Chapter One
Eight months later
The man in the corner had her intrigued. Maggie couldn’t deny it.
Not just because he was good-looking, and he certainly was. It was because of what he was doing. This was the third night in a row she’d come to this pub, and the third night in a row she’d seen him at a booth in the back corner, head down as he scribbled away in a notebook. Intensely focused on whatever he was writing, he rarely lifted his head to glance around the crowded pub, occasionally taking a sip from his pint glass. And that intense focus had Maggie riveted.
Who wrote things out by hand anymore? What was he writing? Why bother coming to a pub if you clearly didn’t want to interact with anyone?
Who was he?
Three nights of these burning questions got the best of her. She had to know. She wasn’t shy, she talked to people all over the world. Time to get some answers.
She crossed the room, weaving her way through the patrons of the pub. Flat-screens high on the wall played rugby and football, and people yelled at the games or talked or laughed. Maggie loved the lively atmosphere and charm of a true local pub, be it in Ireland or the UK. Finally, she got to the corner booth. The man didn’t look up, so she quickly studied his thick, dark caramel hair, his broad shoulders, the way his large hand moved as he wrote along the lines of the page in heavy black ink. “Hi.”
His head snapped up. She didn’t know what surprised her more: that he was even more handsome than she’d realized, or how unbelievably blue his eyes were behind the silver-rimmed glasses. His ocean-blue gaze focused on her, intense, scrutinizing. “Can I help you?” he asked, a bit leery.
“You can.” She threw him a bright smile. “You can tell me what you’re writing there, night after night. I’m dying to know.”
He blinked, then removed the glasses and set them on the polished wood table. “You’ve been watching me write?” His deep voice was guarded, but ohhh, also sexy. His Irish accent gave his words a musical lilt. “Night after night? For how long?”
“For three nights now,” she said. “And I’m intrigued.”
His eyes narrowed as he assessed her. It gave her a few more moments to stare at his face. Strong, masculine features. Deep creases by his eyes, filled with distrust; hard angles and a square jaw; a hint of dark gold stubble around full lips made for sin. He was a few years older than her, to be sure. But damn, was he handsome. And… clearly wary, with a hint of outright grouchy. There was a furrow between his heavy brows and the hint of a scowl around that generous mouth. She got the feeling they were permanent, not just on display because she’d interrupted and annoyed him.
Something about that perma-frown made her want to turn it upside down.
She extended a hand. “I’m Maggie Spencer.”
He glanced at it, then lifted his hand to shake hers. His large hand was warm, and the contact sent a shiver up her arm. “Colin McKinnon.”
“Nice to meet you.” She gestured at the empty side of the booth. “May I?”
His lips pursed for a second before he said gruffly, “Sure.”
“Thanks.” She sat across from him and tried to charm him with another smile. “So. Do I get an answer? What’s so compelling that you’re in your own world here, writing like mad in the middle of a crowded pub?”
His features stayed motionless, not giving anything away. This was a tough nut to crack. Finally he said, “American girl, eh?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
“Nah.” His broad shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “Two of my brothers married American girls. Seem to do well in my family.”
She laughed. “Two of them, huh? How many brothers do you have?”
“Three.”
“And the third?”
“Married his best friend. Local girl.”
“Ah. So at least you got one good Irish girl in the mix.”
Colin only nodded.
“I’m here for two months,” Maggie said. “Three at the most. On a job. Not that you asked, but that’s why there’s an American girl hanging out at your local pub.”
“On a job, eh? What kind of work?”
“I’m a travel writer.”
At that, his eyes lit up. It was amazing, seeing how his face transformed with the slightest hint of light. The gruffness evaporated some, and he was even more handsome. His head cocked a bit to the side as he continued to study her. “Really.”
“Yup. That interests you, I take it?”
He kept gazing at her, letting a long beat pass before he admitted, “Very much, actually. I’d like to hear more about that.”
