Page 449 of Manhattan Bossholes

Okay, I was definitely crying now.

He gently wiped my tears with his thumbs. “Give me another chance, a ghrá?”

“Yes. Yes. God, yes. As many as you want.” Our lips found each other, and it was more than simple sparks. It was a roaring bonfire, hot and strong and true. “Don’t ever send me away again.”

“Never,” he promised. His lips found my eyelids, my nose, my cheek, before brushing against my lips. “Don’t ask me not to follow you. That nearly killed me.”

“Never,” I agreed. “From now on, we both get as many chances as we need.”

“Good,” Declan agreed. The word was an ending, but it was a beginning to.

Then he pulled me to him and kissed me like he meant it.

A few endless minutes later, we stepped inside Declan’s home, hands joined.

Home at last, I thought.

EPILOGUE

OLIVIA

“Olivia! Sinead needs more wood for the bonfire,” Molly called.

“On it,” I said.

It was the last day of the summer festival, and Sinead had outdone herself.

Granted, I’d only been to one festival previously, but I thought Sinead’s version was a huge improvement. She’d added two more days to the festival, one filled with family-friendly events, and one designed for adults but strictly without alcohol. Now that she was in a better place in her life, it didn’t bother her to be around other people drinking. But she wanted other addicts to feel equally welcome. She’d also reached out to film studies programs all over Ireland, which had led to a healthy influx of university students, some of whom seemed to be falling in love with Ballybeith the same way I had.

I headed to the shed where the wood was stored, passing where Catie was dashing around with her friends in an elaborate game of keep-away.

Catie had friends now. Plural.

I was so proud of her.

Her giggle rose above the noise of the party, light and carefree. The nervous girl I’d met in an airport clutching her uncle’s hand was long gone. There was no denying Catie was thriving, and it warmed my heart.

I opened the shed and stepped inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Declan asked from behind me.

“Getting wood,” I said.

I saw every dirty joke he could possibly make in response to that flicker across his face. But in the end all he said was, “Let me carry it for you. I need a break from Anil and Thomas.”

“Awww,” I teased. “Are the other kids making fun of you?”

“It’s horrible,” he said, his face serious even as his eyes danced. “Kiss me and make it better?”

“If you insist.”

He leaned against the shed wall and pulled me between his legs. It didn’t matter how many times we did this. Heat flared every time he kissed me.

“Fuck,” Declan groaned, dragging his mouth over my neck as his palm found my breast. “You’re so hot.”

I shivered under his touch. My breasts had been especially sensitive lately. According to Google, it was a side-effect of the secret I planned to tell Declan tonight.

“We had sex this morning,” I reminded him.