Home, Sweet Irish Home

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” April asked. She wore a wistful expression as she stared out the front window of Maggie Moran’s health food shop, Slainte Mhaith.

Maggie didn’t have to think about it. “Absolutely not.”

Her shop assistant took a sip of her nettle tea and continued to stare out the window. Maggie loved April like a younger sister, but sometimes, she wished she did more working and less staring.

April set her fine bone china teacup down on the counter next to the cash register. She folded her arms across her crocheted granny-square vest. “Can you imagine what that would feel like? To see someone across a room, and your eyes meet, and something clicks?”

Looking at the younger woman with her waif-like face and fine blonde hair, Maggie realized there’d be no work out of April if Maggie didn’t finish this conversation to her assistant’s satisfaction.

“Soul mates?” April pressed.

Maggie shook her head. She was what some people would call too practical. Too sensible. But it was who she was, and she wasn’t going to change.

“Destiny? Fate?” April asked. She waved her hand around the small interior of the shop. “It’s funny that you’re so black-and-white about things. You’d think with the shop and the salt lamps and the herbs and the homemade soap that you’d have more of a New Age attitude.”

Maggie frowned at her assistant. “My attitude is one of good health and getting as close to nature as you can to achieve it.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “Isn’t it even in the shop’s name? Slainte Mhaith: good health.”

April was not impressed. “What about romance?”

“What about it?” Maggie asked. When Maggie heard the word “romance,” intimate candlelit moments and grand gestures came to mind. Ideas she liked, although they always seemed to be happening for someone else.

“Don’t you have any romance in your soul?” April asked.

“What does that even mean?” Maggie asked. She pressed her lips together into a thin line. A part of her bristled at the question. It insinuated that she was somehow lacking. She did not want to have this discussion. There were some things that were private.

“Don’t you want to fall in love someday?”

Maggie would not divulge her hopes and dreams to April or to anyone else. “If it happens, it happens; if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.” She was pretty content with her life as it was.

April frowned, blowing on the surface of her tea to cool it down. “That sounds kind of bleak.”

Maggie shrugged, not too concerned with how it sounded. “There can be beauty in bleakness.”

“I’ll light a candle for you,” April said.

“Unnecessary,” Maggie said with a sigh. April liked to light candles. It was her thing. “I think it’s best to get to know someone over time, develop a friendship first and have that as a basis for a relationship,” Maggie said. She would have preferred it this way. Love at first sight? No thanks!

April grimaced. “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”

“No, but isn’t it nice?” Maggie asked. She wondered what the problem was. Wasn’t there comfort in the long-term commitment?

“What about passion or sparks?” April asked.

“Trust me, you can get burned with some sparks,” Maggie observed. Then again, what business had she giving relationship advice? None, she decided. Just over thirty, she could count on one hand the number of dates she’d been on in the last two years. For one reason or another, it just never seemed to work out. More than once, she’d been left disappointed. She made a pointed gesture of looking at the clock above the door. “We’d better get back to work.” Working with April, or, better yet, getting April to do some actual work was a lot like herding cats. It needed constant attention.

Though she wasn’t about to admit it to April, Maggie was hopeful she would fall in love again someday. For real. With someone who loved her just as she was. A long time ago, she’d realized she was too different from the mainstream to attract more than a passing interest from most men. Too nerdy. Too quirky. She’d accepted that about herself. The practical side of her thought it wouldn’t be the end of the world if it didn’t happen. She had her shop and the dogs and the cat and was content.

It was time to throw a bucket of cold water on April’s daydreaming.

Maggie looked around the shop. “We need to get the stock unloaded before I go. Did you call Nora over at Mother Nature about the part of the shipment being missing?”

April blinked. “I’ll do that right now.”

There was no more talk of falling in love at first sight, and Maggie was relieved. The rest of the afternoon flew, and between the two of them, they got all the shelves restocked.

Just before closing, a teenaged boy opened the door and crossed the threshold, looking around. As April was busy with Mrs. Maroney with queries about what the older woman could use for her stiff knee, Maggie stepped out from behind the counter. The boy looked to be about seventeen, with T-zone acne and sun-streaked brown hair. His complexion was caramel, as if he were someone used to spending their life outdoors, or at least who lived in a sunny clime. He hesitated near the doorway as his eyes darted around the place. He bit his lip.

