You are in the bridal suite, I’ve told Mary to get it ready – after all, you guys are celebrating!’ Dan opens his arms and Jill steps in for a hug.

‘Lunch is ready!’ Mary tells us all, hobbling into the room. ‘Everyone into the Heart Ballroom.’

Inside, plates of crusty rolls, thick doorstep bread sandwiches of every description and cups of tea and coffee are all laid out. Jill and I fill our plates and sit down near the fire to catch up. When we’re done, I tell her my sad news.

‘So, my mom called me this morning,’ I say, pouring milk into our third cup of tea. ‘Mrs Schwartz died.’

‘No! Oh, Maggie, I’m so sorry,’ Jill says quietly, taking the cup from me by the small handle and pulling me close to her. I stay there for a few minutes just remembering a wonderful lady.

Then I sit up. ‘I know but she was ready to go see Jacob again,’ I say, ‘I’m just going to miss her so.’

‘See? Some people actually have great marriages,’ Jill says very softly.

‘They certainly did. Eat,’ I command, handing her over another plate, and through a mouthful of thick baked ham and cheddar cheese sandwich she says, ‘As do I.’ Swallowing hard.

‘I’ve been thinking since I’ve been here and met Dan and traced my roots, I need to grow up.’ I reach for another hot chicken and stuffing sandwich, hold it between my two hands, squeezing the filling tightly.

Jill looks at me, tilts her head. ‘What do you mean?’ She holds a napkin to her mouth.

‘I’ve been terrified to fall in love again because I don’t want to be hurt, and especially not like my mom was. Then I met Dan and though it’s only been days he’s proved to me that there are truly decent men in the world. Since Cooper I’ve been looking for excuses to pull away from relationships. I was putting up a barrier and I didn’t realise. Because true love is so much more than sparks or whatever. It’s a feeling that I don’t have the words for. They don’t even exist. I need to grow up and get out there again. Let myself love.’

‘And love yourself more,’ jill says so pointedly that I can’t help but laugh.

‘I think I do. I think I’ve finally allowed myself to be enough.’

Jill just nods ever so slowly, her kind eyes revealing relief at what I’m saying.

‘My baby’s all grown up.’ She reaches for my hand across the table.

‘Thank you for always being so loyal and wonderful, I love you so much.’ I kiss her hand.

‘Oh, let’s not pretend we love our men more than we love each other, sister!’ Jill tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand then reaches across for another sandwich. ‘I know I’m pregnant but these may be the tastiest sandwiches I’ve ever eaten!’ Jill munches down now on a roast beef and relish.

‘Right? Insane! It’s the local butter I think, so creamy.’

‘No, it’s the bread, it’s like eating a cloud!’ She takes a huge bite.

‘Let’s go, people! Tables and chairs have arrived from the Moritz, all hands on deck out front to unload Seán’s truck, that man needs a feed. Someone plate him up a big one and a black coffee.’

‘On it!’ Jimmy shouts back.

‘We’re taking them into the cellar by the back exit door that His Lordship’s been painting. Mind your clothes!’ Terry shouts from the door, sweat trickling down his face as he pulls a cloth from over his shoulder and wipes his brow.

‘Time is flying by!’ I panic, drop the rest of my sandwich on my plate.

‘So let’s keep moving, boss,’ Terry calls over to me and with four straight fingers to the side of his head, he knocks out a sharp salute.

‘Oh phew, okay, let’s get them in and set up.’ I’m laughing at him. ‘Jill Huberman-Lewis, you sit there and finish those sandwiches. That’s a direct order!’ I get up and move towards Terry who is leaning in the doorway of the Sweet Orange Room.

‘Yes, boss!’ Now it’s Jill’s turn to give me a salute as the villagers file out past me one by one, all doing the same salute, and I crease over laughing before running out the door.

THIRTY

‘Close your eyes!’ Carefully, I take Kate by the hand.

