Page 17 of Irish Legacy

“Yeah, I think she was surprised. But I did admit to her that I was tempted.”

“Trish O’Shea, you sly dog!” Emma’s laugh grew warmer. “You should have gone for it.”

Trish shook her head. The movement sent her hair brushing against her back, a reminder of coming undone in the empty pub. “I’m just not able. What would have happened? If our first kiss was that intense. How can I be happy with one night? I just know myself. And next week when she’s gone and I never hear from her again, I’d be devastated. So I’d rather not know at all.”

“I get that,” Emma said.

“Maybe I’m crazy.”

“You’re not,” Emma said.

“And I’m probably going to regret it at some point,” Trish said.

“You might.” Emma crossed her arms. “Speaking of regrets, are you sure you don’t want to do anything for your birthday?”

“Positive,” Trish said. “I don’t want anything. No surprises. No cakes. No parties.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Trish said.

The back door opened with a rush of cool October air. Natalie stepped in first, cheeks flushed from the walk, dark hair windblown around her face. Quinn followed close behind her.

Quinn looked different in daylight. Sunglasses pushed up into blond hair. Jeans that fit her long legs with casual precision, and ankle boots scuffed with wet mud from the woods. Beneath an elegant black coat that fell in clean, expensive lines, a dark sweater clung close to her frame.

Emma straightened from her lean against the counter. “Morning, Quinn. There’s tea in the pot if you want some. Or there’s coffee.”

Trish couldn’t look away from Quinn. The coat hung open now, revealing the way the black sweater outlined the subtle curve of her breasts.

Was she already regretting her decision?

10

Quinn stepped through the back door behind Natalie. The October chill clung to the damp wool of her coat, fighting the immediate warmth of the kitchen, the scent of peat from the range, and something herbal steeping in a pot. Emma stood by the counter. The nurse carried that same easy confidence everywhere, grounded by years of knowing exactly where she belonged.

“Morning, Quinn. There’s tea in the pot if you want some. Or there’s coffee.”

“Morning,” Quinn said. She worked the top button of her coat loose and let her gaze shift to Trish.

Trish stood near the table in worn denim and a navy sweater, dark hair falling past her shoulders. The window light caught the chestnut in it, sharpening the line of her jaw and the quiet authority she carried even standing completely still. No styling team. No careful lighting. Just a woman on the edge of fifty who made the number irrelevant. Quinn’s stomach tightened. The memory of last night’s kiss in the dark pub flared up, the sudden, heavy weight of Trish pulling her in.

Trish barely looked at her. Her gaze flicked over Quinn once, cool and guarded, then slid away to the floor, the table, anywhere else. “I should get back to the pub,” she said, voice steady but clipped. “Need to get ready to open.”

Quinn gripped the edge of her unbuttoned coat. Trish had drawn the line clear enough last night. She wanted the whole romantic picture, not a passing tourist, and she had shut it down. Quinn had walked out into the storm, ready to leave it alone. Except the brush-off didn’t match the way Trish had fisted her hands in Quinn’s shirt, pressing in close, breathing hard. The contradiction nagged at her.

Emma gave Trish a quick hug. “See you later. Don’t work too hard.”

Natalie turned from the stove. “Take care.”

Trish nodded at both of them. The smile sat tight around her mouth. “You too.” She paused at the door, shrugging into her jacket.

Quinn managed a casual wave. “Bye, Trish.” She wanted to ask why Trish had kissed her like that if she planned on acting like strangers twelve hours later. Instead, she kept her mouth shut as Trish slipped out onto the garden path.

The door clicked shut, leaving the kitchen suddenly hollow.

Quinn swallowed the lingering sting. She had spent years with women who chased the fame and the access, making themselves constantly available. Trish looked straight through the celebrity and simply walked away. Quinn only had a few days left in Kilvolan before the flight back to Los Angeles. Chasing a local pub owner who had already decided the answer was no wasn’t part of it.

“Will you stay for brunch, Quinn?” Natalie cracked eggs into a bowl.