“Can I help you?” Maggie asked with a smile.

“Um, yeah,” he said. “I was looking for some vegan snacks.”

An American accent. Maggie was surprised. They usually didn’t get too many Americans in Ballygap. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Follow me.”

She took a small wicker basket from the colorful stack in front of the counter and headed into the interior of the shop, indicating that he should follow her. She pointed out various snacks as they went. “There’s some wasabi-coated almonds, and there’s some vegan chocolate. And my favorite, chocolate-covered coconut bars.”

He nodded but said nothing.

“Were you looking for sweet or savory?”

The boy looked up and gave her a shy smile. “Both.”

It was Maggie’s turn to nod. “How long have you been a vegan?”

“Almost a year.”

“I commend your commitment,” she said.

The boy blushed and looked down. “Thanks.”

He must be holidaying somewhere nearby with his family, Maggie thought. Their small seaside town was built up around a horseshoe-shaped inlet in County Clare in the west of Ireland, and in a month or so, during the height of summer, it would be packed with tourists, albeit very few from abroad. There was nothing else there but the beach, and it was just a little too off the beaten track.

As she showed him various snacks, he’d pick something up, study it, and then toss it and a couple more into the basket.

“How long are you in Ballygap for?”

“The summer,” he answered. “My dad’s here on business.”

“Very good,” she said. “My name’s Maggie, if you ever have any questions. Stop in any time.”

He nodded and mumbled thanks. He lifted his head and spotted the menu board behind the counter.

“Oh, great, you have coffee and tea.”

“Would you like one?” Maggie asked.

He studied the board and decided. “Can I have a matcha with oat milk?”

As she made his beverage, Maggie wondered about him. Were American boys anything like Irish boys? She was no expert, but most seemed to be sports mad, interested in any activity that involved a ball being thrown, chased, caught, or kicked around. This boy seemed different, and life would be difficult for a teenager who wasn’t interested in the same things as his peers. It might only be Maggie’s opinion, but she’d based it on personal experience and keen observation.

***

Once the clock struck five, April grabbed her quilted satchel and bid Maggie goodbye. Maggie took her time, lingering in her shop. She loved being there after the doors were locked, when all was quiet.

Half an hour later, she exited through the front door, locking everything up and setting the alarm. Her bike leaned against the side wall of the shop. She donned her backpack, put on her helmet, and pulled the bike away from the shop wall. She swung her leg over, got comfortable on the seat, and began pedaling. At most, it was a ten-minute bike ride to her house. She stayed on the narrow road, close to the footpath, following it toward the bluffs and the sea.

The town was built on a series of natural hills and dips. And though the town center was mostly located in a dip, her health food shop stood at the top of a small hill at the fork of the main road, which then split off into two roads, each leading out of town and away from the ocean. The left fork led to the caravan park, and the right led you to farmland and away from Ballygap.

As she cycled toward home, she noticed a man in running gear up ahead on the footpath, pounding the pavement. She raised an eyebrow in appreciation of his well-muscled thighs and calves. She hadn’t seen him before; he must be a tourist.

Her home soon came into view: a cottage with a thatched roof that had been in her family for hundreds of years. Her ancestors had been fishermen. The cottage stood at the edge of the bluff against the backdrop of the Atlantic. She never tired of the sight of it, although it needed a fresh coat of paint. The apricot color had long since faded. It had been her home for the last fifteen years, since she’d arrived to live with her grandparents.

The cries of gulls increased in volume the nearer she got to the water.

She parked her bike against the front of the cottage and dug around her bag for her keys. After she unlocked the fire engine red Dutch door, her two dogs came bounding toward her. She bent down and gave each one an affectionate pat and a rub on the head.

Maggie looked around her home, wondering where the cat was. As if on cue, there was the sound of a crash in the bedroom. Maggie rolled her eyes. Twinkle, the cat, was notorious for knocking things over. He loved cruising along the tight spaces of dresser surfaces, tabletops, and countertops among the knickknacks and other things. She’d given up years ago trying to break him of the habit.

She glanced at Rufus, a black Labrador retriever and the younger of the two dogs. She nodded toward him and said, “Get the cat, will you?”

Within minutes, Rufus returned, carrying the ginger cat by the scruff of his neck.

