“Actually, he called us and asked us to help him rescue you,” Sorcha said. She put a hand over Clare’s shoulder and rubbed her back. “He had to convince us to help. We thought he was trying to trick us into becoming victims, but he said ‘Only one of us loves Clare more than the Heart of Brigid.’ I infer that tomean Griffin. He used your name, Clare, not Brigid.”
“You sure?” Clare peeked from between her fingers.
“Yes, he was very heroic,” Maeve said. “He chased after the limo and even tried to force it off the road. Except he crashed his Ashton.”
“I remember that,” Clare said. “It seems like a movie from long ago, but I thought he faked the crash. It was like one of those silentmovies where the villain gets away and the hero shakes his fist at the sky.”
“You are too imaginative,” Sorcha said. “When was the last time you worked on a novel?”
“Too long ago,” Clare said. “Too long. Anyway, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve restored the Heart of Brigid to Griffin’s family. That was what I set out to do, and I’ve done it. The rest will be the finished in a lovestory I write.”
“That’s the spirit,” Maeve said. “Now, I’m going to make up another batch of the Quill of Niamh and ship it off. It’ll be fun to track Mack all over the globe as he hunts it down.”
“I saw the way you were looking at Mack,” Sorcha teased. “I’m sure you’d want to track him down no matter where he goes.”
“Oh, stop it,” Maeve said. “Just because we’re both blondesdoesn’t mean…”
“It exactly means you’re meant for each other.” Sorcha laughed and tossed packets of sugar at Maeve.
Clare shook her head and left the kitchen. Thankfully, her laptop was still on the coffee table, and she hadn’t taken it with her. It was time to write the romance of her life.
She opened her laptop and typed, “Excuse me while I tuck my wings.”
