Wild Embrace (Wilder Irish #11) - Mari Carr
Prologue
“You’re home early, my dear lass. Did you have a nice time?”
Darcy gave Patrick a noncommittal one-shoulder shrug that pretty much said it all. His youngest granddaughter had just attended her senior prom, and he’d thought her plan was to then do a sleepover at her best friend Brooklyn’s house.
“It was okay.”
It was only a little after midnight, and Patrick was certain he was the only one still awake in the house. He’d moved in with Darcy’s parents nearly a decade earlier, his children concerned about him living alone in the apartment above the pub. He’d assured them he was just fine, but when Aaron and Riley put an addition onto their home and created this lovely little living space just for him, he was hard-pressed to say no. He had missed living with other people, being surrounded by family.
The fact they lived in a ranch-style house and he no longer had to climb stairs was another big selling feature. His knees had been giving him fits for more years than he cared to admit.
Darcy was still wearing her pale green prom dress, though she was carrying her heels by the straps in one hand.
Patrick, who’d been reading in bed, scooted over and patted the mattress next to him. “Come tell me all about it. I’ll bet you were the prettiest girl at the dance.”
“Everyone looked really nice.” Darcy walked across the room and claimed the spot he’d just cleared for her, sitting with her back resting against the headboard, sighing heavily.
“That’s a sad sound, my dear. Did you not have fun?”
Darcy twisted slightly to face him. “No. It really was okay. Just okay. I mean…I thought senior prom was supposed to be this awesome, amazing, romantic thing, but it was just a dumb old school dance in the gym.”
“No romance, eh?” Patrick asked, trying to hide his grin. He’d been accused by others in his family of being “a bad influence” when it came to teaching his grandchildren about true love and romance. Those lessons had stuck for all of his twelve grandchildren, of that he had no doubt. But while half walked around with their hearts on their sleeves, like Darcy, the other half—his grandsons Colm and Lochlan leading the charge—pretended to consider things like true love bull hockey.
Darcy was determined to find her Prince Charming and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, high school hadn’t yielded anything other than frogs.
“It was just a bunch of Christmas lights strung up on the bleachers and cardboard cutouts of the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre.”
At his quizzical look, she added, “The theme was ‘A Night in Paris’.”
“Well, that certainly sounds like it had romantic possibilities.”
She shook her head. “It didn’t.”
“And your date?”
“Mark. He was nice, but…he’s not the one, Pop Pop. He doesn’t make my heart race or my palms sweaty, and there were no fireworks when he kissed me good night. None of those things you said you felt when you were with Grandma Sunday.”
Patrick smiled. Oh yeah. He’d definitely been a strong influence in this young girl’s life. She was one of his biggest fans when it came to his stories about Sunday and Ireland and the early days of the pub when their children started to come along.
One of his favorite things to do was to tell stories about the past and Darcy was his most avid listener, always asking questions and wanting to hear more. He’d become more descriptive over the years, simply for her. Because Darcy had a vivid imagination, he’d had to work hard, turning his words into pictures in her bright, inquisitive, creative mind. It was never enough for him to say the pub where he’d first met Sunday was a typical Irish pub. He had to describe it, the sights, the smells, the sounds. All of it.
And the same was true of his descriptions of love. He couldn’t simply say he’d fallen in love with Sunday after that first kiss. She’d demanded to know how he’d knew, what he’d felt—right down to the sweaty palms and twittery stomach and racing heart—that told him Sunday was the one.
“You’re only young, lass. There’s plenty of time.”
“You always say that, but I’ve never looked at anyone and felt anything even remotely like love. What if I never do?”
Patrick reached over and patted her cheek affectionately. “You will.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know you, my lovely dark-haired girl.”
Darcy grinned. Patrick had told her years earlier that her name meant “dark-haired or dark one.” In her case, it