“According to River and Raven’s boys, he’s moving back to Dublin, with his child, to try and convince Gray to take him back. He doesn’t know she’s pregnant. She’s supposed to tell him before she comes here for Christmas break.
“I don’t know more than that, really. Gray is being tight-lipped. Probably afraid we plan to snatch her from her bed in the dead of night.”
Thomas ruminated over the information dump, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I’ll give Gray the time to tell him as she will. His response will determine mine.”
“He’ll always be Gray’s son’s father,” Josephine said quietly. She was exuberant about becoming a grandmother and knew Gray would take to motherhood as she had, but the Ciar issue clouded the excitement with concern.
She had no doubt that Ciar would take responsibility for his son, as he had for his daughter, but where did that leave Gray? Her daughter was a strong woman, but as her mother, Jo never wanted her to feel unwanted or not good enough.
Jo waffled between begging her to come home and encouraging her to take charge of her new life. She also wanted to visit Ciar and bash him upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper.
Plan C, and it was beginning to look like the promising choice, was to send her own mother to Dublin to sort things out.
Grandma Mary O’Connor would descend on Gray’s life like an avenging angel, having her in a fashionable home and hiring a nanny, chef, and house cleaner within hours. Her father, Dean, would have security posted along the perimeter to ensure there were no unsupervised visits to his granddaughter and great-grandson.
She was leaning closer to Plan C every day, but that level of interference had to be reserved for drastic times, and Thomas was right, it all came down to Ciar’s response to Gray’s announcement.
Jo picked up one of Thomas’ heavy hands from the table, bringing it to her mouth to kiss his knuckles before resting her cheek against his palm.
“No matter what, we’re going to be grandparents. I can’t wait.”
“Our grandson,” Thomas said quietly, switching their position and bringing her hands to his lips. “I can’t wait either.”
thirty-six
CIAR
Ciar,Imogen, and Tina were installed in the Dublin two-story. That might be overstating things. They had beds to sleep on and were surrounded by what could only be thousands of moving boxes.
Tina was doing her best, in her special, hateful way, but it was clear she needed help. Since being back in Dublin, Ciar had spent hours at Gray Eyes catching up on how things were running.
The numbers were promising. Extremely so. It had fast become “the hangout” for old money and new. He was amazed to see Gray’s vision in real time every time he walked through the pub’s door.
He still worked hours a day for Anders, taking most meetings over video, but traveling was inevitable and often.
None of the details mattered. None of them.
Gray had reached out to meet him. She was due to arrive in minutes.
He’d been a blithering idiot since the moment he’d received her text yesterday. It only said that she would like to discuss something with him.
He didn’t know what she wanted to discuss, but he had at least twenty different things he wanted to explain. He wanted her back so bad. His stomach was cramping, and his sweat glands were working overtime.
Ciar told Tina that, unless there was an emergency, she needed to have everything Imogen could ever imagine wanting in the smaller kitchen upstairs, where Imogen’s room was located, as well as Tina’s small nanny apartment.
He hoped Gray would let him show her around the space. He especially wanted her to see how he’d finished out their downstairs bedroom suite. From their past talks, he believed she would be pleased that her vision had been realized.
After she canceled the contractors, he’d rehired them and given them her house plans. There was no décor or, well, there was nothing really, but he dreamed of Gray making the final touches to their home.
Tina walked out in a gaudy bathrobe wrapped around her stout frame, gunmetal gray hair sticking up in multiple directions, and an empty coffee mug in her hand like she owned the space and everything in it.
“Tina, for fuck’s sake, I’ve company soon. Please stay with Imogen.”
“First, language, young man. My outlets in the upstairs kitchen are on the fritz. Never fear, I put in a work order. Secondly, the wee mite is sleeping, and I want a bloody mug of tea.”
And of course, the bell would ring at that moment. Of course. “Christ, Tina. I’m begging you. Disappear.”
She simply sniffed her snub nose and proceeded to the kitchen. There was nothing for it. He had to answer the door.
