“Fine.” I tucked my hands in my jacket pockets, looking at his designer boots. “But if you can’t keep up, don’t expect me to slow down.”
He laughed, holding the door open for me. “Noted.”
The fields around Ballybeg were still wet from last night’s rain, but the sun had coaxed some life into the grass, and little white flowers were starting to bloom along the edges of the path.
Jax walked beside me, his long legs eating up the distance with ease.
“What’s that over there?” His chin angled toward the low stone walls that crisscrossed the countryside like a patchwork quilt.
“Old boundary walls. Some of them are hundreds of years old. They used to separate farmland.”
He nodded, taking it all in with enthusiasm.
For someone who came from a world of fast cars, luxury resorts, and PGL tours, he seemed genuinely interested in the quiet beauty of Ballybeg. I couldn’tfault him for that. Stunningly beautiful, our village was.
“You know,” he said after a while, “this place reminds me of something out of a storybook. Like it hasn’t changed in centuries.”
“That’s the idea.” I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck against the wind. “We’re proud of that. Ballybeg doesn’t need changing.”
He glanced at me, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You’re protective of this place, aren’t you?”
I shrugged, trying to downplay the sudden warmth in my chest at his insight. “I’m not anything special; everybody in Ballybeg feels that way.”
We stopped at a small hill with a circle of ancient standing stones near the top. Jax studied them with curiosity.
“This reminds me of the Stone Henge.” He squinted at one of the taller stones. “OrOutlander.”
I chuckled. “You watchOutlander?”
“You don’t?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, I do. Sam Heughan, even though he’s a Scotsman, takes his shirt off, and it’s a pretty sight.”
“Same here,” he joked.
“These here are older thanOutlander, I can tell you that much. The Lover’s Stones of Ballybeg. There’s a legend about them.”
He grinned like a kid in a candy store, excited and intrigued. “Go on.”
I walked toward the stones, letting my fingers graze the rough surface of one. “They say that centuries ago, a young farmer fell in love with the daughter of a local chieftain. She was promised to another man, but they couldn’t stay away from each other. One night, under the light of a full moon, they ran away together and made their vows here, in this very spot. It was a sacred place back then.”
“And what happened to them?” Jax asked, stepping closer.
I glanced at him, my voice softening. “Her father tried to separate them. But before they could be torn apart, they prayed to the gods to protect their love. The legend says the gods turned them into the standing stones so they could be together forever.”
“By gods, I’m assuming this is BC and not AD?”
“Aye, pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland,” I agreed. “Ancient Irish beliefs were polytheistic, involving a pantheon of gods and goddesses from Celtic mythology. These deities were connected to nature, love, and war—a lot like the Greek and Roman mythologies.”
“There’s something romantic and tragic about this place.” His eyes held mine. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to believe in such a romantic fantasy.”
“And why not?” I demanded defensively.
He put his gloved hand on my cheek. I stopped breathing. I should tell him he couldn’t just touch me when he felt like it, but I was busy resisting the temptation to lean into his hand, take in the warmth andcomfort when life had been so utterly bereft and lonely for so long.
“That came out wrong.” His voice was husky, sexy, and intense. “What I wanted to say was that it’s charming that you believe in love like this, one for the ages.”
I swallowed. “It’s just a story.”