“Good boy,” Maggie said, patting the dog’s head affectionately. The dog responded with an enthusiastic wag of his tail.

She stood at the door and called for her entourage. “Come on, let’s go.” Rufus continued to carry Twinkle, and Daisy, the Irish setter, trotted out the door.

Maggie lifted a white straw trilby hat off the peg by the door. It had been Granddad’s. Aunt Eileen had bought it for him when she’d been in Florida, and Granddad had taken an immediate shine to it, trading his traditional plaid flat cap for it. After he died, Maggie had taken to wearing it to protect her face from the sun. She picked up a basket she kept near the door and looped it over her arm.

Before she closed the cottage door behind her, she smiled at the interior. Not much had changed from the time when her grandparents had been alive. Nana had only been gone a few years, but Granddad had been gone for almost a decade. The dark yellow walls remained, as did the St. Brigid’s cross made from rushes above the presses in the kitchen and her grandfather’s bodhran, hanging on the wall to the right of the fireplace. Her grandmother’s rocker flanked the left side of the hearth. Sometimes, she could still see her grandmother sitting there and the slow, gentle motion of the rocking as her knitting needles flew. But Maggie had added her own touches: candles littered the place, and there was the new sofa and the recent addition of a flat-screen television. She’d also purchased some original artwork from Irish artists that now adorned the walls.

Maggie skipped the narrow footpath that would join with the main path that ran parallel along the cliffs. Instead, she went behind her cottage and headed down the well-worn path leading to the beach below. Being near the water or just wading through the surf always recalibrated her.

Maggie pulled her knit shawl closer around her shoulders as she navigated her way down to the beach. As soon as they reached it, Rufus dumped the cat and ran back and forth along the sand. Daisy walked alongside Maggie, not straying far. Although the sun shone, there was a bitter wind blowing in off the Atlantic. Her hat blew off, and Maggie’s long black hair whipped around her face. She chased the tumbling hat down the beach, and when she caught it, she wedged the brim tightly under the basket handle. The ocean was a stormy shade of gray, and waves crested, and sea foam crashed upon the small beach. She closed her eyes, breathing in the salty air, the smell of brine strong. The horizon was blurry and gray. Rain coming in. She’d better hurry and collect her seaweed before they all got soaked. The remains of a rotted currach, a boat once used by her great-great-grandfather for fishing, leaned against the large stone boulders that shored up the bottom of the cliff.

For the next half hour, she walked along the shore gathering seaweed, or kelp as some called it, and putting it in the woven basket she carried on her arm. Once her basket was full, she headed to the rocky incline that would take her off the beach. Rufus ran ahead on the sandy path, disappearing over the crest of the hill, and Maggie called out after him.

She pressed her lips together. “Oh, Rufus.” At two, he still had a lot of puppy in him.

She was halfway up the path when she heard Rufus bark in the distance. There was no letup and Maggie picked up her pace, feeling the muscles in her calves and thighs tighten as she hurried up the steep incline. It sounded like his playful bark, which meant he’d met someone on the path. Rufus loved people, but not all people loved Rufus or dogs in general.

“Come on,” Maggie said to Daisy, who was trailing behind her. She glanced around for the cat but didn’t see him. Twinkle would eventually make his way back home. Eager to catch up with the mutinous dog, Maggie broke into a trot. Once she cleared the hill, she pulled up short, catching her breath.

“Oh no,” she muttered. Rufus now had the attention of the jogger she’d seen earlier.

“Rufus!” she called. The dog had found someone to pet him. That was Rufus’s problem. He thought it was people’s job to shower him with affection.

Rufus now sat next to the man, who was bent over him, rubbing his head and scratching behind his ears and talking to him. Maggie’s eyes widened in alarm at how near they were to the cliff’s edge. Afraid of heights herself, Maggie never went near it. Fifty yards away sat a stark reminder: a simple wooden crucifix with the name of a young man who’d fallen to his death five years previous.

When she approached them, the man straightened up. He blinked, and his mouth opened slightly before he composed himself, putting his hands on his hips and flashing a smile that revealed perfect white teeth. Although older than her—somewhere in his mid-forties, she’d guess—he was handsome. His face was rugged: tanned and weathered, with fine lines at the corners of his eyes and traversing his forehead. His golden hair, broad cheekbones, and tanned skin the color of caramel suggested a life spent outdoors. The wind whipped through his hair.