“I’ll gladly tell you,” she said, feeling like she’d won a small victory. “If you’ll tell me what you’re writing in there.” She gestured to his notebook with a flick of her chin.
His eyes narrowed again, the distrust back. But he said, “Stories.”
Her heart gave a little leap at his hard-won admission. “What kind of stories?”
“Short stories. Mostly fiction.”
“Wow! That’s cool. You’re a writer too, then.”
He huffed out a dark laugh at that. “No. I work in the Finance Office at UCD. This writing… it’s… just for me.”
She took that in. Finance guy in a likely dull office at University College Dublin by day, secret writer by night. Again, she was intrigued. “You know,” she said, folding her hands on the tabletop, “even if it’s just for you, if you’re writing, you’re a writer.”
He shook his head and snorted out a disdainful chuckle. “Ehmmm, no.”
“Ehmmm, yes. Hate to tell you, but that’s actually the definition of a writer.” She quirked a teasing grin at him. “One who writes.”
He just stared at her, then asked, “What’s your job here for two or three months?”
“Hired by a tourism company that wants to up their visibility. So I’m doing this thing, ‘Fifty Fun Ways to Spend a Day In and Around Dublin.’”
“That’s been done a million times,” he groused.
“I know. But it hasn’t been done by me, or this company.” She sat back and held his disdainful gaze. “Hey, if nothing else, it’ll be fun.”
“Good for you, then. I wish you luck.” He fidgeted with the pen he still held.
“Thank you. I just got here three days ago. I’m staying in a flat around the corner from here,” she went on. “Central neighborhood, it’s perfect. I’m settling in. Is this your local too?”
“Aye, it is now. I moved here a few months ago.”
“Nearby?”
“A few blocks away.” He didn’t offer any more than that.
“Ah. Well… maybe I’ll see you around the neighborhood, then. Or here.”
“Perhaps.” He flicked the pen restlessly between his fingers. Damn, he was good-looking. And so intense. Maggie sensed a story there… but she also sensed he just wanted to get back to his writing and didn’t know how to dismiss her without seeming rude. Never overstay your welcome, and always leave them wanting.
With a little grin, she slid out of the booth and got to her feet. “I’ll let you get back to your writing. We can talk about mine another time. It was nice to meet you, Colin.”
“Likewise.” He opened his mouth as if to say something, then clamped his lips shut. With a short nod, he picked up his glasses—reading glasses, she gathered—put them back on, and dipped his head, back to writing.
Maggie walked away, back to the bar area, and sat on the only empty stool. One more pint, then she’d go home for the night. Colin McKinnon was a tense ball of livewire. She could feel it in his coiled posture, see so much in his eyes. He obviously wanted space; the invisible wall around him all but glowed. But at the same time, she felt like maybe he’d like to talk…
She’d seek him out again. He intrigued her too much not to.
*
Colin watched the American walk away. The young woman was gorgeous. Her long, straight blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which only served to better display her heart-shaped face. Flawless skin, high cheekbones, and beautiful eyes—a warm dark brown that shone with confidence and intelligence. Skinny jeans and a red T-shirt showed off her trim figure, which called to him.
He took a long swallow of beer. Just looking at her sparked something low in his belly that hadn’t sparked in a long time. But it wasn’t only her looks that interested him. It was her. She’d sashayed right over to him and struck up a conversation. Bold, open, but friendly, not obnoxious. At ease with herself and her surroundings. She didn’t seem like a shy tourist; she carried herself with the self-assurance of someone worldly. Someone who’d traveled, met people, seen things and had experience. He admired that.
But more than anything, what struck him most was her smile. That radiant smile was like the sun coming out, clearing clouds without effort. Her inner light seemed genuine as it’d showered over him, making him instinctively want to turn toward that warm light. He wanted to bathe in it.
What the hell did she want with him?