‘They are closed,’ she says. ‘Why do you think I’m walking liking a newborn baby foal?’ Kate takes tiny steps.

‘Sorry, Jimmy, but I’ve been told I have to hold your hand. Shut your eyes,’ Dan tells Jimmy behind us. It’s almost midnight and most of the villagers are in the Heart Ballroom having drinks and fish and chips sent up to us from the Heartwell Lounge, all complimentary. Everyone is exhausted but happy.

Leading Kate back down the winding stairs, I stop just before the cellar bar.

With trepidation and excitement in my words I tell her, ‘Open your eyes, Kate.’

Kate opens one eye. Then the other.

‘No way! Maggie! Oh no way!’ Kate’s hands fly to her mouth, she sways.

The once dark cellar is now illuminated by romantic flickering and the gentle glow of light. All down the corridor, along the walls, clusters of tea lights flicker on wooden shelves and inside decorative lanterns. Strings of golden fairy lights are intertwined and drape elegantly from the rafters in the rooftop, twinkling like stars in the night sky. The dim ambient light creates a warm atmosphere, casting soft shadow on the stone walls.

‘Wow,’ Jimmy wheezes.

‘Come on,’ Dan says and I can hear the pride in his voice.

I pull Kate’s hand gently. As we walk on and enter the reception part of the cellar, Kate makes a strange gurgling sound. There are ten tables adorned with candles, with pristine white table cloths and red bows tied on the backs of the chairs, sitting in a circle on the new reclaimed walnut floor. White tall vases already hold three long-stemmed snowdrops from the castle garden that I’d picked earlier purely for effect. Red place cards and menus stand. There are even more fairy lights draped and hanging over the backs of the chairs. The smell of fresh paint lingers. In the far corner is a cosy seating area, arranged with plush cushions and warm throws, a spot I wanted Kate and Jimmy’s wedding guests to be able to kick off their shoes and relax in. Very Kate, I think, nodding to myself with approval at my idea, remembering her in flip-flops the first time I’d met her.

‘It’s like something from a fairytale! You are a genius.’ Kate bursts into tears and hugs me so tightly she almost winds me.

‘This is something else, lads, thank you,’ Jimmy says, high-fiving Dan.

‘All the brain child of this fantastic woman,’ Dan says pointing at me.

‘Team work!’ I immediately retort. ‘None of this was possible without us all pulling together. It really does take a village!’ I say as I squeeze Kate back.

‘I look up to you, do you know that?’ Kate says suddenly as she lets go and takes a step back.

Her words serenade my ears. Make me so emotional.

‘Kate. That’s so nice. . .’ I start.

‘. . . and I don’t mean just physically cos I’m a titch! I mean you are so brave. You came all the way across the world on your own, you only met us all a few days ago, yet you step up and not only come up with a brainwave to save our castle but you make all my dreams come true. You’re an inspiration to me. I hope I can send the lift back down and help another woman like you’ve helped me.’ Kate has a look on her face that I’ve never seen anyone look at me with before. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do – inspire other women.

‘I can’t tell you how much those words mean to me.’ I hug her again.

‘We are going to have our blessing, Jimmy, can you actually believe it? We will be happily married forever,’ Kate gushes as she pats my back then moves away over to Jimmy. I truly believe they will be married forever.

‘That we are, Kate.’ Jimmy pulls her to him. ‘Happy?’

‘Never been happier!’ Kate punches the air. ‘Although . . .’ Kate turns to me. ‘I just wish you were going to be here for our wedding!’

A weird silence falls around the four of us. All eyes on me. You could hear a pin drop.

‘I-I know, me too, but you’ll have to send me all the photos!’ I put a lift in my voice, focus on Kate. I can’t look at Dan.

‘I will of course.’ Kate’s tone is gentle.

‘Can I pop down now?’ Jill’s voice calls from the stairwell and I’m grateful for the interruption.