“This your dog?” he asked. The accent was American.

Rufus nudged the man’s hand, wanting to be petted. The man laughed and obliged.

Maggie nodded, forgetting to speak as she drank him in. What was it about him that made her stop, blink, and stare? The sunny looks? That sculpted face? The confidence? His easygoing manner? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been tongue-tied around a man. It was as rare an occurrence as an appearance of the Christmas star.

“He’s a great-looking dog,” the man remarked.

That was true. Rufus’s coat was like black silk, and he had the broad shoulders and face typical of Labrador retrievers. It was his size many people found intimidating when they met him. He’d been the alpha male of the litter and was bigger than most Labs, with longer than average legs.

The man shifted on his feet. His running shorts ended just above the knee, revealing muscular, tanned legs.

Maggie tried not to stare. Or whimper.

Rufus ran around the man, perilously close to the edge.

“Look, would you mind stepping away from the edge?” Maggie blurted.

The man grinned. “Are you afraid I’ll fall?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” she said with a nod to the nearby memorial.

The American glanced over at it and stepped away from the edge, closer to the footpath where Maggie stood. It relieved her that Rufus followed him.

“The ground is unstable at the edge of the cliff,” she explained. “People stand too close to the edge, not knowing that it might only be an overhang with nothing of substance beneath it.”

He took another step back. “Thanks. I had no idea,” he said.

The man reached down and petted the dog again. Rufus was in his glory. The man glanced over at Daisy, who had remained standing behind Maggie. Daisy wasn’t as impressed with the stranger as Rufus had been. With a nod to the setter, the man asked, “Is she afraid of people?”

“She takes time to warm up.” Maggie didn’t bother going into Daisy’s backstory. Daisy was a rescue dog who, in the first year of her life, had suffered abuse at the hands of her male owner. As a result, Daisy feared all men. But with a lot of patience and determination on Maggie’s part, there’d been improvement. Daisy would never be as gregarious as Rufus, but she let people she knew pet her. After a while.

“Jake Ballard,” the stranger said, extending his hand in greeting. Maggie shook it, liking the way his warm hand dwarfed hers.

“Maggie. Maggie Moran,” she said. “Are you here on holidays?”

“Actually, I’m here on business, so it will be a working vacation,” he replied. His reply was like that of the teenage boy earlier in her shop, and Maggie narrowed her eyes, thinking she saw a resemblance and wondering if they were father and son. Curious, she wanted to ask what kind of business he did, but she refrained, not wanting to appear nosy.

“Do you live here?” he asked.

“Yes, I run the health food shop in town,” she volunteered.

“Health food,” he repeated, his eyes not leaving her face. “I’ll have to check it out someday.”

Maggie felt her cheeks tinge pink at the prospect of seeing him again. There was a part of her that hoped he would follow through on that.

A sudden gust of wind lifted the hat out of her hand, and it sailed away from her again.

“Oh no!” she said, reaching for it but missing.

Jake ran after it, but the breeze lifted it higher and higher until it sailed right over the cliff. Maggie joined Jake near the edge—but not too near—and looked over. Granddad’s hat landed on a wave and headed out to sea.

“My hat . . .”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jake said.

She offered him a smile tinged with sadness. “It’s not your fault. But thanks for trying to catch it.”

He nodded. “I’d better get on my way.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked around, hesitating. “I don’t want to keep you.”

Maggie wanted to tell him he wasn’t keeping her from anything, but her voice died in her throat.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Maggie Moran,” he said with a smile. And he jogged off. He hadn’t gone far when he looked back one final time and waved.

Rufus leaped after the man, but Maggie grabbed his collar. “Oh, no you don’t.”

Maggie, Rufus, and Daisy stood on the footpath watching the fine form of Jake Ballard getting smaller and smaller the farther he got away from them. Finally, Maggie turned around and headed toward her home, replaying the interaction with Jake in her mind. By the time she reached her cottage, she was smiling, the lost hat forgotten.

Jake resumed his run and headed away from the woman and her dogs. It required a Herculean effort on his part not to stay and remain in Maggie Moran’s presence. She was as beautiful as the Irish landscape.

