Page 19 of The Widow’s Irish Secret (Magnolia Manor #4)

After breakfast the following morning, Tricia prepared for the day ahead that might be full of tension.

She had promised Cillian sandwiches so she took a look in her fridge to see what she could put together.

There was cheese, a jar of pickles, mustard, ham and tomatoes.

Perfect. Tricia remembered how Cillian used to love pickles and mustard with practically everything.

So she made a couple of sandwiches using the sourdough bread from the bakery.

Then she found two blueberry muffins in the breadbin that she had bought for Vi.

Promising herself she’d replace them, Tricia put them into the picnic basket, adding two apples from the fruit bowl.

Then she put two bottles of beer into a cool bag and made coffee to put into a thermos flask she found in a cupboard.

It all reminded her of picnics she had prepared for the three of them when they were off hiking or just going to the beach.

What a strange feeling it was to do this.

Nostalgia mixed with a tender feeling of continuing a tradition she had thought she had left behind.

But this time there would only be the two of them.

Fred was gone – really gone. She no longer had that sensation of him standing between her and Cillian and she hoped it would stay that way.

In its place was a kind of nervous anticipation and something else.

Was it hope of a new beginning for them both?

Just as friends for now, but it was a good start.

Tricia stopped in her tracks for a moment, wondering if she was getting into something that she would find hard to handle. Then she told herself sternly to enjoy this moment, this day and stop worrying about what might – or might not – happen.

The clouds scudded across the sky, the sun playing hide and seek, peeping out now and then only to disappear again as Tricia walked over to the cottage carrying her bag.

It was nearly time for lunch. She had spent most of the morning preparing the picnic and then agonised about what she would wear, trying on different trousers and tops before settling for jeans and a navy shirt.

After all, she was not going on a date, just having lunch with an old friend.

A friend with whom she shared so many memories and who she still found attractive despite what had happened between them in the past.

She saw a bike leaning against the fence as she approached the cottage. Then Cillian, similarly dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, came into view at the door, partly obscured by the large shrubs.

He smiled as she opened the little gate. ‘Hi there. Good to see you again.’

She returned his smile, her heart suddenly skipping a beat from pure joy at being here with him. ‘Hi. Nice day too.’

‘All the lovelier with you in it.’ He took the bag from her. ‘Is this lunch?’

‘Yes, and a few little pots with paint samples and some bits of wallpaper I thought I might try.’

‘Oh, great. Can’t wait to see this lovely place. I was never inside it even though Fred often talked about it.’

As she came closer, she noticed a slight apprehension in his eyes as he mentioned Fred’s name. ‘Oh, yes, he was quite obsessed with it. He was so excited to start doing it up.’ Tricia opened the door. ‘And now it’s my obsession.’

‘Life is strange,’ he said as he followed her inside. ‘And hard and wonderful and heartbreaking and then great again. Until the next disaster.’

‘I know.’ Tricia looked at him over her shoulder, feeling a strange connection as their eyes met. ‘But this is going to be my happy place, so no sad thoughts are allowed.’

‘Got it,’ he said. ‘I see you haven’t changed. Still the bossy-boots. Just like all the Fleury girls.’

‘I’m only a Fleury girl by marriage, just like Sylvia. But she seems to have picked up the mantle from her in-laws.’

‘Oh, I think the Fleury boys pick feisty girls to marry. That’s how the tradition keeps going.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ Tricia went into the kitchen. ‘Put the bag on the table and then I’ll show you around as you’ve never seen the inside of this house.’

‘Yes, that’ll be great.’ Cillian did as he was told and Tricia led the way out of the kitchen, glad of the distraction of the house.

She had no idea why he wanted to see her and she felt awkward and shy in his presence.

She decided to talk about the history of the cottage and stay with that subject in order to hide her confusion.

After all she had wanted his help with researching the house.

They walked into the living room together and Tricia stopped beside the fireplace.

‘The exposed bricks on the chimney breast will stay the way they are because I like them. But also because of the initials of the first occupants of the house are cut into one of the bricks,’ she said, pointing up.

‘See those letters? M and J and O’G. Mary and John O’Grady and the year 1869. ’

Cillian peered up at the letters, as he stood beside her. ‘Fascinating.’

‘My son-in-law Dominic suggested I put an oak plank as a mantelpiece underneath, which I think is a great idea.’

