Wild Irish Soul (21 page)

Epilogue

Aislinn laughed as
Morgan lectured a client on not touching the paintings. The girl had proved invaluable in business and Aislinn's career as an artist was thriving.

After the show, there had been such a demand for her paintings that she had agreed to license prints of her work to Red on Green Gallery. The prints had taken off and now she was selling around the world. She'd made more money in a month then she had over the past five years. For once, Aislinn was being smart and squirreling her money away. Her dream was to turn her apartment into a studio and to buy a place nearby.

Or even move in with Baird, she contemplated as she pawed through a folder of black-and-white photographs that she needed to frame. The relationship had blossomed into a full-fledge partnership and they spent their days discussing business, making love, and arguing about how much money Baird would sell The Revelation back to her for.

He was still holding out, she thought with a sniff, though it secretly pleased her that he wanted to keep the paintings.

"Ash, come out here," Baird called from the courtyard.

"Be back in a bit," Aislinn called to Morgan.

She stepped into the sunshine, though a chill had taken over the air. Baird looked every inch the Dr. Yum that Cait still called him in a button-down plaid shirt and dark jeans. He still wore the glasses and Aislinn always did her best to rumple his perfect hair at every chance she got.

"Hi," Aislinn said, beaming up at him.

"Hi, yourself," Baird said and tapped her nose with an envelope he held. "Come for a little stroll with me?"

"Sure," Aislinn said, slipping her hand into his. He tugged her out of the courtyard and across the street to the house next door to her shop. Stopping suddenly, he turned to the front door of the house and raised his hand to knock.

"Baird, the Murphys moved out a month ago," Aislinn said, pulling his arm to stop him from knocking.

Baird turned and smiled at her and opened his palm to show a key. Aislinn tilted her head at him in confusion as he slipped the key in the lock and pushed the bright red door open.

"Come on," Baird said.

"Can we be in here?" Aislinn whispered, not wanting to get in trouble.

"Yes," Baird said simply and led her through a small front foyer to where the first floor opened up into one room, including the kitchen. Aislinn's mouth dropped open.

"What's happened in here? This used to be a bunch of smaller rooms."

"Aye, I had it opened up," Baird said simply and Aislinn turned to him in confusion.

Her mouth dropped open as she saw what stood behind him.

"The Revelation," Aislinn breathed.

It was hung on a long cream brick wall, looking as though it was made for the space, it fit so perfectly. Aislinn whipped her head around to Baird.

"I don't understand. Are you renting?"

Baird handed her the envelope. Aislinn opened it and unfolded the paper. It was a copy of a deed with Baird's name on it.

"You bought it?" Aislinn said, her voice rising to a screech.

"For us. If you'll move in with me."

Aislinn's mouth dropped open and her throat went dry, just for a second.

At her silence, Baird began to stammer, "See, I figured you would like the open space like this, and that you could use the apartment in your old place for a studio. There's a few bedrooms up top and a nice little courtyard. Easy commute to work." Baird shrugged his shoulders and then let out an "oof!" as Aislinn launched herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"You bought me a house?"

"Us, I bought us a house," Baird  clarified with a smile.

"It's perfect," Aislinn breathed against his lips and Baird chuckled.

"Thank God, as I don't think that I can return it."

******

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Author's Note

On a warm, sunny day over a year ago, my husband and I hiked up The Saint's Path located on Mt. Brandon in Dingle, Ireland. The Stations of the Cross lined the path and led to the highest point of the peninsula. At the top, the winds were fierce and the view almost heartbreaking in its staunch beauty.

Days later, I awoke to the bells of the Christchurch Cathedral in Dublin, in a lovely hotel room. A dream tugged at my mind. So powerful, so insistent, that for the first time in my life, I was compelled to write my dream down, worried that I would lose the threads of the story that had captivated me in my sleep.

Over the last few days of our trip, I babbled incessantly to my ever-patient husband as he politely listened to me play with characters and plot.

Soon, my dream had expanded from one book into a five book series.

Sometimes, you just have to follow that moment. That brief hint of inspiration that lights you up inside. That…something…that keeps niggling at your brain. The Mystic Cove books are those stories. The ones that I think about when I'm doing yoga or in the yard playing with my dogs. The ones that make me ache to return to the shores of Dingle and spend many a day soaking up the beauty and charm that the small village has to offer.

Thank you for taking part in my world, I hope that you enjoy it.

Please consider leaving a review online. It helps other readers to take a chance on my stories.

As always, you can reach me at [email protected] or feel free to visit my website at triciaomalley.com.

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Author's Acknowledgement

First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband for his unending support as I pursue this wildly creative career of being an author. It isn't easy to watch someone follow the creative path, and uncertainties are rampant. Josh, thanks for being my rock.

I'd like to thank my family and friends for their constant support and all of my beta readers for their excellent feedback.

Thanks to Emily Nemchick for her excellent editing services and to Alchemy Book Covers for their stunning cover designs.

And last, but never least, my two constant companions as I struggle through words on my computer each day – Briggs and Blue.