‘Yes! Sorry, you must be exhausted! Alright, all quiet please, let Jill Lewis-Huberman do her thing.’ I shush them.

‘That’s who you are! Oh my God, I recognise you now!’ Kate is star struck as her jaw falls open and she covers her eyes with Jimmy’s hand.

‘Hi!’ Jill beams at her. ‘What a wedding venue, you must be Kate.’

‘Over here.’ I pull Jimmy’s hand down, take Kate by the arm and introduce her to Jill then Jill moves off and we all huddle in the far corner out of sight.

‘So guys, it’s sixteen hours later. Are you ready to get an exclusive look at what we have? You want a romantic wedding venue? You want the fairytale? Well come with me.’ The ring light from Jill’s camera slowly comes into blinding view. ‘I can’t even . . . this is definitely where I am renewing my vows. Look at this! Spectacular! Stunning! Super bougie!’ Jill walks around as Kate pulls at my top. I bend low as she whispers in my ear.

‘I wish you didn’t have to leave here but maybe you can’t if Faith is still blowing a gale out there?’

‘If fate is real, who knows,’ I whisper back and cross my fingers behind her back. But there is another thought that is occupying my mind if only I was brave enough.

* * *

After everyone had left and Jill and Max had gone to bed in the bridal suite, Dan and I sit bone weary in his office. Red rests his head on my lap and I gently stroke him. Dan yawns loudly, then I do the same.

‘That’s contagious,’ I say easily.

‘You need to pack and try get a bit of sleep. I’m aware of that.’ Dan stands up with a sort of forlorn look on his face. He’s been checking something on his phone so I have to ask, ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Believe it or not, Faith has passed over us, the snow has stopped and it’s milder out now. Calm as anything.’ Resignation rings in his voice.

Typical, the storm has passed, I think, with a drop-feeling in the pit of my stomach.

‘I was thinking . . .’ he starts.

‘Yeah?’ I jump in, sitting up. Say it. I think. Say something.

‘Maybe we could have a last stroll around the grounds, you and me, before you have to leave?’ Dan steps in beside me and Red jumps to his feet and barks wildly. ‘Okay, and you too, boy.’

‘Sure.’ I’m flooded with disappointment. That hope in the back of my mind where I’d been praying Faith would keep me here a little while longer is snuffed out. Now that isn’t going to happen. I’m going back to New York in a few hours. Slipping my arms into my green wool coat, I button it up as we walk out of his office. Dan holds the red castle door open for me as we step outside. He is right. It is practically balmy out. Red bounds ahead of us, his paws making small prints in the last of the fresh snow.

‘I can’t believe the change in the weather,’ Dan says and it’s so quiet it’s almost to himself.

‘Me either,’ I manage, tuck my hands into my pockets.

‘You really have saved this place,’ Dan says softly.

‘No, you did.’ I jut him with my hip. He doesn’t take my hand now, I notice, curling my fingers into my palms inside my pockets.

Is this our last conversation? My stomach lurches at that thought and I feel sick. Gripping my fingers further into my palms, my nails make indents.

‘When Jill posts, you will get so many bookings, I know it.’ Trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. All I want to do is curl up in that four-poster bed and cry myself to sleep for a few hours. I could speak up. I could tell him how I feel and I feel strong enough to do that, I just don’t want to put him on the spot. That would not be fair.

‘I don’t know how I’m going to manage without you.’ Dan expels a half-hearted laugh as we walk around the castle.

I let that hang.

‘I don’t want to say anything I will regret so . . .’

‘You don’t have to say a thing. Look, I leave early and I do need some sleep so I better go, Dan.’ I stop walking, I want to make this easier for him.

‘Sure,’ he says and as we turn to head back inside a bell tolls out below in Heartwell village. A deep, resonant tone that carries.

‘What’s that?’ I ask him.