He grunted and took another sip before staring down at the page in front of him. She’d distracted him, broken his train of thought. He couldn’t think of the sentence he’d been poised to write when she’d appeared. Unable to stop himself, he shifted his head to glance at her over the rims of his reading glasses. She sat on the other side of the pub now, up at the bar. Her pale blonde ponytail hung more than halfway down the back of her red T-shirt, ending just above the sinuous curve of her waist. No heels on her feet, but silver and turquoise runners—which showed she was practical, not as concerned about looks. He liked that too.
Wasn’t really safe for a young, attractive woman to be out alone like this, was it? But she seemed either unaware of that or unafraid. His bet was the latter. Maggie was a force of nature, bright light and energy and a hint of flame. He stared at her for another minute, then turned his eyes back to his notebook.
The black words on the page seemed to blur and make no sense.
Why in bloody hell had he told her he wrote short stories? He hadn’t told anyone that. Ever. And yet when she asked, he just blurted it out straight away. Christ, she’d turned that smile on him and he’d plain gone mental.
But he had to admit, he wanted to talk to her again. He’d love to hear about where she’d traveled to, what she’d seen and experienced. That had been his ultimate dream when he was younger: to travel the world.
All through his teen years, he’d daydreamed about the places he’d go. His huge family had very little money, what with eight kids to feed. Even though he was the third child, as the oldest son, he’d always felt duty-bound to do everything right—part of that meant going to university before taking off for parts unknown, so he did. On scholarship, because his grades were so good. He excelled in every course at Trinity, made his parents proud, enjoyed partying with his friends. And then, over his last year, enjoyed first love and long nights in bed with Trish.
But all the while, he planned.
He told his parents he’d be off to see the world for a while before settling into a career, and had their blessing. He carefully planned an extensive travel itinerary, saved his money, and knew that after graduation, he’d take off. Explore for six months before deciding which country to settle in and where to start the rest of his life. Finally, he’d get to live out some lifelong dreams of adventure, see the places he’d only read about, and live for himself instead of his sense of duty to his family.
But a month before graduation Trish got pregnant, and that was that.
The travel plans would have to wait. A hasty wedding happened. The money he’d saved went to their new flat and to savings for when the baby came. The new life somewhere else… that dream evaporated like mist. All of his dreams did. His innate sense of duty and honor were transferred from his family to his new wife. His new reality was securing a job quickly and becoming a father, when he was barely a grown man himself. Years went by…
Colin drained the rest of his pint glass. He’d made choices. He’d done what he had to. No use in looking back anymore. Things happened. He’d done the right thing, and in the end, that was what mattered most. No one could ever accuse him of anything less, and he could look himself in the mirror each day and know that.
His cell phone vibrated in his back pocket and he pulled it out to glance at the screen. A text from his daughter: Hi Da, are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?
He grinned to himself. Sure. Aren’t we?
Just checking, Roisin wrote back.
You have a better offer? Colin texted.
No! LOL U’ll pick me up at 6, then?
Yes. Love you.
Love u 2
Colin smiled as he shoved his phone back into his jeans. His kids were the best things in his life. The one reward for his integrity. He didn’t regret them for a second. Patrick, Stephen, and Roisin meant more to him than anything. He missed seeing them every day, but they were doing fine living with their mum. Patrick was at university now anyway, Stephen would start next year, and his baby girl wasn’t a baby anymore, but a feisty teen who wore too much makeup and clothes that were too tight.
And if he’d done right by them, and they were lucky, they’d get to have their own exciting lives and live out their dreams in ways their father hadn’t.
Colin glanced over toward the bar area again. He watched as Maggie Spencer slid off her barstool, her long, denim-clad legs and silver runners carrying her toward the door and out into the night.
A bloody travel writer… she was the embodiment of what he could have been, wasn’t she. He wondered what dreams of his she’d been able to live out. One night, if he ran into her again, maybe he’d have the presence of mind to actually ask her, instead of wasting his energy sizing her up and getting flustered.