“I do, as I follow Iona’s orders.”
“She’s been half mad with excitement and anxiety over tonight, having pushed you into it. And all but bought me out of candles. I see she made good use of them.”
“They’re everywhere, as she commanded.”
“And where is our Iona?”
“She’s downstairs. Meara’s down there as well, and Boyle and Connor, and Iona’s Nan.” But he guided her toward the dining area as he spoke. “Will you eat?”
“Sure I will as it looks delicious, but not just yet.”
“Do you still have a weakness for these?” He picked up a mini cream puff drenched in powdered sugar.
“A terrible one, which I usually deny. But all right, not tonight.” She took it, tried a small bite. “Oh, that’s a sinful wonder.”
“Have two. Oiche na Coda Moire.”
She laughed, shook her head. “I’ll come back for the second.”
“Then I’ll take you down to your circle, and the music.”
He offered a hand, waited until she put hers in it. “Will you dance with me, Branna? Put yesterday and tomorrow aside, and dance with me tonight?”
She moved with him toward the music, the warmth, the glowing light.
“I will.”
• • •
SHE NEARLY HADN’T COME. SHE TRIED TO FIND REASONS TO stay away, or failing that to simply pay a courtesy visit, then slip out again. But every reason devised rang the same way in her ears.
As cowardice. Or worse, pettiness.
She couldn’t be so petty, so cowardly as to snub him because it distressed her to be in his home, to see, to feel the life he’d built himself without her.
Her choice, without him. Her duty, without him.
So she’d come.
She’d spent a great deal of time on her hair, her makeup, the whole of her appearance. If she was to celebrate the end of one year, the beginning of another in his house, in his company, she’d bloody well look amazing doing it.
She found the downstairs of his home, what she thought of as a play area, so very him. Good, rich colors mixed with neutrals, old refurbished furniture mixed with the new. Small pieces obviously bought on his rambles. And plenty of entertainment.
The absurdly big wall TV, the snooker table, the old pinball machine and jukebox along with a gorgeous fireplace of Connemara marble topped by a thick, rough plank for a mantel.
The musicians played lively tunes near a mahogany bar he told her he found in Dublin. Though the space was roomy, furniture had been pushed back to make more room yet for dancing.
When he drew her into a dance, it was yesterday with all its innocent joy, with its simplicity and possibilities. But she pushed aside the pang it brought, told herself to let this one night be a time out of time.
She looked up at him laughing. “Now you’ve done it.”
“What’s that I’ve done?”
“Hosted the party of the year and now will be expected to do the same next. And next.”
Mildly horrified, he glanced around. “I thought to pass that torch to Iona and Boyle.”
“Oh no, they’ll have their own. But I’m thinking you own New Year’s Eve now. I see your Sean wearing a party hat, over there kicking up the heels of clean and shiny boots, and Connor’s Kyra and her boyfriend—fiancé now—with him wearing a shirt that matches the color of her frock and a cardboard king’s crown on his head. And there’s my Eileen dancing with her husband as if they were but sixteen, and the years, the children with them yet to come. You built a house that can hold most of the village for a party, and now you’ve done it.”