She stared at him for a second. Handsome. Clean-cut. Confident. Definitely trying to sell her something.
“If you’re selling windows or eternal salvation, I’m not in the mood,” she said, pointing to the chair across from her. “But sure.”
He grinned like she’d just handed him a compliment.
“Declan Flynn,” he said, sitting. “I’m a realtor. Thought I’d come by, introduce myself, and see if you’ve thought about putting this place on the market.”
Of course. Handsome and potentially evil.
“Aisling O’Byrne,” she said, sipping her tea like it could save her. “And no, I haven’t decided. I might stay. I might sell. I might burn it all down and take up goat herding.”
A loud yell echoed from inside the house. Followed by a sharp crash and a string of creative swearing.
“Which is why I’m out here and they’re in there,” she added flatly.
Céilí chose that moment to approach, clearly displeased at being left out of the conversation. She made a beeline for Declan’s expensive-looking jacket.
“Céilí, no,” Aisling warned, standing too fast and instantly regretting it.
The goat brayed at her like she was sassing her.
“Don’t give me any crap this morning. Get to the barn,” she said, knowing the animal would do what it wanted.
The goat paused, gave her a look of betrayal, and trotted off—dramatically like a goat in a telenovela.
Declan laughed. “Does the goat come with the house?”
“If she’s still living when and if I decide to sell.”
“Noted.”
He stood and glanced toward the house. “Would you mind showing me around? I’ve always loved this property. Your grandmother was a legend. I tried to buy this place years ago—she wouldn’t even let me finish my sentence.”
That sounded like Noreen. Stubborn as bedrock. But who could blame her? The house had been in the family for generations.
“Come inside,” Aisling said, because why not? She wasn’t committing to anything. Besides, she was curious what someone like Declan thought of the renovations.
They stepped into the main hall where two workers argued over how not to electrocute themselves with a nail gun.
“How long do you think it will take to finish it?”
“At least a month,” she said hoping that it was less than that. “But I’m making some major changes in the family room and the master bedroom.”
If she stayed, she would move into the master bedroom and enjoy the new en suite and the cozy sitting area.
“Kitchen’s next up,” she said. “Once the demolition is done, I’m putting in a big farm sink, new cabinets, new appliances. Basically, everything short of exorcising the ghosts of outdated design.”
And those ghosts had been around long before she was born.
He chuckled. “Open concept?”
“Eventually. That wall’s going. Beam going in.”
He nodded, approving. “Buyers love that.”
That word—buyers—landed like a punch to the gut. This was her grandmother’s home. Her family’s legacy. Did she really want to let it go?
They passed through the dusty but still regal library. “This one just needs paint.”
