The Summer Garden. Sherryl Woods

“I know. I see glimpses of it from time to time. Do you suppose she and I can make peace?” she asked, her tone plaintive.

       “She and I have,” he said. “So there’s always hope. We’ll see if tonight can give us a start on that.”

       In fact, he vowed to do his part to give things a push in that direction. He had a feeling that if Moira was to find her own happiness—with Luke or someone else—she needed to believe she was worthy of love. Circumstances and Kiera’s own bitterness had done their part to rob her of that self-confidence. It was past time to fix that, too. For a man his age, it seemed he still had a lot to accomplish.

       Peter refused to let Moira wait on a single table while her mother and grandfather were in the pub.

       “Enjoy your family,” he said. “Bask in their admiration.”

       She would have, but she was too nervous. As Dillon and Kiera circled the room, pausing in front of the photos, Moira waited behind the bar, polishing mugs despite Peter’s best efforts to get her to stop hiding out. She couldn’t help noticing that Peter seemed almost as anxious about their reactions as she was.

       “Well?” he prodded, when they finally headed back toward the bar. “Is she as amazing as I think?”

       “I’m stunned,” Kiera said, a smile on her face. “Moira, they’re truly remarkable.”

       Moira flushed at the praise. “Do you mean that?”

       “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” her mother insisted, then glanced briefly at Peter. “Thank you for encouraging her.” She looked away almost the instant the words were out of her mouth.

       “It’s been my pleasure,” Peter said, his gaze on Kiera steady, despite her doing her best to avoid it. “I would have done the same for anyone, but it’s meant more that it was your daughter I was helping.”

       The color in her mother’s cheeks heightened at his words. So, Moira thought, her mum wasn’t immune to him, after all.

       She slipped out from behind the bar and tucked her arm through her grandfather’s, then steered him away from the others to stand in front of one of the photos. “You haven’t said much.”

       “You’ve left me speechless,” he admitted. “I feel as if I know those people, not as I always have, but as if I’ve had a glimpse inside them. This is more than a hobby, Moira. You’ve a talent you should be nurturing.”

       Tears stung her eyes. “You have no idea what it means to me to have you say that. I’m almost starting to believe I could make a go of this.”

       “Then it’s something you truly want?”

       She nodded. “I’ve never allowed myself to believe it could happen. I was always the screwup, the rebellious one, not suited for anything I was learning in school. I talked a bit to Jess O’Brien about that feeling when she was here. She said she’d felt much the same way till she opened her inn.” She met his gaze. “I think, in some ways, it’s the same with Luke and his pub.”

       “I think it is,” her grandfather agreed. “If you can understand that and give him the room to mature and grow, I think he’ll do the same for you. You’ll build your future together, one with room for both your gifts.”

       Moira looked around the pub at the photos on the walls, noted the way people were admiring them and felt a warm glow of satisfaction, but something else as well. This faint possibility of a career—this hope she was feeling—it was here, in Dublin, while Luke was across the ocean.

       As if he’d read her mind, her grandfather smiled at her. “There are people to photograph in America, too,” he said quietly. “If this is what you were meant to do and Luke is the man you’re meant to be with, you’ll find a way. Believe in that.”

       Moira nodded, wanted to believe, but over the years there’d been very little reason to have faith in herself. Suddenly the trip that she’d agreed to with one goal was about so much more.

       Luke was standing amid wood shavings, drawing in the scent of paint and wondering if he’d been out of his mind to think he could create an Irish pub in barely more than a month. He’d trusted it to his brother and his uncle, but right at the moment all he could detect was chaos. Only the handsome sign that was meant to go above the door out front—O’Brien’s written in the almost traditional raised gold letters against a dark green background—was ready.

       The massive bar, the one he’d salvaged from a town in the countryside miles from Dublin, would be delivered tomorrow, assuming he dared to put it into place in this construction zone. It might be better off being left in the alley behind the building. Matthew was still grumbling about the tight fit it was going to be. There’d be barely inches to spare once it was in place across the back of the room. If Luke gained even a few ounces, he’d be squeezing past to make his way to the office in back. Thank goodness the doorway to the kitchen was off to the side. Otherwise, a waiter with a tray would be tempting fate each time he came and went.

       For the past three weeks, he’d been in here every minute, working alongside his uncle’s crew, testing the limits of his own skills with a hammer and paintbrush. Even his father had pitched in once or twice, though that help usually came with another well-meant cautionary lecture Luke didn’t especially want to hear.

       He was on the phone in the tiny space he’d set aside for an office when he looked up and saw Kristen making her way through the bar. In her spike heels, designer suit and flashing gold-and-diamond jewelry, she looked as out of place in here as he felt at those fancy Baltimore parties she’d dragged him to from time to time.

       “You shouldn’t be wandering around in here without a hard hat,” he told her, not entirely glad to see her. She’d made her opinion of “this little project of yours” well-known. She hadn’t been delighted about it. She thought running a bar was beneath him. It was one of the few heated arguments they’d ever had. Usually they discussed nothing else worth fighting about. In Luke’s opinion, the handwriting was on the wall about their future…or lack thereof. Hadn’t he made that clear the last time they’d spoken?

       “Since you’re spending all your time here these days, I thought you could show me around,” she said, then took in the room, her expression dubious. “There’s not much to see, is there?”

       “It’s coming along,” he said defensively. “I can show you the plans if you’d like to take a look.”

       “I’d rather you take me to Brady’s for dinner,” she said.

       He shook his head before the words were out of her mouth. “I can’t. Sorry. I have to go to Gram’s tonight. Dillon’s arriving from Ireland, and she expects the family to drop by.”

       Kristen looked skeptical. “Will all of you even fit in that little cottage of hers?”

       “We’ll fit well enough,” Luke told her.

       She watched him intently, obviously waiting for an invitation he had no intention of extending. Eventually, she sighed.

       “Still not welcome on O’Brien turf,” she said wryly. “Is that ever likely to change?”

       “I don’t know,” he told her candidly. “You did try to break up my sister’s marriage. Susie can hold a grudge with the best of them, and I can promise you there’s no one in the family who’s unlikely to take her side.”

       She frowned at his observation. “Then what are we doing, Luke?”

       “What we’ve always been doing,” he replied candidly. “Enjoying each other’s company when it suits both of us.”

       “What if that’s not enough anymore?”

       He’d been wondering the same thing, though for slightly different reasons, he suspected. “We talked about this the other night. It’s time for you to move on. You don’t want more from me, Kristen. You know you don’t.”