An Outrageous Proposal. Maureen Child
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“So, Patsy’s in Dublin with her daughter. Sinead’s doing well then, with her new family?”
“According to Patsy, everything’s great,” Georgia said.
Laura had told her the whole story of the pregnant Sinead marrying in a hurry. Sinead was now the mother of an infant son and her new husband was, at the moment, making a demo CD. He and his friends played traditional Irish music and, thanks to Ronan’s influence with a recording company, had a real chance to do something with it. “She misses Sinead living close by, but once they get the demo done, they’ll all be coming back to Dunley.”
“Home does draw a body back no matter how far you intend to roam,” Sean mused, as he followed her into the front parlor. “And yet, you’re thinking of leaving your home to make a new one.”
“I guess I am.”
Hearing him say it aloud made the whole idea seem more real than it had in the past week or so that it had been floating around in her mind. But it also felt … right. Okay, scary, but good. After all, it wasn’t as if she was giving up a lot. And the plus side was, she could leave behind all of the tension and bad memories of a marriage that had dissolved so abruptly.
Moving to Ireland was a big change, she knew. But wasn’t change a good thing? Shake up your life from time to time just to keep it interesting?
At that thought, she smiled to herself. Interesting. Moving to a different country. Leaving the familiar to go to the … okay, also familiar. Since Laura had married Ronan and moved to Ireland, Georgia had made the long trek to visit four times. And each time she came, it was harder to leave. To go back to her empty condo in Huntington Beach, California. To sit at her desk, alone in the real estate office she and Laura had opened together.
Not that she was feeling sorry for herself—she wasn’t. But she had started thinking that maybe there was more to life than sitting behind a desk hoping to sell a house.
In the parlor, Georgia paused, as she always did, just to enjoy the beauty of the room. A white-tiled hearth, cold now, but stacked with kindling that Sean was already working to light against the chill gloom of the day. Pale green walls dotted with seascapes and oversize couches facing each other across a low table that held a Waterford crystal bowl filled with late chrysanthemums in tones of russet and gold. The wide front windows looked out over a sweep of lawn that was drenched with the rain still falling softly against the glass.
When he had the fire going to his satisfaction, Sean stood up and brushed his palms together, then moved to the spindle table in the corner that held a collection of crystal decanters. Ignoring them, he bent to the small refrigerator tucked into the corner behind the table.
“Now, about that celebratory drink,” he muttered.
Georgia smiled and joined him at the table, leaning her palms on the glossy top as she watched him open the fridge. “We earned it all right, but I wouldn’t have missed it. The worry, the panic—” She was still smiling as he glanced up at her. “And I was seriously panicked. It was hard knowing Laura was in pain and not being able to do anything about it.”
“Would it make me seem less manly to you if I admitted to sheer terror?” he asked, as he reached into the refrigerator.
“Your manhood is safe,” Georgia assured him.
In fact, she had never known a man who needed to worry less about his manhood than Sean Connolly. He was gorgeous, charming and oozed sex appeal. Good thing, she thought, that she was immune. Well, nearly.
Even she, a woman who knew better, had been tempted by Sean’s charms. Of course, it would be much better—safer—to keep him in the “friend” zone. Starting up anything with him would not only be dangerous but awkward, as well. Since her sister was married to his cousin, any kind of turmoil between them could start a family war.
And there was always turmoil when a man was involved, she thought with an inner sigh. But she’d learned her lesson there. She could enjoy Sean’s company without letting herself get … involved. Her gaze skimmed over his tall, nicely packed yet lanky body, and something inside her sizzled like a trapped flame struggling to grow into a bonfire. She so didn’t need that.
Nope, she told herself, just enjoy looking at him and keep your hormones on a tight leash. When he sent her a quick wink and a wild grin, Georgia amended that last thought to a tight, short, leash.
To divert herself from her own thoughts, Georgia sighed and asked, “Isn’t she beautiful? The baby?”
“She is indeed,” Sean agreed, pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge and holding it aloft like a hard-won trophy. “And she has a clever father, as well. Our Ronan’s stocked the fridge with not one but three bottles of champagne, bless him.”
“Very thoughtful,” she agreed.
He grabbed two crystal flutes from the shelf behind the bar, then set them down on the table and worked at the champagne wire and cork. “Did you get hold of your parents with the news?”
“I did,” Georgia said, remembering how her mother had cried over the phone hearing the news about her first grandchild. “I called from Laura’s room when you took Ronan down to buy flowers. Laura got to talk to them and they heard the baby cry.” She smiled. “Mom cried along with her. Ronan’s already promised to fly them in whenever they’re ready.”
“That’s lovely then.” The cork popped with a cheerful sound, and Sean poured out two glasses. Bubbling froth filled the flutes, looking like liquid sunshine. “So, champagne?”
“Absolutely.”
She took a glass and paused when Sean said, “To Fiona Connolly. May her life be long and happy. May she be a stranger to sorrow and a friend to joy.”
The sting of tears burned Georgia’s eyes. Shaking her head, she took a sip of champagne and said, “That was beautiful, Sean.”
He gave her a grin, then took her free hand in his and led her over to one of the sofas. There, he sat her down and then went back to the bar for the bottle of champagne. He set it on the table in front of them, then took a seat beside Georgia on the couch.
“A hell of a day all in all, wouldn’t you say?”
“It was,” she agreed, then amended, “is.” Another sip of champagne and she added, “I’m tired, but I don’t think I could close my eyes, you know? Too much leftover adrenaline pumping away inside.”
“I feel the same,” he told her, “so it’s lucky we can keep each other company.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” Georgia agreed. Kicking her shoes off, she drew her feet up onto the sofa and idly rubbed her arches.
The snap and hiss of the fire along with the patter of rain on the window made for a cozy scene. Taking a sip of her champagne, she let her head fall back against the couch.
“So,” Sean said a moment or two later, “tell me about this plan of yours to move to Ireland.”
She lifted her head to look at him. His brown hair was tousled, his brown eyes tired but interested and the half smile on his face could have tempted a saint. Georgia took another sip of champagne, hoping the icy liquor would dampen the heat beginning to build inside.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Actually since my last visit. When I left for home, I remember sitting on the airplane as it was taxiing and wondering why I was leaving.”
He nodded as if he understood completely, and that settled her enough to continue.
“I mean, you should be happy to go home after a trip, right?” She asked the question more of herself than of Sean and answered it the same way. “Looking forward to going back to your routine. Your everyday life. But I wasn’t. There was just this niggling sense of disappointment that seemed to get bigger the closer I got to home.”
“Maybe some of that was just because you were