Summer in Ireland didn’t mean the weather was hot. Jake wondered if they ever had a scorcher of a day here like they were inclined to have back home in California. This was his second trip to Ireland, and a few things stood out to him. First, the hospitality of the Irish people. Everywhere he went, people talked to him. They were open and friendly. He found himself impressed with the sky. At night, there was a swath of stars across the canvas of the night sky, too many to count. Probably had something to do with the lack of pollution. The scenery was beautiful. Everywhere you turned, there was something to look at. It was never ending between the cliffs, the ocean, the sand dunes, and the hilly green pastures. Of all the places he’d been in the world, this one was shaping up to be one of his favorites.

Since his arrival, Jake had run every morning, a habit he’d developed years ago. But because of an early meeting with a local councilman that day, he’d had to forgo his daily run until the afternoon. When he’d heard Maggie’s Irish accent carrying in on the breeze as she called for her dog, he’d been intrigued and waited to see who that lyrical voice belonged to. When she appeared from the beach down below, he’d drawn in an involuntary breath, thinking he was seeing a spectral image. Her long, dark, curly hair blew around her from the wind shifting in off the ocean. It was inky black, like a moonless sky at midnight. And her skin was so pale it appeared translucent. But her eyes, big and blue like sapphires and fringed with velvet lashes, stood out a mile away. His first thought was, where had she been hiding all his life?

He pounded the pavement harder and picked up his speed, as if by doing so he could push any thoughts of the Irishwoman from his mind. He reminded himself that his purpose in Ireland was business. And no matter how attracted he was to her, he’d only be there for a few months before heading on to the next project, hopefully in a sunnier and warmer clime.

Jake’s other concern was his seventeen-year-old son, Noah. He’d brought him along on the trip thinking it would do them good, or that’s what he told himself. Noah was a good kid, but he was having difficulty in high school fitting in, and Jake worried about him. He hoped he’d be able to toughen the boy up over the next three months. If nothing else, it was a perfect opportunity to get his son off his current vegan phase.

A glance at his Fitbit, and he knew he had to get back to the house soon if he wanted to shower before his scheduled call with his father. As he jogged away from the ocean and the cliffs, he ran along the footpaths until he came to the town center. He passed shops, a grocery store, a church, and a medical center.

Their rental house was located just as the shops petered out and residential homes appeared. The three-bedroom bungalow with its stone I was tucked between two others like it, stretching long behind a stone wall. The walls were painted a tan color, reminding him of waffles. The owner was away in Australia for twelve months, and though not ideal, the place was suitable. Jake had rented separate office space in town next to a dress shop, and that was where he had set up his business.

He lingered in the asphalt driveway, doing some cool-down exercises.

The front door to the bungalow opened, and Noah appeared, gangly and disheveled, holding a water bottle.

“Could you not do that out in the open?” Noah asked.

“Do what?” Jake asked.

“Those exercises. Come in, Dad, before anyone sees you. You look like a lunatic out there.”

“It’s important to cool down,” Jake explained.

Noah grumbled something unintelligible and disappeared into the house, leaving the door open for Jake.

On his previous visit, Jake had been disappointed that there was no five-star or even a four-star hotel in Ballygap. But as it turned out, the bungalow better suited him and Noah. Once the resort was built, there’d be a five-star hotel where he’d be able to stay any time he returned. If he ever returned.

***

The following evening after work, he took the footpath out of town to walk along the cliffs. As he walked, he took everything in: the Atlantic to the west, and the wild grass and the bright flowers that grew amongst it: gorse, fuchsia, and montbretia.

He passed a small cottage at the cliff’s edge on his left but kept walking, his eyes on the tract of farmland to his right that went on for as far as the eye could see. The McDougal farm was a vast property whose owner had died years ago, and now the fields were overgrown. But the site had a lot of potential for a golf course and resort, as he’d concluded when he visited Ballygap the previous winter, making day trips from his hotel in Limerick city to scout the seaside town for potential development. He’d had two other places in mind, as well, in Jamaica and Germany, but ultimately, he’d decided that Ireland was the place to build.

The sun was beginning its western descent, and the landscape was filtered through pastel colors. He liked this walk, and he liked the thought of owning the McDougal farm. There were a couple of adjoining properties that would have to be purchased, but he was getting ahead of himself. First, they had to secure the purchase, and that was based on planning permission.

