It was more a matter ofshouldshe, not could she.
If there hadn’t been the big fat lie to contend with, it may have been a much easier decision, but there it was, sticking out like a sore thumb, putting her right back in that fish bowl.
Sweeney’s silence must have gone on for longer than she realised, her tired brain churning and churning, because Veronica was speaking again.
‘It’s fine to say no. To be honest, none of the jobs are on our urgent wait list or anything. I’m just trying to load up your schedule because I know you like to keep busy. Personally, I’d prefer you stayed where you are and be ready to go at a moment’s notice rather than have to pull you out of somewhere else. The resort owner only wants you.’
‘That’s because I’m the best,’ Sweeney said with a chirpiness she didn’t feel.
‘And so modest with it too.’ Despite her derisive reply, the smile in Veronica’s voice was evident. ‘Listen, you’re home, right? Why not just take advantage of the gift the good Lord gave you and lie on a beach for the next week or so?’
Sweeney snorted. The closest beach was a couple of hundred kilometres away. ‘Are you in cahoots with my mother?’
Veronica laughed. ‘No. But as a momma whose last chick has just flown the nest, I’m not surprised she’s trying to keep you close for as long as she can.’
Maybe you could hang out here for a few weeks, instead.
Damn that voice. Damn that note of motherly yearning that had been digging like rusty pins into Sweeney’s brain all night. Staying in Ballyshannon was the worst thing she could do as far as the fake fiancé situation went, but her guilt was working overtime. Then there was the surprising twist of the creative challenge she was thoroughly and undeniably enjoying.
Maybe the universe had somehow conspired to not only bring her home but put a kids’ Gaelic football team in her pathandset off a volcano to keep her here, for this purpose? It was supposed to work in mysterious ways, right? Maybe this whole thing was a gift horse she shouldn’t be looking in the mouth.
Or a gift donkey, anyway. There was still the whole fake engagement situation, after all. But they’d been managing that quite well, keeping everything on the down low, despite their mothers trying to persuade them differently. And, of course, there was the deception of it all. But that was on their mothers—Sweeney’s conscience was clear.
Mostly. As was Fin’s, she thought.
‘Actually, Veronica—’ Sweeney couldn’t quite believe what she was about to say. ‘I think I will decline.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded slowly, smiling at the note of delight in Veronica’s voice. ‘I’ll hang out here and be ready to head off whenever it’s safe enough to travel to Indonesia. Surely it can’t be that much longer?’
‘From your lips to god’s ears, honey.’
*
Sweeney grabbed a fat red apple from the table as she wandered out to the back, finding Fin in the same place he’d been every morning since they’d arrived—reclined in the squatter’s chair, his legs propped on the rests, one hand cupped around a mug of tea, the other bent at the elbow and stuffed behind his head.
There was a distinct nip in the air this morning and he was wearing an unzipped hoodie over his pyjama top as he stared out at the garden.
‘Good news?’ he asked as she claimed her squatter’s chair.
‘That depends.’
Rolling his head to look at her, he asked, ‘On what?’
‘On whether you’re my mother or my bank account.’
Fin laughed. ‘Pretend I’m your mother.’
Sweeney shook her head at the weirdness of that proposition. ‘I’m going to stay on in Ballyshannon for a bit.’
He didn’t say anything for a beat or two, then a slow smile warmed his face. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
There was nothing slow at how his smile morphed to a grin. It was lightning fast and utterly infectious. It lit his whole face, tickling at her ribs, pulling at the corners of her mouth and tugging at her heart strings. She could really,reallyget used to that smiling face.
Which made her slightly panicky.
