Wild Irish Dreamer - Tricia O'Malley Page 0,12

own. The layout is different than downstairs. Have a look,” Shane said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He waited for Fi to step through.

“Oh,” Fi said, holding her hand to her heart.

Sunlight washed the sitting room from the large windows at the front, making the buttercream-colored walls warm and inviting. A wide window seat, made for dreamers, was littered with blue and white cushions, and a white afghan was folded neatly in the corner. Fi wanted to curl up there, looking out over the water, and dream the day away – reading all her favorite books and drinking tea while watching the world go by below.

In lieu of a sofa, two oversized armchairs in a soft cream color flanked a circular wooden table. Footstools in cheerful azure patterns were pulled close to the chairs, and a tall floor lamp stood in the corner. Turning, Fi saw that the room extended into an open kitchen area, something unusual for buildings of this age.

“I opened the kitchen as well, thinking whoever cooked here might like to look out to the water,” Shane said, walking back to the counter that doubled as a breakfast bar. Past it, a narrow hallway led to what Fi discovered were two neat bedrooms, each with its own window and a double bed, and two small bathrooms. Nothing ostentatious, nothing too fussy, and just perfect for her. He’d chosen well, Fi mused, as she walked silently around the space, somehow knowing that the living space was more important to the apartment than the size of the bedrooms. Anyone who spent time here would live out in this room. Fi wandered back to the window seat.

“Give it a go,” Cait said.

Fi pulled herself onto the cushions, tucking her knees under her chin automatically, and stared out the window, her mind racing. Could she accept something of this nature? It was a huge gift.

And it felt like home.

She’d never had this feeling before, Fi realized, this wanting of a space. She’d lived in flats all over the world, including some she’d dearly loved, yet had never felt a desperate need to own the space. But here? This was meant for her.

“I love it,” Fi admitted, and both her parents let out cheers. They dropped into the armchairs and beamed at her.

“I told you she would,” Shane said.

“Not true. It was my idea,” Cait insisted.

“It was most certainly not.”

“Was too.”

“Children,” Fi interrupted, laughing at them, “this doesn’t mean I’ll be moving home.”

“We figured that. Though you know we wish you would. But here’s what we were thinking.” Shane held up a hand to stop Fi from interrupting. “This will be a great property to have in your portfolio. One thing I’ve noticed is that you collect many things on your travels.”

“Things that get sent back to us and are now cluttering up your room at home,” Cait interjected.

“And this could be a place you could put all the things you’ve acquired. I don’t know if you realize that you’ve been slowly decorating your future home on your travels, but you have.”

“Have I really?” The truth slammed into Fi. Here she’d thought she’d been wandering about and not settling, and instead she’d been slowly accumulating a house worth of stuff. “Well, shite.”

“So the thought is, you put your stuff here and then you have a place to come home to between clients, and have your own private space.”

“The property downstairs is great as a holiday let, or you can rent it long-term if you don’t want to fuss with turnovers. It’s extra money in your pocket, and a property manager can look after any issues the tenants have.”

“I will take it. But!” Fi held up her hand to keep her parents from chattering over her. “The only way I’ll take it is if the rent from the flat below goes straight to you.”

“No.” Shane shook his head. “That’s for you.”

“I can’t wrap my head around a gift like this. This is huge. The only way I’ll take it is if you allow me to buy it from you, a month at a time, via rent.” Fi met Shane’s eyes, a stubborn set to her chin.

“Oh, she’s got that look of hers on,” Cait whispered.

“You’re breaking me heart here, Fi,” Shane said, holding his hand to his heart, a wounded expression on his face. “You won’t let your own father give you a birthday gift.”

“I am letting you. The upstairs apartment is a rent-free space for me to live in and