Through a Magnolia Filter (14 page)

She set the letter in the early 1900s pile.

He should stop watching her and get back to his own material.

She flipped to the signature page and then back to the first page. A smile erupted like fireworks. “I found one.”

She looked at him, and her eyes flashed a little greener. Her breasts rose a little faster with each breath.

“Found one what?” He couldn't think beyond wanting her eyes to sparkle that bright for him.

“A letter written in 1831 from Patrick FitzGerald.” She held up the letter, and it trembled in her hand. “It's what you're looking for. He's James's father, right?”

He grinned, excitement bubbling inside. “Righto.”

“He's my great-however many times grandfather?” She bounced in her chair.

“Five times.” He pointed at the tree.

“Hang on.” Dolley pushed out of her seat and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn't I think of this before? Family Bible!”

She dashed out of the room.

He sighed. Dolley leaving the room was like the sun had set and taken all the energy with her. He picked up the letter.

Dearest son,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your letters telling of finding lodging and the design of Savannah were read and enjoyed by all. And the glad tidings that your ship and shipment of cotton and indigo arrived safely in London is good news indeed. The Captain stopped in Kilkee to drop letters and created a stir when his boat entered the harbor. It is...

A water stain blurred most words after that, but it gave him a chill. These words were written almost two hundred years ago.

“Here it is.” Dolley burst up the stairs, bringing back the sunshine.

She flipped to the page where a lengthy list of births and deaths had been recorded.

“Is this a FitzGerald Bible, or your father's?” he asked.

“Fitzgerald. We don't have much from the Oliver side.”

“Good.” He checked the first name in the Bible. “Although this looks like the Bible came from James and Michael's mother's side. She was an O'Donahue.”

She elbowed him. “And you call me a walking computer.”

“You are.” He pushed a curl away from her eye. “Was it unusual for your mother to keep the Fitzgerald name?”

“Yes, but I'm glad.” Her nose wrinkled. “The daughter keeps the Fitzgerald name until there is a son. Our papa wasn't above using the Fitzgerald name to improve his stature.”

“So, Abby will keep her name?” Liam asked. “And all her children will be Fitzgeralds?”

“I never thought about that.” She grinned. “Wonder what Gray will think?”

“He'll do anything Abby wants.”

She laughed. “I think you're right.”

They filled in births and deaths on the family tree.

“It's ridiculous doing this by hand.” Dolley shook her head. “We need a computer and a program.”

He tipped his head. “Can you say
research assistant
?”

“Can you say
happy apprentice
?” She tapped his lips. Her eyes went wide, and she snatched her hand away.

And he smiled. Slowly but surely, she was touching him more often. “I think that's smile number three today.”

“You don't need to count my smiles.” She rolled her eyes. “I'm sure I've smiled more than that in the hour I've been up here with you.”

“Then I guess you're not doing your job.” They were almost nose to nose.
Her move.

Dolley's tongue snuck between her teeth and touched her upper lip.

Her phone rang.

They jerked like children caught with their hands in the sweets bowl.

She fished her mobile out of her pocket. “Hey, Anne.”

He turned back to the paper, eavesdropping. He'd heard her talk to this Anne more than once.

“That sounds like fun. I'll see you around eight.” She pushed the phone back into her jumper pocket. “Are you interested in another foray into the pub scene?”

She bit her lip again. Was it because she hadn't meant to invite him, or because she wanted him to accept the invitation?

It didn't matter. “Sure. Bring your camera and we'll work on nighttime indoor pictures.”

And he would work on getting her to make the next move.

* * *

M
AYBE
D
OLLEY
SHOULD
have taken this night to get some distance from Liam. But when Anne had called, they'd been having—fun. She glanced at him as they headed down the steep steps to River Street.

What if she took a risk and changed their relationship? Maybe Liam would be different. But how cliché was a mentor and apprentice dating? It sounded sordid and definitely not professional.

“Hang on.” Liam slipped his camera out of his bag.

She hung back, trying to figure out his picture's focal point. The cobblestones were damp, and the dim streetlights gave her an impression of bleakness. A man moved ahead of them in the dark.

How could she frame a picture to show hope? She pulled out her own camera and zoomed in on the streetlight pushing back the gloom. The glow of the light was a beautiful warm orange.

They exchanged cameras. In Liam's picture, the man was an eerie shadow in the dark street.

He stared at her pictures. “Do you find hope in everything?”

She didn't answer. “Do you see only isolation and solitude?”

“Probably.” He chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. He didn't seek joy. His dark outlook on life was a good reason not to change their relationship.

“What's my smile goal tonight?” he asked.

She didn't know how to help him change his attitude. “What do you think it should be?”

“Two.”

She snorted. “Ten.”

“Four?”

“Eight, and I'm not dropping lower.”

They stopped one more time to take pictures of the river and the boats docked upstream. “They're not as dreary as your last pictures.” She handed his camera back.

“Maybe I need you to remind me every day to look for the joy in life.” His blue gaze caught hers and snatched her breath away.

She wasn't capable of being his happiness monitor. She was learning
from
him. If she was good enough, maybe he could connect her to the right people to take her work to the next level.

But that sentiment felt—wrong. She'd come to value her time with Liam.

He held the door for her. “Okay. Eight smiles.”

“Don't feel you have to be stingy.”

He grinned. “One.”

Groups gathered next to the bar. She searched for Anne. “Let's see if she's near the stage.”

Anne and a couple more work friends had commandeered a table near the windows, a little back from the stage. Empty glasses filled the table. Anne waved them over.

“I missssss you.” Anne gave her an enthusiastic, inebriated hug.

“Been here a while?” Dolley whispered.

Anne giggled. “Yeah.”

Hmm. Drunk Anne could be good or bad. Hopefully, she wouldn't be crying in her beer by the end of the night.