As he walked along, he nodded to a few walkers that passed him on the footpath. He had to admit to some disappointment in not running into Maggie. He wondered where she lived. It couldn’t be too far from where they’d met, as she’d had her pets with her.

He walked as far as he could, past the farm itself and toward the neighboring homes on the other side of it. Then he turned around and headed home.

When he arrived at their rental, Noah was puttering around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and piling them on the island. On top, a vegan cookbook was open to a recipe. There were bowls, measuring devices, and utensils laid out on the island.

“I thought we’d go out for dinner,” Jake said.

Without looking up, Noah replied, “Nah, I’m good.”

“What are you making?” Jake asked.

“It’s called a Buddha bowl,” Noah answered. He bent over, studying the cookbook, his look intense.

Jake stood there with his hands on his hips and watched. He bit his lip. “I’m worried that you’re not getting your complete nutrients.”

Noah rolled his eyes. He did a lot of that since becoming a teenager. Where was his cherubic boy? Jake wondered. The one who was always laughing and smiling and used to make up his own knock-knock jokes? He must be somewhere inside that surly teenager.

“Dad, you were there when we met with the dietician. We went over everything.” Noah straightened up, a package of tofu in his hand. “Mom’s okay with it. Why can’t you be?”

It was Jake’s turn to roll his eyes. Sometimes, he wondered where Nadine’s head was at. His ex-wife was too soft, he thought. He had to remind her she was the parent and not Noah’s best friend. And, being Nadine, she always bristled at that or any other kind of interference he tried to run. She had tried to encourage Noah in all sorts of art and music lessons while Jake was trying to get him involved with team sports. Neither had any success. The only thing Noah seemed to be interested in was his phone and his vegan diet.

“Have you had any blood work done?” Jake asked. “To make sure you’re not deficient in any vitamins or minerals?”

“I have a physical once a year, okay?” Noah said. “Are we going to spend every day this summer talking about my diet? ’Cause if we are, then just send me home.”

Jake threw his hands up in surrender. “All right. All right. But as your father, I am concerned about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Jake couldn’t read the boy’s expression because his messy mop of hair was in his eyes. He reached out and brushed it away. Noah reacted by jerking his head back. “Stop, Dad.”

“Maybe it’s time for a haircut,” Jake said.

“Whatever,” Noah grumbled.

Feeling unwelcome, Jake glanced at his watch. “I’ve got that call with your grandfather. Then I’m going to walk into town and grab a bite to eat.”

“Did you want me to make you a Buddha bowl?”

Jake looked at all the ingredients laid out on the island. Half the stuff he couldn’t identify. And what he could did not look appetizing at all. “No, that’s all right. Don’t go to any trouble.” Changing the subject, he asked, “What are your plans for tonight?”

Noah shrugged, turning on the stove and putting some olive oil in a fry pan. “Might go down to the beach. Or take a walk around town.”

“There’s a tennis court on the other side of town. You should check that out.”

When Noah said nothing, Jake added, “Don’t stay out too late. And don’t be on the beach or anywhere near the cliff’s edge when it gets dark.”

Noah rolled his eyes. Again.

The evenings lasted longer here, and dusk didn’t happen until almost ten at night. Even so, Jake didn’t want his son down at the beach at dark. Too many unknowns.

“Okay, I’ll see you later.”

***

There was an eight-hour time difference between Ireland and California. Jake hoped the call would be quick, as he wanted to head into town and pick up some takeout. Although here, they called it takeaway. The food wasn’t quite the same here: the pizza was a little different, and there were no chicken wings or tacos. But there were loaded fries. Fries smothered in garlic sauce and melted cheddar cheese or chili fries, which was fast becoming a guilty pleasure of his.

At the thought of guilty pleasures, an unbidden image of Maggie Moran floated before his eyes.

His laptop buzzed. His father.

“Good morning, Jake,” Don Ballard barked as soon as the video call started. Jake didn’t bother to point out that it was late afternoon in Ireland.

Like him and Noah, Jake’s father had a thick head of hair, though his was now snow white. His skin was tanned from days spent golfing and making deals on the golf course or at the bar at the country club. Don Ballard was semi-retired and planned to hand off the business to Jake within a few years.

