“You’d be happy here, in Ireland?”
“Loved it since I first set eyes on it. Never figured to live here, but never figured on Brian either. He’s my everything, and I’m his.”
“It’s just beautiful to see that, Marco. To feel it, to know it.”
“First sight.” He sighed with it, a quietly happy sound. “Never believed in that until it happened to me. On the, you know, practical side of it, as long as I’m connected, I can work anywhere.”
He gave her hand a quick, hard squeeze. “And until the after, girl, I’m with you.”
“I know that, and I love you. And if you’re sure about the rest, I thought I could ask Nan about adding onto the cottage.”
“Breen.”
“Just hear me out. You’d both have your own space. Or, if it’s better, and I think it would be for you, there’s enough land to build another cottage. Yours and Brian’s. We’d be neighbors.”
“Neighbors,” he murmured.
“You could get your own horse on the other side, and Harken would keep it at the farm. I know he would. You love riding, and you could have your own. You could design your own kitchen, and the king of showers. You could have a music room and write and play.”
He stopped on the path, wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, Breen.”
“I love you, Marco. Please say yes. If you stay, stay close, close to me, close to Talamh.”
“Can’t say yes till I talk to Brian, but it couldn’t be more what I’d want. Now I’m gonna cry all over you.”
“It couldn’t be more what I want either.” She kissed his wetcheek, hugged him tight. “We’ll get through the rest, Marco. We’ll get to the after, and we’ll have what couldn’t be more what we want.”
They found Marg with Sedric outside the kitchen. Both wore trousers and sweaters with Sedric’s hair shining silver and Marg’s red glory bundled up under a knit cap. When they went out to join them, Breen saw a huge pot smoking over a fire while the two of them cubed a mountain of apples on a worktable.
“Oh, and welcome. Breen,mo stór, go in and get our boy his biscuit, as my hands are full.”
“Applesauce?” Marco guessed as Breen went for the jar.
“Apple wine,” Sedric told him. “My young cousin brought the apples to barter, and it seemed a fine use for them.”
“Yeah?” Marco checked the pot, found what looked like clear water. “How do you do it? You can’t just boil them down.”
“More to it than that, and a good job of work, as the rain’s finally left us for a while.”
Breen brought out the biscuit. Bollocks decided the best place to chomp it down was under the table by Marg’s feet.
“Do you want some help?”
“We’ve near to worked through the apples here, but the company’s welcome.”
“That’s a kind of fermenter, right?” Marco walked down the table to another pot with a spout near the bottom.
“It is indeed. Aren’t you the clever one?”
“We’ll tie up the apples in this straining bag here,” Sedric explained, “good and tight, and into the fermenter, then the boiling water with it, then water to cool it. And it all sits for a time before you do the science of it.”
“And after the science, and a bit of magick, after all, comes the patience. A good wine takes time.”
Once they’d tied up the cubed apples, Sedric lifted them into the fermenter.
“Let me get some gloves, cart that big-ass pot over. It’s gotta be heavy.”
“No need for that. You stand back a bit, Marco.” So saying, Marg lifted her hands toward the pot. An arch of bubbling water rose into the air, streamed from pot to pot.