“He’s a bloody show-off,” Ro scoffs.
Passing no remark, I follow the narrow winding roads, driving past rows of tall trees and overgrown shrubbery and bumping along uneven asphalt, until we come to a property bordered by high stonewashed walls.
“Take a right through those gates,” Ronan instructs, pointing across me.
I navigate my SUV easily through the wide-open wrought-iron gates, following the long driveway that cuts across massive fields, bypassing impressively large greenhouses. “I thought your farm was a dairy farm,” I say, driving slowly as I spot the two-story farmhouse in the distance.
“It is,” Ash confirms, “but when Shane graduated with his agricultural degree five years ago, he took over as business manager, and he has made a lot of changes.”
“Diversification is critical for a lot of farmers today,” Ro continues explaining. “Now we grow organic vegetables and fruit, and we’re one of a growing number of flower farmers in Ireland.”
“Shane is your eldest brother. He’s the one getting married soon, right?” I’ve tried to memorize all the names, and who does what, so I don’t embarrass myself today.
“Someone’s been doing her homework,” Ro teases.
“I have,” I readily admit, easing my foot off the accelerator as we approach the big rustic stone farmhouse. Pulling the car into a spot beside Dillon’s motorcycle, I kill the engine. A few other cars are parked in front of the house, confirming the whole family is here for dinner. Wetting my suddenly dry lips, I rub my clammy hands down the front of my knee-length dress, willing my nerves to disappear.
Ronan hops out as a little girl with bouncing brown curls and big blue eyes comes bounding out of the house, quickly followed by two large dogs. The dogs instantly start barking when Ronan scoops his niece into his arms, burying his head in her tummy.
“Welcome to the madhouse,” Ash says, climbing out of the back seat as I slide from behind the wheel. She loops her arm in mine. “Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Expect tons of questions because my family are a bunch of nosy fuckers. My dad will have his head buried in The Irish Farmer’s Journal, Mum will pile your plate with food and insist you take seconds, and the boys will be rude arseholes because they just can’t help themselves.”
“Sounds fun,” I lie, wondering why the hell I agreed to this.
Throwing back her head, she howls with laughter. “Please can I take a picture of your face right now because it’s priceless.”
I thrust my elbow into her ribs. “I’ll get you back, just you wait and see. I’ll drag you to L.A., and you can see what it’s like to live in a social media warzone.”
“Sunday dinner at O’Donoghues can be scary, but I guarantee it’s not as scary as L.A. I think you’ll survive.” Ash winks, dragging me toward the slim woman standing at the door with a welcoming smile on her face. I’m assuming it’s her mom—Catherine O’Donoghue. Her silver hair is cut in a blunt bob, tucked behind her ears, and Ash shares her heart-shaped face and button nose.
“My darling girl,” her mom says when we reach her, pulling Ash into a big hug. “We’ve missed you.” I hang back, giving them privacy. Ro has already disappeared inside the house with his little niece in his arms, and the dogs have run off someplace.
“Missed you too, Ma.” Ash holds on tight, and a pang of envy swells in my chest. Being here makes me miss my parents. We FaceTime regularly, but it’s not the same. “Can’t breathe,” Ash chokes out a minute later. “I know you missed me, but that doesn’t mean you should hug me to death.”
“You’re too thin,” she says. “Just as well I made plenty of dinner.” Ash’s mom turns her attention to me. “You must be Grace. I’m Cath.” Reaching out, she reels me into a big hug. “You’re very welcome. We’ve been dying to meet you since Aisling and Ronan told us all about you.”
Tears stab the backs of my eyes as I sink into the comforting warmth of her hug. “Thank you for having me. Ash has told me lots about her family and the farm, and I’m excited to visit.”
We break our embrace, but she keeps ahold of my hands. “I could listen to you speak all day. I love the American accent.”
Ash laughs. “I said the same thing when we first met.”
Cath beams at me, stepping aside to let me enter. “Come on inside. Everyone is waiting to meet you.”
37
I step into the wide bright hallway with Ash, following her mom past a couple of open doorways until we enter a humongous kitchen. The right side of the large space houses wall-to-wall wooden cupboards and a myriad of kitchen appliances. A double-sided stove-slash-oven occupies prime real estate in the space, and a girl with long strawberry-blonde hair stands in front of it, stirring something in a pot. “This is Fiona, Shane’s fiancée and little Chloe’s mum,” Cath explains, taking my hand and leading me over to the stove.
Eyes bore into me from behind, and my heart does a little skip, which is just pathetic, because it really needs to get with the program where Dillon is concerned.
“Hello,” Fiona quietly says, smiling shyly.
“I’m Grace. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You’re a fucking clown,” someone with a deep voice bellows from behind us, claiming our attention. “Ma! D’ya see the state of this bleeding idiot?”
Turning around, I lock eyes with an older version of Ronan. I don’t know if it’s Shane or Ciarán, but he has the same dark curls and piercing blue eyes as his younger brother. He’s not quite as tall as Ro, and he’s stockier, but I could identify them as brothers from a lineup with no difficulty.
“Leave your brother alone, Shane.” Cath leads me toward the long wooden table. “And behave in front of our guest.”
“Da. You talk some sense into Dillon, will ya?” Shane says, gesturing wildly to the broad-shouldered man with thick salt-and-pepper hair sitting at the head of the table.
“Knock it off, Shane. You’re upsetting your mother,” Ash’s dad says without glancing up from his paper.
“Un-bloody-believable.” Shane throws his hands in the air. “Next time I’ll say nothing and let my brother kill himself on that goddamn bike. Am I the only one who cares he’s still riding that deathtrap?”
Dillon rolls his eyes from where he’s standing against the wall behind the table. He has one knee bent, the sole of his booted foot flat against the wall, and his arms are folded across his muscular chest.
Cath lets go of me, striding toward Dillon. She grabs his stubbly chin, yanking his face down to hers. “What have I told you about driving that bike while you’re hungover? You’ll give me a heart attack from worrying one of these days.”
“Shane is overreacting, like always.” Dillon throws an annoyed look at his brother. “I would’ve come with the others if I wasn’t sober enough to drive. I’m not completely reckless.”
A guy with reddish-brown hair snorts as he stretches across the table to grab a piece of bread from the wicker basket in the center.
Sadness washes over Cath’s finely lined face as she grabs Dillon’s cheeks. “Promise me you’ll be more careful. Please, Dillon. If anything happened to you, it’d kill us all.”
Dillon lowers his arms, reeling his mom into a bear hug. He holds her tight, closing his eyes momentarily. “Ma. There’s nothing to worry about. Shane just loves stirring shit.”
It didn’t sound like that to me. It seemed like his brother is genuinely concerned. From the way Dillon took that corner earlier, I’d say his brother’s fears are well-founded.
Dillon presses a kiss to the top of his mom’s head while she wraps her arms around him. Her head only reaches the bottom of his chest, and she looks so small and thin circled in his strong arms.
“And you love swanning around town pretending you’re god’s gift to women,” Shane retorts, smirking and flipping him the bird behind their mother’s back.