Love and Blarney by Zara Keane Read Free Book Online Page B

suit. “Who’s the statue?”
    “That’s Michael Collins. He was one of the leaders during Ireland’s fight for independence. He grew up not far from here and was killed in Cork during the Irish Civil War.”
    They crossed the square and took another side street. She was painfully aware of every slippery cobblestoned step. Reaching the smooth surface of the curb would be a relief. “How far does the pedestrian zone extend?”
    “Not far. It’s confined to the lanes around the town square. Patrick Street—that’s the main street through Ballybeg—allows vehicles.”
    They walked in silence, past flashing neon signs, pungent takeouts, and little stores with gorgeous window displays. She paused to admire one such display—traditional Irish pottery bowls, jugs, and cups. Some were decorated with glossy swirls of color; others had delicate hand painted patterns.
    Ruairí’s arm slipped through hers, startling her. “Planning a shopping spree?”
    “I definitely want to visit this store when it’s open. The pottery is gorgeous.” She adjusted quickly to the familiar sensation of walking arm-in-arm with her husband.
    A few feet farther down the street, they stopped before a bookstore. It was situated in a lovely turquoise building with beautiful bay windows. Spotlights lighted up a huge display of mystery novels. “Hey, I know that author.” She leaned closer to get a better look. “I have a couple of his books on my ereader. They’re good.”
    “Jonas O’Mahony is from Ballybeg.”
    “Really? I didn’t know that. His mystery series is set in Dublin.”
    “Yeah, but he grew up here. He’s a pal of mine. I’m sure I can persuade him to sign a book for you.”
    “That would be cool.”
    “I didn’t realize you liked mysteries,” he said, giving her a quizzical look. “I thought you only read literary fiction.”
    “I started reading mystery and romance when I was in…” The hospital. She stopped herself in time. This was neither the time nor the place to tell him what had happened. “Let’s just say the past year was stressful. Reading genre fiction helped me unwind.”
    He nodded slowly, his intelligent eyes processing her every word, gesture, and intonation. “Did we move too fast, Jayme? Is that why it fell apart so easily?”
    “I don’t know. Six months from first date to wedding vows isn’t breakneck speed.”
    “But it’s pretty close. We were so caught up in the high of being in love. Maybe we skipped a few steps.”
    She drew in a shaky breath. He was right. They’d fallen for one another hard and fast, and that was how they’d conducted their entire relationship. They both had high-pressure jobs and worked long hours. What little free time they’d had, they’d spent on extravagant dates and big gestures. Had they been so busy working and making love that they’d failed to appreciate the little things? When had they spent proper downtime together? How many conversations had they postponed?
    They continued their walk, Ruairí pointing out various buildings of historical importance. He was a gifted tour guide with an interesting tidbit or amusing anecdote for every place they stopped. Eventually they reached Beach Road. They stood in front of Mrs. Keogh’s bed-and-breakfast, the scent of seaweed drifting up from the seashore. It reminded her of the vast expanse of water separating them from her home in New York. She shivered in the chill night air and slipped her arm free from his. “Thank you for the tour.”
    “My pleasure.” He was staring at her intensely, his face close. Leaning in, his lips brushed her cheek. “Goodnight, Jayme. Thanks for helping me in the pub today.”
    Her breath caught in her throat. “No problem,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    With a parting smile, he turned and retraced his steps in the direction of the town center. She watched his retreating back—so broad and strong—and caressed the cheek he’d kissed. Perhaps there