“It was great, it was good. Lots of stories, like Marco signing with an agent to represent the in-progress and tentatively titledThe Fun of Cookingcookbook.”
“That’s grand. We’ll give him all the help we can by sampling any dish he thinks of putting in it.”
“Selfless. And they bought my book.”
“As I told you they would. You don’t sob with it this time, I see.”
“I got light-headed for a minute, but I didn’t cry. My editor’s going to send an email with a few changes.”
“I didn’t read anything that needed changing.”
“They’re actually really good changes. A few days’ work, and it’ll be better and stronger.” She covered her mouth with her hands and laughed. “I sold my book.”
And launched herself at him. Wanting in on the fun, Bollocks ran out of the bay, shook water all over as he raced circles around them.“Magicks Dark and Lightby Breen Siobhan Kelly, coming to a bookstore near you whenever they figure that part out.”
“I like this better than the weeping.”
“Me, too.”
“But I remember very well what came after the weeping, and I think that bears repeating.”
With her arms and legs wrapped around him, he walked toward the house.
“You can unpack later.”
“I can unpack later,” she agreed, and since he’d forgotten, sent the gentle shower over her flowers and pots as he carried her into the cottage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Breen sat in on council meetings in the valley, and worked with Marg, Finola, and others on plans for the festival. She worked in her gardens and finished her revisions (with fingers crossed they worked). And focused her writing time on Bollocks’s next adventure.
If the ideas for the new book sounded too loud and long in her head, she shifted over—no more than an hour allowed—and let them play out on the page.
She trained, as hard as she knew how, and practiced her craft with Marg.
With the days full and growing longer, she barely had a moment that wasn’t designated for specific tasks.
And April bled into May.
The cracks in the portals, every one, widened. Almost imperceptibly, Keegan told her, but they widened.
Would Odran wait for the solstice? she wondered. Or would he come sooner? Or wait longer yet?
Though she treasured every day, the spring rains, the spring sun, the way the sky stayed light later and later in Talamh and in Ireland, she wanted it over. One way or the other, over and finished.
She watched Fey start the work on Marco and Brian’s cottage, with so many giving their time and skills—and their opinions.
“We could have it done sooner,” Marg told her, “as we did with yours. But there’s time enough, as both of them say they’ll stay with you until we’re finished with Odran.”
“However fast or slow, it’s going to be so right. I love the openingSeamus made, and the arbor. It makes it like walking from one fairyland to another.”
“He’s got a way, Seamus does.” As pleased as Breen, Marg looked back at it, the tall arch where fuchsia and white roses twined together. “And the scent of the roses carries from one to the other. Your gardens do well indeed,mo stór. You’ve a way of your own.”
“I love growing things. That comes from you and my father.”
“The love of it, but your strong connection, that’s yours. I have a touch, as did Eian, but not so deep as yours. Ah, look at that dog, would you? Running about, nosing into everything.”
“He loves having everyone around. It’s a party every day for Bollocks. And when Morena or Harken brings Darling over, it’s a lovefest. He’ll be thrilled when he can run from one cottage to the other.”