Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers #5) - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,101
alive. “I can take you on the grand tour before the crowds arrive.”
“Or we can stand here and gawk, lad.” Gramma Finnie, decked out in a silver dress with more ruffles than he’d ever seen her in, paused in the entryway and looked around. “’Tis magnificent.”
“Didn’t Evie do a great job?” he asked. “Each open room represents a different era over the last hundred and twenty years. You’re standing in the Roaring Twenties right now.”
Yiayia stretched her neck and looked straight up. “And I see the chandelier was cleaned for the first time since the Roaring Twenties.”
He laughed. “Please, I had to fight with the Historical Society not to change it back to an oil-burning lamp for the night. They actually suggested that. To a firefighter.”
He looked from one to the other, then settled on his own grandmother, dying to get an answer to a question that had been haunting him for weeks. “So, Finola Kilcannon, how did you get it?”
She drew back and raised a white brow, feigning innocence.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I know it was you who hid that card in the piano keys.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Sounds like Gloriana House has a wee leprechaun about the place.”
He snorted and looked at Yiayia, who looked a little too proud of herself.
“A leprechaun named Agnes Santorini?” he guessed, making them both laugh and give it away.
“Gramma, how did you even get it?” he asked. “I thought it was lost.”
She put a hand on his arm. “You don’t remember the morning, lad. You dropped your bag on the lawn, and when you went into the house, I gathered it, and some of your belongings fell out. I happened to glance down and read the words.”
“My promises.”
“I tucked it away, for the right time. You know the Irish say, ‘Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a memory no one can steal.’” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I knew you had to handle your heartache before you were ready for love.”
“How did you know I’m ready now?” he asked, curious how his grandmother knew him better than he knew himself.
“I was in the waiting room the day Evie performed surgery on Rusty.”
He dug into his memory banks. He’d been vaguely aware that the room was crowded with Mahoneys and Kilcannons. And one beautiful neurologist.
“I saw the look that passed between the two o’ ye.” Gramma’s voice grew low and her brogue thick. “And then Darcy said a couple of weeks ago that she’d seen Evie in town, and we cooked up the excuse we needed.”
“Why not give the card to me if you thought I needed a push?” he asked.
“Good question,” Yiayia interjected, hanging on every word of the conversation. “That was exactly what I wanted to know. But this one had me sneaking around this house, looking for a hiding place.”
“I felt Evie should find it,” Gramma Finnie said. “I hoped it would have her come to you because, honestly, I didn’t think anything would get you out of your ways.”
“But…the croissant run? Were you covering all your bases?”
She chuckled. “Truth be told, while Agnes was planting that in the piano, I had a conversation with Max, and we decided to help things along with a little Sunday morning visit to the bakery. There was always the chance Evie wouldn’t take the bait.”
“That’s all you and Max discussed?” he pressed.
“Well, the wedding plans, of course.” She adjusted her bifocals. “And he was yammering about great-grandchildren, but sweet Saint Patrick, Declan, I’m not that much of a busybody.”
“He is,” he said on a laugh.
“That’s part of his charm,” Yiayia said, gesturing toward the stairs. “And so is the fact that he needs an assist and is too proud to ask.” She pointed to the top of the steps, where Max Hewitt stood, wearing a dark suit very much like the one Declan had on.
And Judah was already at the bottom, looking like he might attempt to be the one to help Max.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Declan said, heading across the entryway to stop the howl from one and the possible tumble from the other. As he got to the bottom of the steps, Pru came up next to him.
“Let me take Judah, Uncle Declan,” she offered. “You can help Max.”
He shot her a grateful smile and headed up the stairs, his gaze on the old man who apparently was more of a busybody than the so-called Dogmothers. Thank God.