The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

some roses back in your cheeks as well.”
    “That’s from two punches of a fix by Gallagher,” she said and made him laugh.
    “We aim to please. Is my sister still on her feet?”
    “She’s in the shower, and still cursing you. As I would be if you weren’t so free with your kisses.”
    “If God didn’t want a woman’s lips to be kissed, he wouldn’t have made them so easy to reach. Are there potatoes in the larder, Jude?”
    “I think—yes.”
    Free with his kisses? She’d been warmly entertained watching the easy and affectionate byplay, but now she stood worrying about just what “free with his kisses” meant while Aidan scrubbed off some potatoes and putthem in a pot to boil. Did that mean he just went around scooping up women with both hands? He certainly had the charm for it.
    The skill for it.
    The looks for it.
    What did it matter? They didn’t have what anyone would call a relationship. She didn’t want a relationship. Not really.
    She just wanted to know if she was one of a pack, or if—for once—she was something more special. Just once something special to someone.
    “Where have you gone off dreaming?” Aidan asked her.
    Jude jerked back, ordered herself not to flush. “Nowhere.” She busied herself with the coffee and tried not to feel odd when Brenna rummaged through the cupboards for plates and flatware.
    She’d never had people make themselves so easily at home in her house. It surprised her to realize she liked it. It made her feel a part of something friendly and simple.
    It didn’t matter if Brenna was efficient enough to intimidate a well-programmed robot. It didn’t matter if Darcy was so beautiful every other woman looked dull by comparison.
    It didn’t even matter if Aidan kissed a hundred women before breakfast every day of the week.
    Somehow within a few short weeks, they were her friends. And they didn’t appear to expect her to be anything but what she was.
    It was a small but precious miracle.
    “Why don’t I smell bacon cooking?” Darcy demanded as she strolled in.
    “Jude didn’t have any,” Aidan told her.
    Jude beamed as Darcy helped herself to coffee. “I’ll get some. For next time.”
    • • •
    The feeling stayed with her all day, the warmth and quiet joy of it. Over breakfast she made plans to drive to Dublin and shop with Darcy, to have Sunday dinner at the O’Tooles’, and she scheduled another storytelling session with Aidan.
    She wasn’t asked to come down to the pub that evening. It was understood that she would. And that was so much better. When you were part of something, she reflected, you didn’t need to be asked.
    The kitchen smelled of fried potatoes and coffee. The wind chime outside the door sang in the breeze. As she rose to get more coffee, she spotted Betty outside running wildly after a bounding rabbit over hills sprinkled with wildflowers.
    Jude imprinted it all on her mind, promising herself she’d take the moment out again when she was feeling low or lonely.
    Later, when she was alone and settling down to work, it seemed to her the house still held all that warmth and energy. So she wrote in her journal:
     
    It’s odd that I never realized this is so much what I want. A home. A place where people I enjoy and who enjoy me will come when they like. Will feel comfortable and easy. Maybe it wasn’t solitude I was looking for after all when I so rashly flew to Ireland. It was what I’ve had over these last hours. Companionship, laughter, foolishness, and well, romance.
    I suppose I didn’t realize it because I never let myself really wish for it. Now without even the wish, here it is.
    That’s a kind of magic, isn’t it? Every bit as much as faeries and spells and winged horses. I’m accepted here, not for what I do, or where I come from, or where I wentto school. I’m accepted for who I am. For who, more importantly, I’m finally letting myself become.
    When I have dinner at the O’Tooles’ I won’t be shy or feel awkward. I’ll have fun. When I go shopping with Darcy I’m determined to buy something extravagant and useless. Because it’ll be fun.
    And when next Aidan comes through my garden gate, I may take him as a lover. Because I want him. Because he makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. Outrageously and completely female.
    And because, damn it, it’ll be fun.
     
    With a satisfied nod she switched documents and settled back to review some of her work. Scanning the screen, sifting