She and Liam headed to the open chairs. Liam pulled hers out, so she could sit down. Had anyone ever held her chair before?

After making introductions, she and Liam ordered pints, and the rest of the table ordered another round.

“I love your accent,” Anne gushed. “Dolley told me how fabulous it was, but it's nothing like hearing it in person.”

Dolley glanced at Liam.

He grinned, holding up two fingers.

She racked her memory. Hopefully, that was the only embarrassing thing she'd confessed to Anne.

There was a rustle of people, and the entertainment moved onto the small stage. One man held a small flute and another a mandolin. A woman carried a fiddle.

Liam's eyes lit up. “Are they playing traditional music?”

“Of course.” Sliding her chair around, she faced the stage. She leaned closer to his ear. “The tourists eat it up.”

She stayed there too long, absorbing his warmth. When she slid back in her seat, Anne grinned at her. Dolley shook her head.

“Who's driving you home?” Dolley whispered.

Anne pointed down the table.

Faith had a soft drink in front of her. She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I'm designated driver.”

At least Dolley didn't need to retrieve her car and cart Anne home.

The music started. A sad, lilting ballad.

Liam leaned forward, hands on his thighs, his focus on the stage. He could block out everything else. Was that why he was so good at what he did? Did she need to focus more? Take up meditation to calm the racket inside her head?

What if Liam focused on her? A thrill ran down her spine and curled into her center. Ever since their kiss, it was hard not to think of kissing him again. Of being free to touch him and run her fingers in the black silk of his hair.

There was another reason to stay away from him. If she was thinking about kissing him, she wasn't concentrating on what he could teach her.

She sighed.

Liam turned and smiled. And held up three fingers. Almost halfway to the goal. Would they leave when he smiled eight times?

He held up his camera.

She was supposed to be working. See. Lack of focus.

She debated what to shoot. Lights shone from the floor up to the performers. Dust swirled in the beams.

She moved closer, holding up her camera to the woman with the fiddle. The fiddler nodded, her hands flying up and down the neck of her instrument. The bow wove a pattern in the air.

If she kept the shutter open, would she capture the energy of the song? She screwed the camera onto her tripod.

Concentrating only on the fiddler's strong hands against the dark wood of the instrument, she blurred the background. If she captured that power, she would be happy.

Then she did the same with the other musicians. With the flute she wanted to evoke
gentleness
during a sad song. The mandolin,
sweetness
.

She pulled back the focus and framed the trio. They'd morphed into a rollicking reel. Their faces were dewed with sweat.
Energy
. She was still snapping pictures as they ended the set with a flourish.

She moved back to the table.

Liam held out his hand. “Let's see.”

She chewed on her lip.

He scrolled through the photos, pausing on the close-ups. “I don't know that I would have done the close-ups, but I love them.” His fourth grin of the night. “You've a talent, Miss Dolley Fitzgerald.”

Heat rushed through her body. “Thank you.”

He pulled release forms out of his bag. “Now for the not-so-fun stuff.”

He tugged her to the stage. A few customers were talking to the trio.

The fiddler approached them. “Hallo.”

“A countrywoman,” Liam said. “Where might you be from?”

“Dublin.”

Liam and the trio talked. Dolley listened to their travel discussion. Envy hollowed out her stomach.

“We're here through St Paddy's Day,” the fiddler said.

“I'm wondering if you might sign releases in case the pictures my associate took are used in a film and book I'm putting together.”

The woman nodded.

Liam handed her the papers and a pen. She took them to the two men.

Dolley's mouth dropped open. Associate? And he wanted to use her pictures?

Liam tapped her chin, making her teeth clack together. “Don't look so surprised.”

“You want to use my pictures?” Her voice squeaked.

Another grin swept across his face. “Aye.”

“Any chance we could get copies?” the fiddler asked.

Liam looked at Dolley, but she was speechless. “Absolutely,” he answered for her. “An email would do.”

Dolley stumbled back to the table. It was happening. Her photographs might appear somewhere other than
Bridal Party Today
and the B and B's blog. She sank into the chair, her heart pounding a little. Her dream was coming true. And it felt—fantastic.

Anne shifted chairs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She leaned over Dolley and said to Liam, “How are you doing helping our Dolley find a career in photography?”

Liam frowned. “What?”

“She was hoping you'd give her a leg up in the industry.” Anne looked between the two of them.

“Anne.” Dolley settled her friend back in her chair. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Her words were so fast, they ran together.

Anne frowned. “You wanted Liam to get you a job, right?”

“She told you that?” Liam's gaze turned a glacial blue.

“Last fall. Before you'd agreed to mentor her?” Anne blinked and shook her head.

“Anne,” Dolley choked out.

“Remember. You told me your big secret. You wanted Liam to fast-track your career.” Anne's eyes grew huge. “Secret. I forgot. I wasn't supposed to say anything.”

“A secret.” Liam's jaw clamped tight.

Dolley closed her eyes. “Liam, it's not as...mercenary as it sounds.”

He nodded. His expression was as impenetrable as granite.

All this time she'd worried dating Liam would ruin her chances of learning about her craft. And it was Dolley's own ambitions and her friend's big mouth ruining everything.

* * *

L
IAM
WATCHED
D
OLLEY
'
S
fingers twist into knots.

His gut burned. It was Kieran all over again.

Did Dolley feel guilty for using him? Did it matter? She'd seen an opportunity and grabbed for it. Was she holding out on him until she could ask about helping her find a job? Maybe this—connection between them was fake. Shite.

No wonder Dolley hadn't kissed him. She was only in it for what he could
do
for her.
Mercenary.
He rubbed at the ache in his chest. She'd used the ugly word. He wanted to get as far away from her as possible. She'd fooled him once. Once was enough.