“How are things in Ireland?” Don asked. “How’s Noah getting on?”

“We’re fine, settling in,” Jake said. “How’s Mom?”

“You know your mother. She’s busy making soup down at the city mission.” Although Don wouldn’t be caught dead making soup down at the city mission, he was proud of his wife’s philanthropy and supported her.

“How’s Jackie?” Jake enquired after his sister.

“She’s fine,” his father said, brightening up. “She’s got a show this weekend at some gallery in Taos. Your mother and I are going down for it.”

There was a pause before they got down to business.

“Well, where are we with this golf course?”

“I’ve got a meeting with someone from the planning authority in the morning,” Jake said.

“Even though we haven’t purchased the farm yet?”

“I’ve made a bid, but it’s conditional on planning permission,” Jake explained. His research had showed that planning permission in Ireland could be tricky, and there was no sense in owning the property if they wouldn’t be allowed to build their golf course. Best to proceed with caution.

“And then what?”

“The application process will take a few weeks. So all we can do is wait,” Jake said. It was a long, complex process.

“All right.” Don sighed. “I don’t suppose we could grease a few palms?”

Jake laughed. “Not a hope.”

“All right, keep me posted,” his father said.

***

The next morning, Jake woke coughing and sneezing, indicating his seasonal allergies had kicked in. He thought he’d find a drugstore on the way to work, but then he remembered Maggie Moran owned a health food store and smiled to himself. It would be a good excuse to stop in and say hello.

After his run and a shower, he dressed for work and ate a quick breakfast of banana and a yogurt.

Noah sat on the sofa, his earbuds in and his gaze fixed on his phone. Jake wasn’t sure if he was just getting up or if he’d been up all night.

“I’m going to work,” Jake said. He sneezed.

Noah never looked up.

“It’s okay, don’t get up. Pay no attention to me, I’m just going to remove my clothes and walk through town in my birthday suit. That okay?” Still no response or acknowledgment. Jake sighed. “All right then,” he muttered to himself.

His office was about a mile from the rental house, but the day was dry, and he walked. Every city he went to, every place he traveled to, he liked to explore on foot, even the side streets. It gave him a feel for the place he was visiting, and he liked to know a town well before he invested in it. He planned to do the same in the two months he was going to be in Ballygap.

The town curved down toward the sea, but he headed in the opposite direction, thinking he wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee. He passed dress shops, a bookie, and the post office. People waved to him as he walked along the footpath.

There was a sign for a café down at the end of the row of shops that read, “The Sweet Tooth,” and he picked up his pace and headed toward it. The smell of baked sugar wafted from the open door. That was enough of an enticement, but he hoped they served coffee as well.

The café was dimly lit, with floorboards the color of honey, mocha-colored walls, and a big slate blackboard behind the counter listing all the choices. The pastry case ran the width of the shop and featured many delectable offerings. Once the woman ahead of him completed her purchase, Jake stepped up to the counter, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

Behind the counter, a plus-sized blonde with a pretty smile greeted him. “Welcome to The Sweet Tooth. Can I help you?”

“I’d like a double-shot Americano with cream,” Jake said.

“Anything else?” she asked with a glance at the pastry case.

“How about a muffin?” he asked.

“I’ve got blueberry, double chocolate chip, banana walnut, mixed berry—”

“Mixed berry, please,” he said.

He paid for his order, and the woman made his coffee and put a muffin on a plate for him. On the other side of the room, a display case was filled with an assortment of cakes.

“Do you make everything here? Or are the baked goods brought in?” Jake asked, curious.

“I make everything here myself from scratch,” the woman said. She appeared to be in her early thirties.

“Are you the owner?”

“I am,” she said, lifting her chin and smiling.

“That’s great,” he said. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

“I’m Lily,” she said with a smile.

He took the coffee and muffin from her and thanked her. He chose a seat in the front window so he could watch the people passing by outside. The coffee was hot and fresh. The muffin was an explosion of berries, and it delighted him to realize he’d just found his place for his morning coffee. It was nice to be settling in.

On the way out, he stopped at the counter and asked Lily, “Where’s the health food store?”

“Right at the top of town. Head out the door, make a left, and it’s about half a mile up the road.”

“Thanks,” Jake said.

