Page 16 of Irish Legacy

“She shot you down,” Natalie said.

“Yeah.”

They walked deeper. The path narrowed between two limestone outcrops, the dark rock crowding the edges of the trail. Quinn shoved her hands into her coat pockets. The heavy wool didn’t stop the memory of Trish’s hands on her forearms, steady and careful even while her mouth had been anything but. The faint trace of stout lingered on her own tongue.

“Don’t take it personally, Quinn. I’m telling you. I think you caught her at the worst possible time too.”

“Why’s that?” Quinn asked. The words came out entirely too sharp.

“I know how she’s feeling. I’m not too far away from fifty myself. One minute you’re celebrating your fortieth and then all of a sudden fifty is looming. I feel better about it now, or at least I think I do. I’ve still got a few years to go. But it’s different now. I’m happy. Settled. I love the life I’ve built here, with Emma. But for Trish? Maybe turning fifty is a bit more… monumental.”

The idea that Trish might see herself as past some invisible line made something twist low in Quinn’s stomach.

Quinn’s steps slowed. She wanted to prove Trish wrong.

That didn’t change anything though.

Trish had made her position clear. One night wasn’t enough for her, and Quinn was leaving in a few days.

That was that.

Except Trish had given in to that kiss. After all that refusal, she had stopped fighting.

She had kissed her back.

And Quinn couldn’t stop herself from wanting more.

9

Trish cradled the warm mug between her palms and let the steam rise against her face. The kitchen in Natalie’s house always carried the faint smell of peat from the range and the sharper note of whatever herbs Emma kept drying on the windowsill. She took a final sip of the strong tea. It sat heavy in her stomach.

“I don’t know how you survive night shifts,” Trish said. “One very late night and I’m still struggling to feel normal. I think it might have something to do with age.”

Emma stood up from the table and carried her own mug to the sink. “Go away with that shite, Trish. If you keep telling yourself you’re old you’re going to start acting like it, even looking like it if you’re not careful.”

Emma rinsed her mug with practiced efficiency. The words carried a stubborn weight. Trish stared down into the dregs at the bottom of her cup. “I have two days left before I’m fifty. I think it’s simply an unavoidable fact now.”

Emma turned and pointed a knowing finger at her. “You’re only as old as the woman you feel.”

Heat flooded Trish’s cheeks, the same way it had the other night when Quinn’s hands had worked the knots out of her shoulders. She pushed back her chair and carried her mug to the sink. The water ran cold over the ceramic, drowning out the memory of Quinn’s breath against her neck.

When Trish didn’t answer, Emma leaned against the counter beside her. “And don’t start with no one wants you because you’re nearly fifty because Quinn was very interested.” Emma bumped her hip against Trish’s. “I kind of told her. You know. That you wouldn’t really be interested.” She paused. “Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Little good it did,” Trish said. She placed the mug on the draining board to dry and wiped her hands on the towel that hung from the hook. The rough fabric scraped against her palms.

Emma stared at her, eyes widening. “Did she go for it anyway?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” Emma asked.

Trish traced the hem of the towel. “We kissed.” The memory pulled at the corners of her mouth, impossible to suppress.

“What?!”

“But I drew the line there. So.” Trish shrugged and folded the towel with more care than it needed. “You were right to warn her off really.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across Emma’s face. “I don’t think many women would be turning down Quinn Fallon.” She laughed softly under her breath. “You must have brought her back down to earth.”