"I’m here because I need you to know the truth," he said, stepping closer. "Because you deserve that. No lies. No schemes. Just... me."
She wanted to believe him. God, she did. But the hurt was still too fresh, the scar tissue too raw.
"I need time," she whispered.
Ronan’s face fell slightly, but he nodded. He respected that. Respected her.
"I'll give you all the time you need," he said hoarsely. "But I'm not giving up on us."
Without another word, he turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Aisling stood there, her tea cold in her hand, the shredded pieces of the past scattered like bones on the table.
And for the first time in a long while, she realized:
She wasn’t a pawn.
She wasn’t a product of bad choices.
She was her own damn woman.
And she would decide what happened next.
CHAPTER35
Aisling leaned against the stone of the castle’s front porch, arms crossed, heart thrumming harder than she cared to admit.
Ninety-one days since she inherited this place. Ninety-one days of hammering, sawing, shouting, dust, goats in heat, Gallagher feuds, rogue kisses, heartbreak, betrayal, revelations—and somehow, some kind of healing.
The castle was finished. And it wasn’t just a house anymore.
It was home.
Never would she have thought of recreating this place and keeping it, but now she knew she could never part with the castle. It was home. It was family. It was her heritage.
There would be no returning to the States. This was where she would stay. In a town filled with gossips, but she didn’t care. It was home.
Tonight, the pub would host another reading night, and she had a chapter ready—a chapter that had nothing to do with heartbreak, betrayal, or goats. A chapter about second chances.
She was ready to show Mountshannon that Aisling O’Byrne wasn’t just surviving. She was standing taller than ever.
Throwing on her favorite jeans and a new green sweater that made her feel more Irish than a pint of Guinness, she headed toward The Last Drop.
The pub buzzed even louder than usual, almost vibrating with something bigger than simple drink and song. When Aisling stepped through the door, a wave of cheers broke over her.
“Aisling!” Paddy shouted, raising his glass.
Someone else whistled.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. Let them gossip. Let them talk. She’d earned it.
She spotted Ronan immediately.
He sat at the corner table, a sheaf of pages clutched in his big, callused hands, his dark hair mussed like he’d spent the day tugging on it. He wore a blue shirt that made his eyes ridiculously blue, and when he looked up and caught her staring, a slow, devastating grin curled his lips.
She glared at him. Hard.
We’re not done yet, Gallagher.