Maggie’s shop was easy to find and hard to miss. The small detached building was a bright shade of cobalt blue with white trim around the windows. A cheerful and quirky mural on one of the side walls depicted sunflowers, birds, and butterflies and the words “Slainte Mhaith” were painted over the door in big, bright letters. He wouldn’t dare try to pronounce that. The front door stood wide open.

Jake stepped across the threshold and looked around the inviting space with its varnished oak laminate floors. Oak shelving displayed a variety of products from herbal supplements to candles to books, and there was a mixed scent of lavender and mint and something else he couldn’t identify. Music sounding like chimes played in the background. At the front of the shop was a small counter with a cash register and a card reader. Behind it, a girl of twenty or so regarded him as she sipped a hot brew from a china teacup.

“Well, hello there, welcome to Slainte Mhaith,” she said. If quirky had a personification, this would be it, he thought. She wore a vest of colorful crocheted squares over a white T-shirt. Her fine blonde hair was in two little pigtails, and more studs lined her one outer ear than he could count in one glance. Her name tag read, “April.”

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was looking for something for seasonal allergies,” he replied.

She nodded and came out from behind the counter. “I can help you with that.”

Jake followed her as she walked over to one of the shelves on the other side of the room.

“Depending on your symptoms, we have several items. If you’ve got sneezing, you could try this,” she said, and she shoved a box into his hands. “Or if it’s watery, itchy eyes, you could use these eyedrops.” She stacked a small box on top of the one already in his hands. “And if it’s blocked sinuses or something, you could always try a neti pot.”

Neti pot? He wondered.

From the back of the shop, a female voice called, “April, did you call Mother Nature?”

Jake smiled to himself. He’d only met her once, but he’d recognize Maggie Moran’s voice anywhere.

April looked at him, her shoulders hunched in and her bottom lip dragged far right in an “uh-oh,” kind of moment.

“You have Mother Nature’s phone number?” Jake asked with a grin.

April nodded, still holding a neti pot in her hand. “Oh, sure, all the health food stores do,” she said with a blank expression.

Jake went to open his mouth to retort but was interrupted when Maggie approached them.

A smile spread across her face. “Jake!”

“Good morning, Maggie,” he said.

She’d piled her black hair up in a messy bun on top of her head. In the artificial light of the shop, light freckles were visible on her cheeks and nose, and her eyes appeared a darker blue, almost navy. Jake realized something: Maggie Moran was younger than he’d thought. He had to have at least ten years on her. It gave him pause. But only for a moment. He attempted a smile.

“You two know each other?” April interrupted. He’d forgotten she was there.

“Yes, we met the other day at the cliffs. Jake, this is my assistant, April. April, this is Jake Ballard. He’s here on a working holiday,” Maggie said with a smile.

Maggie lit up the room when she smiled. Jake wondered if she knew that.

“Oh, business and pleasure,” April said.

“What brings you in here?” Maggie asked Jake.

Momentarily, he forgot why he had come into her shop. Maggie Moran was proving to be a pleasant distraction.

“Allergies,” April said in a stage whisper.

“Oh, right,” Maggie whispered back.

“Why are we whispering?” Jake asked, whispering as well.

April looked at him. “To give you a bit of privacy with your questions and purchase.”

Jake didn’t want to point out to the girl that they were the only ones in the shop. He looked at Maggie, who shrugged again and smiled.

Once April scanned his items, he paid for them with his credit card as she set them in a brown paper shopping bag. She handed it to him and smiled. “How long are you in Ballygap for?”

“The summer.”

“That long?” she asked. She glanced over at Maggie, standing next to Jake. “You should get someone to show you around.”

Jake laughed. “I should.”

“Maggie could do it,” April volunteered.

“I could show you around Ballygap,” Maggie said at the same time.

He was about to protest, but he didn’t want to give her a chance to back out of it. “Are you sure? I don’t want to take you away from anything.” He glanced around the shop.

“It’s not a problem at all. We could do a walking tour,” Maggie said.

“Sounds great.”

“Might as well start now,” April said.

Maggie blinked. “What?”

April stepped out from behind the counter, corralled the two of them, and herded them toward the door.

“Yeah, now’s as good a time as any,” April pressed. “It’s quiet.”

Jake exchanged a glance with Maggie and shrugged. “Shall we?”

Maggie gave him a tentative smile. “We shall.”