‘The Heartwell church bells. They toll every half an hour on Christmas Eve. Three gongs. It’s Christmas Eve morning.’ Dan checks his watch. ‘Oh wow, it’s six a.m.’

‘It’s not? Oh, I have to get moving. I need to get . . . home.’ The words get stuck in my throat. The word ‘home’ feels all wrong.

‘Of course. I’ll walk you up to your room.’ We head back inside the castle in silence. ‘Into bed, Red, good boy.’ Dan opens his office door and clicks his fingers. But Red sits at my feet, his big eyes looking up at me, refusing to budge. I get down on my knees and pat him softly.

‘Goodbye, Red.’ I rest my cheek on his silky fur, he whimpers with his tail down, then he turns and goes into Dan’s office. I know how he feels. I stand up slowly and we walk past the dying embers of the fire towards the grand staircase together. It’s hard to believe I have to leave this place, I think, stepping onto the grand staircase for the very last time.

THIRTY-ONE

‘Terry fixed that top step tonight at long last.’ Dan nods to the top of the staircase. ‘It’s safe to stand on again when you reach the top.’

Turning to face him, my foot on the step, I lean on the mahogany banister at the bottom for a moment. Are these my final words to him? I feel my heart race, my throat close over. I’m terrified I’m going to burst into explosive tears as I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.

‘Do you need anything?’ Dan has to clear his own throat as his words get caught and I jam my hand into the inside pocket of my white wool coat to search for a tissue.

‘No, I’m good.’ I fight the tears so hard it hurts. ‘I’ll pack up and get a few hours’ sleep. I need to be on the road in a few hours,’ I manage as my fingers fumble on something in my inside pocket. It feels like the links of a chain.

‘What’s this?’ I mutter pulling it loose.

‘Because I need to tell you . . .’ Dan starts as I pull a heavy chain out.

‘What? Tell me what?’ I look up at him as the chain dangles in my hand. The half-moon sways left to right. It’s that chain I found in the lobby of my building a few days ago, just before I had my meeting with Amanda. The half-moon on the thick chain feels heavy between my fingers as it hangs. Dan pales in front of me, like he’s just seen a ghost.

‘W-what? How in the—’ He gasps, takes a few quick steps away from me.

‘You okay?’ I ask, concerned, still dangling the chain.

‘S-st-op.’ He pants the word out, his breath coming in rasps as his dark eyes follow the swaying half-moon, left to right, left to right, left to right.

‘What? Dan? Are you okay?’ I question again, folding the chain up into my palm, moving towards him.

‘I-It’s, but how did you get it?’ Dan points to the chain.

‘Oh, it’s not mine, I found it at work, but I forgot to leave it in lost and found. I hope the owner isn’t—’

‘W-where did you f-find it?’ Dan stammers. He really has paled awfully.

‘Are you okay? You look awfully pale all of a sudden,’ I ask, more than a little concerned for him as I move further away from the banister and take another step in front of him.

‘It’s mine, Maggie.’ He places his hand on my arm as though he needs steadying.

‘What’s yours?’ I ask, watching the colour return to his face.

‘My chain. That is my chain. My necklace. I-I’ve been looking everywhere for it,’ he whispers, lowering his head to stare at my closed hand.

‘W-what? It can’t be, I found this in New York.’ Putting my free hand on his shaking one that is still resting on me.

‘It is. I thought I lost it in New York. I did lose it in New York.’ He looks to me as he grapples with what he’s saying.

‘Noooooooo?’ I almost fall backwards as he drops his hand and I steady myself by the banister again. ‘Oh no way? Tell me you’re joking.’ I’m feeling acutely dizzy, clutching the chain tighter.

‘I’m not. It’s mine, well it was my father’s, but it’s been mine since he gave it to me when I turned twenty-one.’ Dan’s mouth drops open. He shuts it and it drops open again. I watch him twist away and pace around the lobby now. Neither of us know what to say. I’m trying to take this in.

