Hot tears pushed at her eyes but Sweeney was determined not to let them fall. If she did, she might not be able to turn them off. And they wouldn’t be dainty, pretty, girly tears. There was too much emotion in this moment for that. They’d be loud and messy. There would be snot crying.
Definitely not Instagram worthy.
‘Yes. I think you’ve always been the boy for me too.Yes.’ She nodded as her heart soared. ‘Anywhere. Any time. For all time.’
Cheers sounded behind them then and Sweeney laughed as Fin slipped the ring on and got to his feet. It was plastic and brassy and scratchy on her finger—definitely not his grandmother’s.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he murmured, sliding his hands onto her hips and pulling her close. ‘I gave Granny’s back to Mum, so this is just a place holder.’
Sweeney didn’t mind one little bit. ‘Where’d you get it?’
‘One of those tacky, touristy shops at Dublin airport that survive on panicked tourists buying last-minute gifts for friends and family back home. It cost me twenty euro.’
Sweeney laughed. She loved that. She loved that it would be part of the story of them, one of those funny anecdotes they’d tell their children one day.
God… children.Babies.
In the matter of a month she’d gone from vehemently single and childless to falling in love with her best friend and already running through cute Irish kiddie names in her head.
‘You know,’ she said as she wound her arms around his neck, ‘our mothers are going to be unbearably smug, right?’
And Mrs Hitchin was going to be worse. Marjorie Weaver was going to be eating a lot of crow, though, and that was deeply satisfying.
He smiled as his mouth lowered. ‘I think we can give them this win,’ he said as their lips met and the choir broke into an a cappella rendition of ‘Chapel of Love’.
The absolute perfect beginning to the rest of their lives.
Finale… the mothers
One week later
Rhonda Murphy and Constance Bailey weren’t bad people.Really, they weren’t.They were upstanding members of the small community of Ballyshannon. They were librarians. They went to church every Sunday and volunteered with various community organisations.
They valued kindness and decency andhonesty.
But today, sitting with a group of friends around a booth nearest the door at Murphy’s, they were facing the consequence of the collective brain fart they’d suffered at their sixtieth birthday party.
Today they had to walk back one lie by telling another.
It would be only one of the many they’d told these past two and a half months, but lying about their kids breaking up seemed even worse than lying about them being together.
And not just because they were about to lose their status as grandmothers-in-waiting, but because they’d both secretly hoped they wouldn’t have to. That the fanciful dreams they’d occasionally entertained as young mothers about their kids’ suitability might actually come to fruition as they’d watched Fin and Sweeney slide into fake fiancé roles with a degree of effortlessness that had both of them wondering.
Alas, it wasn’t to be. And now they had to clean up their mess because Fin would be home tomorrow. Their time was up.
Which was why they were sitting withthisparticular bunch of friends. Once these women knew—Marjorie Weaver in their number—Ronnie and Connie wouldn’t have to tell another soul. It was the equivalent of putting up a post in the Ballyshannon and Surrounds Facebook group, or taking out a front-page ad in the local paper.
It would fly around Ballyshannon with all the speed and gory detail of a banshee visit.
‘We … have an announcement,’ Connie said tentatively. She’d started this whole mess, it seemed only right that she finish it.
But before she could get out another word, Verna to her left gasped. ‘Oh my god. Sweeney’s pregnant.’
Ronnie laughed nervously, but before she could dispute it, someone else had jumped on the bandwagon. ‘It’s twins, isn’t it? Michael’s great-grandmother was a twin, right?’
Connie glanced sideways at Ronnie. Lordy, just like last time, this was already getting out of their control. And, as attractive as the idea of a grandbaby was, she didn’t think Fin or Sweeney would be talked into a fake pregnancy.
‘No, no.’ Ronnie jumped in with a quick denial as the bar door opened behind them, casting a brief sliver of sunshine on the table before it shut. ‘Nothing like that.’ She paused. ‘You see, there’s been a… development.’
