Sweeney Bailey saw the loom of theWelcome to Ballyshannonsign ahead and finally understood the term ‘to gird one’s loins’. Quite involuntarily, everything tensed. From her toes to her scalp and all places in between. Including her loins.
Yep, those suckers were fullygirded.
It wasn’t that she disliked her home town per se. It was just that life had been so much bigger in the fifteen years since she’d left, and she preferred it that way. Did it make her a bad person to already be counting down the days until she could leave again?
One week. She could doone lousy week. Considering she had to fly halfway around the world to get here, coming for any shorter period of time made no sense. And ithadbeen four years since she’d been home…
‘Almost there.’
She glanced at Fin, who’d also travelled from afar and looked about as happy to be here as she was. ‘Remind me again why you thought this was a good idea?’
‘Because they’re our mothers. And they’re sixty. And we’ve both been away long enough. You know they’ll love it. Sure, they’ll make out they hate surprises and make a huge deal out of us not telling them, but they’ll be secretly ecstatic. You won’t be able to wipe the smiles off their faces.’
Sweeney returned her attention to the view outside with a sigh. ‘True.’ They might protest too much but deep down she knew their mothers would welcome the presence of their absent progeny with open arms.
She’d been surprised last month when Fin had contacted her via Insta—their usual form of infrequent communication—withthe plan.Given her unpredictable work schedule, attending their mothers’ combined sixtieth birthday party hadn’t been on Sweeney’s radar, but Fin had managed to convince her.
And she’d been pleased he had the moment she’d spotted him at Melbourne airport a few hours ago. Her heart had filled with a rush of affection for the person who had probably known her the longest apart from her mother—and his.
Fin was her oldest friend, the kind where lengthy absences didn’t matter because it always just felt like yesterday. But, as they motored through streets still so familiar to her at six-thirty on this March evening in Fin’s hire car, Sweeney wasn’t so sure it had been wise to let him talk her into returning.
As a kaleidoscope of memories swamped her jetlagged brain, the multi-hued sunset over the lush, rolling hills in the distance was the perfect metaphor for her complicated relationship with Ballyshannon. Some memories were bright, like the vibrant gilded streaks poking tangerine fingers just above the hill line. Some were fading around the edges as the light dwindled a little higher up. And others were in greyscale as the day leached to dusk directly overhead.
Sweeney turned from the sky and the memories to study Fin’s profile. They’d chatted about their jobs and their travels on the drive to Ballyshannon but, now they’d arrived, it seemed inevitable that things would turn personal.
‘I like the whiskers,’ she declared. ‘They suit you.’
She’d teased him about his not-quite-a-beard, not-quite-a-three-day-growth when she’d hugged him at the airport, but it had grown on her. The scruff offset the dark swathe of his hair, which was no longer the unruly, untameable mop that had been the subject (along with his weirdly large head, gangly limbs and scrawny frame) of many angsty teenage conversations between them. All these years later, his hair was pushed stylishly back off his forehead, sitting in thick waves.
In fact, his wholevibewas sexy Burberry banker.
‘You’ve also grown into your face,’ she said.
Maybe that was an added bonus of the whiskers? Or a result of his LASIK surgery that had allowed him to ditch those geeky, maths-nerd glasses? Or the way his head no longer seemed disproportionately larger than the rest of his body. Whatever it was, he’d matured from the boy/man with the still pronounced Adam’s apple she’d last seen seven years ago.
There were fine lines around his eyes, a solemn kind of depth to his gaze, a… firmness to his mouth. His whiskery throat was more corded than bumpy and his frame had filled out. He was never going to be a muscle-bound hulk, but there was nothing skinny nerd boy about him now.
Not a single gangly, scrawnyanythingto be seen.
It was a shame they’d been friends since the cradle and their mums were besties, because Finley Murphy was exactly the type of guy she’d happily spend a night with before jetting off to the next place.
Which was such aweirdthought.
‘You still really suck at compliments, I see.’
Sweeney smiled. ‘I just mean, you’re finally looking your age. I’m sure I’ve changed, too.’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘You were always thirty-two.’
She laughed.Fair. Her dad’s death when she’d been twelve had forced Sweeney into a maturity she hadn’t wanted. And then, of course, at thirteen she’d suddenly sprouted a pair of Ccups, which sadly hadn’t managed to balance out her much-cursed thick thighs buthadmanaged to make her look ten years older.
‘You know your mum is going to try to set you up with Maria Jennings? According to her Insta, not only is she going to the party but her divorce is through and she’s finally single and ready to mingle.’
He shot her a horrified glance before returning his attention to the road. ‘Oh dear god,please save me from any and all motherly attempts at setting me up with anyone.’
Sweeney laughed. ‘Sure, if you want. But she’s stillverrrrypretty.’
‘She barely gave me the time of day during high school—why would I go there?’