He stops and finally he speaks. ‘It’s you.’ His two hands hold either side of his head, his dark, unruly hair protruding through his fingertips. ‘It wasn’t déjà vu! Maggie, you’re – you’re the woman on the sidewalk in New York with the wild red hair. It’s you! I was running . . .’ There’s incredulity in his voice that is barely audible now as I look at him again, suddenly recognising the faded leather jacket he’s wearing, and that burnt orange hat peeping out of the pocket.

‘It’s you! The running man? I can’t believe this . . . is this for real?’ I shake my head in utter disbelief. My legs turn to jelly, so shaky that I have to sit. Lowering myself onto the last step, I clutch the chain in my hand.

Dan’s chain.

‘How is this even possible?’ Dan sits beside me on the step. He bends over and cradles his head in his shaking hands.

‘You must have dropped it in the lobby, when you went to meet Frederick Macken.’ I gulp. ‘And I stood on it. I found it and not only that but you stepped into the elevator with those two guys from Acquired Finance, I saw you . . . I was in there with Eliza.’ My brain replays everything I’ve just said in slow motion.

‘We were in an elevator together?’ Dan’s face peeks up from between his hands, stretching the skin on his face. ‘Jesus,’ is all he says, ‘this is utterly bizarre. Every hair is standing up on the back of my neck.’

‘I stood on your necklace. You’d just run past outside, almost knocked me off my feet . . .’ I hear myself repeat like it’s some crazy fantasy I’m saying out loud.

‘I remember! I remember thinking I should stop to see if you were alright. But I was really late. I hadn’t slept the night before, not a wink. I’d paced the floor all night high up in that hotel room debating, torturing, myself on whether or not I was making the right choice in selling Castlemoon. Terry tried to talk me out of it. He was the only one who knew why I was in New York. We talked for hours that night. At five o’ clock in the morning I made the decision I wasn’t selling, then I woke at six-thirty in a blind panic and ran! I literally ran all the way from my hotel room to that office building so I couldn’t think,’ Dan says to my dumbfounded face.

‘I can’t get my head around it. Shock is too small a word for how I feel.’ I look around in confusion at everything that is happening.

‘It was only when you took your hat off here in the lobby, when we were arguing, I saw your red hair and something triggered in me. I said it to Mary. I said I think I’ve met that woman somewhere before. Remember? I was right.’ Dan gently moves my hair back off my face. I look down again at my clenched fist. If this isn’t fate I don’t know what is.

‘I was so angry at myself for not shouting after you that morning, then I went into my building, I got a caramel latte and stood on your chain.’ Closing one eye, I retrace that life-changing morning. ‘I stuffed it into the pocket of this coat and I forgot all about it until right now. Imagine I hadn’t just looked for a tissue right now.’ Uncurling my fist, I hand Dan back his necklace.

‘Do you believe in fate now?’ He looks at me, his eyes so familiar now. I can’t stop looking at him.

‘I do. I mean like, what are the chances?’ I say softly, pulling my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them, I pull my phone out to check the time, wanting time to stand still, but I’m afraid to look at the phone, I know time is racing away. I rest my phone on the step beside me.

‘A gazillion to one.’ Dan holds the chain at both ends and links them together behind his head; the half-moon sways in the neck of his open shirt.

‘Suits you,’ I say, my eyes raised.

‘I almost feel complete,’ he tells me, his long fingers linking the chain.

‘Almost?’ I dare to ask.

‘May I?’ He lifts my hand and carefully removes my Claddagh ring, easing it down my finger.

‘What?’ I look down at my bare finger.

‘I can’t let you go, Maggie, but I can’t ask you to stay. You have a life in New York, I do know that. You have family and friends and a career. I’d leave here if I could but I think you understand that I can’t?’

‘And we barely know each other.’ I have to be honest.

