Page 4 of Irish Legacy

“Yeah,” Natalie said, and her voice caught slightly. “I hate that I kept Emma waiting. But yes. We’re very happy.”

Emma wrapped her arm around Natalie’s waist and pulled her in, pressing a kiss to her hair that left her lips there for a moment longer than necessary, breathing her in. Quinn looked away, toward the partition, feeling oddly awkward witnessing so much love. Something she’d never managed to find.

It was probably the only complaint she could have. She was thirty-two. She’d achieved so much more than she’d thought possible when she first started acting. She’d made the decision to come out, no matter what it cost her. But there was a part of her that craved that kind of connection, and she was starting to think that it just wasn’t going to happen.

The singer in the bar started up, some ballad she didn’t recognize. The sound came through the wood muffled and distant, not quite drowning out the conversation but forcing them to lean in.

“So how have you been, Quinn?” Natalie asked, leaning her elbows on the table. “Honestly. Not the press-tour answer.”

“Busy.” The word came out before she could shape it into something better. “It’s been one movie into another for three years. The press junkets all blur together.” She turned the bottle in her hands, the label peeling at the corner where her thumb kept finding it. “But for once I’ve got nothing lined up. Six months of nothing. My agent thinks I’m insane.”

“Six months,” Emma repeated.

“I burned out.” Saying it out loud, here, in a wooden booth in the middle of nowhere in Ireland, carried a safety she couldn’t find in her therapist’s office. “I booked an Airbnb for a week outside the village, and I’m hoping to recover a little. Relax. Sleep. I might go to Spain or Italy after. I’m not sure. I just knew I needed to get away for a while.”

“And you’re here for the statue unveiling,” Emma said. “For your grandfather.”

“Yeah.”

Her throat closed around the word. She took a breath and made herself keep going, because if she didn’t say it now she would say it never, and something about this booth made secrets temporary, held rather than kept.

“He raised me, mostly. My parents were the best. They got divorced when I was young, and it was always messy, you know, manipulative stuff around custody.” Quinn shook her head. “But my grandfather was the best. He taught me cards. Took me to every audition before I could drive. He died right before things took off for me.”

The singer in the bar moved into the next song.

“So yeah,” Quinn said, speaking a little louder. “I’m happy to finally see where he grew up, and it’s a little surreal to think there’s a statue of him here. He never let the fame get to him. I don’t know what he’d make of this.”

Emma smiled. “I’m sure he’d get a kick out of it.” She stood. “I’m going to go get another round. Same again?”

Quinn glanced down at her half-empty Corona. The lime wedge rested flat against the bottom of the glass. “Sure. Thanks.” She took another pull as Emma slipped out of the snug.

“I try not to follow the latest gossip,” Natalie said, “but sometimes things pop up. You’re making the headlines a lot, huh?”

Quinn sucked in a breath. Her dating life. Of course that was what Natalie meant. The tabloids had been vicious this year, every lunch, every airport kiss turned into clickbait. She set the bottle down harder than she meant to. The glass clinked against the scarred wood.

“Yeah. I kind of made a rule that I’d only date other actresses or musicians. Women who understood the lifestyle.” The words tasted sour now. “But it’s not really working. It’s impossible to go on a normal date. There’s always paps after one or both of us.” She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the coaster, the paper fraying under the pressure. “I’m so happy you met someone. I can’t believe how different your life was just a few years ago.”

“I know,” Natalie said. She ran her finger along the edge of the table. “I wasn’t out. I’d met Emma, but that was when she was in Australia. Yeah. It’s crazy how much has changed.”

Natalie’s shoulders eased as she spoke about Emma. The certainty of it caught in Quinn’s chest. She had spent years telling herself the spotlight was the price, that the right woman would understand the trade-off. Now she wasn’t sure she believed it anymore.

“Despite what the press says about me, I would like to meet someone. I just can’t seem to get anyone to take me seriously.”

The admission slipped out before she could stop it. She hadn’t meant to sound so raw. Natalie finished her Guinness, the foam clinging to the sides of the glass.

“You have to believe that there’s someone out there for you. And maybe she won’t be someone famous.”

Quinn let that settle. Someone who didn’t care about the red carpets or the box office numbers. Someone who looked at her and saw a person, not a brand. The thought carried a dangerous kind of hope. “I’m starting to think that,” she said, and the smile that followed came easily.

Emma came back then, balancing the drinks with the confidence of someone used to carrying more than her share. Two pints of Guinness, dark and creamy, and the fresh Corona. She navigated the narrow opening without spilling a drop.

“I’m going to give Trish a hand behind the bar,” Emma said. “It’s really busy out there. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Thanks,” Natalie said.

“Thanks,” Quinn said, knowing the word wasn’t enough. She took the new bottle, the glass cold against her palm. Emma disappeared through the narrow opening.

“Well, what’ll we toast to?” Natalie asked. She let her Guinness settle for a few seconds, the head forming that perfect creamy layer, before picking it up. “To finding love in the most unexpected places?”