‘Or you could try to find a piece of driftwood,’ Cillian suggested. ‘I think I saw a big, long branch on the beach after the last storm. Polished by the waves, it has a kind of silver hue. It would make a great display. Not a plank but flat enough on one side to make a kind of shelf.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Tricia said. ‘Do you think you could find it for me?’

‘I’ll go and look for it,’ Cillian offered.

‘You mean you saw it on our little beach?’ Tricia asked as an afterthought, wondering what he had been doing there. ‘Down there beside the pier?’

‘That’s right,’ Cillian replied, looking suddenly awkward.

‘I was walking there the other evening. Sylvia told me years ago that I could come and go whenever I wanted. I often go there on a summer’s day whenever I’m here for a visit, just to look at the view and see the birds. It’s a place full of memories for me.’

‘Me too,’ Tricia said. ‘I went for a swim there my first day back here. I felt as if I was laying to rest the ghost of all the sad things in my past.’

‘That was brave of you.’ Cillian came closer and took Tricia’s hand. ‘I did that a long time ago. It was finally time for you to let go.’

‘Yes,’ Tricia said, as the warmth of his hand both comforted her and made her slightly breathless.

‘It took me a long time but now I feel free and a lot more hopeful.’ She looked at him for a moment, noticing the lines in his face, the crinkles around his eyes.

All those little flaws and details made him look handsome in a seasoned, lived-in way, as if his life had been full of both sorrows and joy.

‘Have you had a good life?’ she asked. ‘So far, I mean.’

‘It has had its ups and downs.’ He let go of her hand. ‘I’ve had my heart broken twice, never been married, except to my job,’ he added with a wry smile. ‘Perhaps that was the problem. I was never able to stay in one place for very long, having a restless soul and itchy feet.’

‘That would be a little problematic for most relationships,’ Tricia remarked. ‘Not to mention quite uncomfortable for you. The itchy feet, I mean.’

Cillian laughed. ‘You make it sound like athlete’s foot or something. But let’s leave my love life alone for a moment and discover the rest of this charming house. I hope you’re not going to change it too much when you do it up.’

‘No, I won’t,’ Tricia replied. ‘Just a little freshening-up here and there. In this room, I’m going to put bookcases in the alcoves on either side of the fireplace, paint the walls and put up curtains, that’s all.’

‘Do you still read as much as you used to?’ Cillian asked. ‘I remember what a bookworm you were. You even brought books on our hikes and let Fred and I go off while you sat and read halfway up a mountain.’ He laughed softly.

‘I still love reading,’ Tricia replied. ‘But these days I prefer light, feel-good books. Nothing too sad or dramatic or scary. I’ve had too much of that in real life.’

‘Of course you have,’ Cillian said, looking at her with great empathy. ‘Nothing wrong with a little escapism from time to time.’

They continued on through the house while Cillian agreed with most of her ideas and suggested a few things she hadn’t thought about.

They finished the tour and then they went into the back garden and sat on two rickety garden chairs Tricia found in the shed.

She went to the kitchen and got the picnic, handing Cillian a bottle of beer and a sandwich.

He took a bite and told her it was truly delicious.

‘It’s like the sandwiches we used to have when the three of us were out hiking. ’

‘I remember how you used to love pickles,’ she said. ‘But Fred didn’t.’

‘He was more of a mustard and mayo guy,’ Cillian said with a grin. ‘We used to argue about what to put into sandwiches. And you had a job trying to please everyone.’

‘That was when I was trying to be perfect,’ Tricia retorted, handing him a bottle opener. ‘More fool me. I should have let you make your own lunch.’

‘Of course you should have.’ Cillian took the cap off the bottle and took a few sips, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘But you were dealing with two boys that had been spoiled by their mammies. We expected women to do stuff for us.’

‘I know.’ Tricia drank from her bottle and nibbled on her sandwich. ‘But that was then. Things are different now. Women don’t try to please as much as we used to. In fact, these days I try to look after myself.’

He squinted at her against the sunlight. ‘You’re doing a good job. When I came face to face with you at that silly speed dating event, I was blown away by the way you glow.’

‘That was blushing from embarrassment,’ Tricia said, smirking. ‘I was feeling foolish to be found at such an event by someone I know.’