‘But we do know each other, I feel it in here.’ Dan holds his chest now. ‘I told you the very first time we met I believe in the one. Well, you’re the one for me. But I don’t want you to give up your dreams, your ambitions . . . I want to help you fulfil them. I want the world for you. I just want to share it with you, whatever way we can? Across the ocean.’ Dan turns my ring around. ‘But you have my heart. All of it. Question is, do I have yours?’

‘You do. You absolutely do.’ I extend my hand.

Dan slides the ring back up my finger, closing my heart. Such a simple but profound action makes me jolt. A vision of Mrs Schwartz comes to me. She would have been so happy for me, for her beautiful ring.

‘I quit my job,’ I tell him.

‘Good. From the little I know, you deserve more.’ Dan still holds my hand.

‘You’re right, I do. I know that now but this here, this is what I’ve been waiting for all my life. This feeling of pure contentment.’ I look to the ring. My heart is well and truly taken. Not just by this man but by this place, this village, this community.

‘So, what does that mean?’ Dan asks me, his free hand fidgeting with the half-moon and I can almost feel its soothing nature. I can vividly recall how it calmed me in Amanda’s office.

‘It means I’m staying here, in Heartwell. I’m not going back to New York. It’s a thought I’ve had since I arrived but I didn’t know if I was brave enough.’ I need to hear myself say it out loud, and once I’ve said it, I feel like I’m reclaiming my power. I’m putting myself first, I’m doing exactly what I want to do. It feels wonderful.

‘Don’t joke with me, not right now.’ His voice wobbles.

‘I’m not joking, Dan. I’m not getting on that flight. I’m staying here. I’ve never felt as at home as I do in Heartwell. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you and it’s only been a few days. I owe it to myself to give us a chance.’ The timid side of my personality seems to have packed up and left because all I feel is confidence.

‘You’ll stay here with me?’ Dan’s eyes almost pop out of his head, his cheeks flush and he stares at me like he can’t quite believe what he’s just heard me say.

‘Not with you, not yet anyway. I’m staying for myself. I saw Rosehip Cottage, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I’m going to rent that, do it up as I go. I have some small savings and I will start my online wedding location business, all I need is WIFI and a laptop . . . and a few couples who want to get married!’ I laugh freely, watching him carefully.

Then, the church bells toll again in the distance, the ringing creating a festive sense of harmony as Heartwell village begins to wake up to welcome this wondrous Christmas Eve.

‘You’re staying?’ Tears sprout in his dark eyes.

‘I’m staying,’ I tell him, proudly.

‘I’m so happy.’

‘Me too.’ I nod repeatedly, feeling my eyes shine with elation.

‘You won’t regret it . . .’ He wipes a falling tear.

‘I might need your help to pack up my stuff after the holidays, plus I will be bringing a little dog back with me. Benji, I hope Red will like him.’

‘Of course! I’ll get to meet Dorothy! You’ll love this place as much as I do, I can feel it.’ His eyes search mine.

‘I do,’ I admit, ‘from the very first time I saw it. The village, the castle, the people.’ My eyes are locked on his now.

‘We’ll take it slow.’ It’s like he can read my mind and sense my nervousness.

‘Yes.’ I purse my lips to stop any tears. I am truly mad about him but it is so fast, we need to take it slowly.

‘So tonight, we all go to Heartwell Hall for a candlelit carol service. Everyone brings a gift, we do a village Kris Kindle – Secret Santa – you probably saw all the gifts under the tree in the lobby and in the Heartwell Lounge? Then most of us go on to midnight mass.’ His voice is soft, caring, relieved.

‘Sounds perfect. I do have a true connection here, I feel it so strongly,’ I tell him. ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d belong here in Ireland, in Galway. I’ve spent my whole life struggling to find a connection to a place, a land, a relationship. But here, I have finally found it. All because I pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I took a risk and finally that longing has been completely filled.’

‘Welcome home, Irish Maggie,’ Dan says to me, moves in and places both his hands gently on my face. His touch, the proximity of him, the thoughts of starting a relationship with him makes me physically shake. I will never regret my leap of faith. We hold the most intense eye contact. I could look at him for ever and never tire of his face.

‘I know it’s crazy because it’s only been days but yet it’s been a lifetime,’ Dan tells me in his lilting, wonderful thick Irish accent.

‘I know.’ I say as I wrap my arms around his strong neck and the half-moon swings against the dark hairs on his chest.

He leans back away from me slightly, so his dark eyes can connect with mine with an unwavering focus. ‘I’m not dreaming, am I? I’m almost afraid I will wake up and this will all be some magnificent dream?’

‘Let me prove to you you’re not dreaming,’ I whisper. Then I press my lips to his and we kiss. Sparks shoot through my body like tiny electric shocks. Like fireworks, like bottle rockets. And when we part, he says, ‘I’m the luckiest man in the world.’

‘Yeah, you are.’ I shimmy my shoulders as I tease him.

‘Thank you for saving me,’ Dan whispers.

Something catches my eye and I glance down at my phone on the bottom step. Hundreds of heart emoji notifications are flying up my screen from the Castlemoon Instagram account. The red heart icons twinkle and rise ascending in various directions.

‘We saved each other,’ I tell him as I pick up my phone. My Claddagh ring sparkles in the December sunlight that is breaking through the castle’s stained-glass window and I feel the promise of a new life leading me towards my own version of happily ever after.

If you loved Caroline Grace-Cassidy’s uplifting and heart-warming story, don't miss her next feel-good romantic read - coming summer 2026!

Order it now!

Acknowledgements

As always, my first thanks to my publishers. To Bea Grabowska, Siân Heap, Emma Wilson and all at Embla Books. What a pleasure to work with this incredible team of brilliant women.

There are always so many people in my work and personal life to acknowledge but it’s a bit like going to the shops. . . I almost always forget the milk! So I’d just like to say thank you to my family, Kevin, Grace, Maggie – a shoutout to my dad, Robbie. My girlfriends who I am blessed to have so many of, you know who you are. The author community who are always so supportive – I feel immense pride being a part of it.

For Noeleen, my precious mother, who I dedicate this Christmas book to, so missed and never from my thoughts. That library card she made me get at seven years old has paid off into a career I am so lucky to do.

Once more, I want to extend my biggest ‘Thank You’ to my readers.

THANK YOU ALL!

A Note from the Author

Season’s greetings!

I’m delighted to share A Merry Little Irish Christmas with you. I felt only joy and warmth while writing this book because, being born on Christmas Day, it has always been, in my eyes, the most wondrous time of the year. If we could bottle the Christmas spirit every day, what a world it would be!

For me, the love story of Maggie Grace and Dan Delaney has its own magic. The one, more often than not, is to be found where you least expect it . . . so, I hope that as you immerse yourself in the story of their unexpected romance, you’re cosied up by the fire, with a blanket of snowfall outside, sipping hot chocolate and filled with the magic of Christmas.

Please drop me a line, I love to hear from you all.

Instagram: @carolinegracecassidy

With festive love,

Caroline Grace-Cassidy x

About the Author

Caroline Grace-Cassidy is a bestselling author of eleven novels, a screenwriter and the Creative Director at Document Films.

Caroline lives in Dublin with her husband, Kevin, and daughters, Grace and Maggie.

About Embla Books

Embla Books is a digital-first publisher of standout commercial adult fiction. Passionate about storytelling, the team at Embla believe our lives are built on stories – and publish books that will make you ‘laugh, love, look over your shoulder and lose sleep’. Launched by Bonnier Books UK in 2021, the imprint is named after the first woman from the creation myth in Norse mythology. Embla was carved by the gods from a tree trunk found on the seashore; an image of the kind of creative work and crafting that writers do, and a symbol of how stories shape our lives.

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