Love and The Irish Gallery

A story about remembering who you are and finding your way home.

San Francisco ad exec Marina Arias left Ireland (and her dreams of being an artist) behind nearly two decades ago. But when her late aunt leaves her half an art galleryโ€”and a cryptic paintingโ€”Marina finds herself pulled back to Dingle, the small Irish village where she spent her summers and fell in love for the first time.

Thereโ€™s just one problem: sheโ€™ll have to work with Ronan Oโ€™Learyโ€”her math nerd (in an Olympic swimmerโ€™s body) former best friend and first love.

Heโ€™s still Ronanโ€”gorgeous, infuriating, and the only man who has ever made her heart race. But heโ€™s not the lost boy who shattered her heart eighteen years ago . . . or the boy with nothing to give anymore. Now, heโ€™s a tech billionaire who knows what he wants and what heโ€™s willing to fight for.

Facing a Christmas deadline, a fake relationship for the press, and long nights working side by side, Marina and Ronan must heal old wounds to save the galleryโ€”all while navigating an electric spark that refuses to dieโ€”and an Irish Christmas under the same roof.

With laughter-filled days, late-night confessions, and an undeniable pull towards a life she thought she lost long ago, Marina begins to wonder if her auntโ€™s final gift wasnโ€™t just the galleryโ€”but a second chance at life and love.

Heartfelt, funny, brimming with holiday charm (and a dash of spice), Love and The Irish Gallery is perfect for fans of slow-burn romance, laugh-out-loud romantic comedies, small-town charm, forced proximity, found family, later in life journeys, and second chances.

This heartwarming standalone Christmas romance about love, forgiveness, and finding your way home, is a womenโ€™s fiction romance slow-burn gem that will keep you turning pages long into the night.

Standalone Christmas Romance

Prologue: Letter From Ireland

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๐˜‹๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ ๐˜”๐˜ด. ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ข ๐˜ˆ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ด, โฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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๐˜ˆ๐˜ด ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข๐˜ฑ๐˜ฑ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฉ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ช๐˜จ๐˜ฉ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ด ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ ๐˜”๐˜ด. ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ ๐˜ˆ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ดโ€™ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ, ๐˜ ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ธ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฆ ๐˜บ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜จ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ฅ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ด๐˜ถ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ. ๐˜‰๐˜บ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜ตโ€™๐˜ด ๐˜ž๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ, ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฒ๐˜ถ๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ค๐˜ฆ๐˜ฑ๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฒ๐˜ถ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ต. ๐˜๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ท๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ 1๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜‹๐˜ฆ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ, ๐˜ข๐˜ด ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฑ๐˜ถ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ž๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญโ€™๐˜ด ๐˜ฑ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ด. ๐˜๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ.โฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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๐˜—๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ฆ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ต ๐˜‹๐˜ถ๐˜ง๐˜ง๐˜บ & ๐˜ˆ๐˜ด๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜š๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ด ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜ฎ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜‹๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ. ๐˜ž๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜บ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ค๐˜ข๐˜ฏ ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜”๐˜ด. ๐˜ˆ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ดโ€™ ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด.โฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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๐˜–๐˜ฏ ๐˜ข ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ, ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ด ๐˜ข ๐˜ง๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ. ๐˜š๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ข๐˜ฃ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ต ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ. ๐˜ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ญ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ ๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ข๐˜ฑ๐˜ฑ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ข๐˜ง๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ง๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ญ, ๐˜ฃ๐˜ถ๐˜ต ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ. ๐˜—๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ฆ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ. โฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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๐˜๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ. โฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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๐˜’๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜™๐˜ฆ๐˜จ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฅ๐˜ด, โฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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๐˜Š๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ฎ ๐˜‹๐˜ถ๐˜ง๐˜ง๐˜บโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
๐˜š๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฐ๐˜ณโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
๐˜‹๐˜ถ๐˜ง๐˜ง๐˜บ & ๐˜ˆ๐˜ด๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜š๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ดโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
๐˜‹๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ, ๐˜๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃโฃ
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Chapter 1: A Different Life

A few rays of sunshine broke through the gray sky. Marina walked the length of her corner office to take in the view, as she did every morning.

She took a sip of her espresso and examined the Bay Bridge, before taking a few steps and looking towards Coit Tower. A handful of seagulls flew past the tower and out towards Pier 39.

Many stores were already decked out in holiday decorations, even though it was only the middle of November. She thought of the lights and garlands at Pier 39 and the Macyโ€™s Christmas tree at Union Square, before finally taking a seat in the high-backed armchair that faced the Golden Gate Bridge.

She set the espresso down on the table next to her and picked up the small sketchpad. Absently, she drew the outline of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the gray sky with the sun attempting to break through the clouds.

The large ring on her right hand shifted. The purples, blues, and pinks of the mermaid ring she wore on her middle finger caught the LED light from above. She balanced the sketchpad on her knees and adjusted the ring.

It was silver, open at the top, with one end curling down gracefully towards her knuckle, while the other edge rose upward, forming a shimmering mermaidโ€™s tail in hues of purple, blue, and pink. From the base of the downward curl to the tip of the tail, it took up most of the lower part of her finger. Inside the band, the inscription read: beautiful girl, you can do amazing things.

Her aunt had bought it for her at a market stall in Ireland when she was eighteen. It wasnโ€™t worth much, and yet it was worth its weight in gold. Marina hadnโ€™t worn it in years, but after Marisolโ€™s death, sheโ€™d put it on and hadnโ€™t taken it off since.

Just then, someone knocked on her office door, signaling the start of the work day.

โ€œCome in,โ€ she said without looking up.

โ€œGood morning,โ€ Thomas said from behind her.

She set the sketchpad down on the table beside her, picked up her espresso, and moved to sit at her desk.

Thomas took the seat in front of her. He smoothed his dark blue suit then placed a hand at his temple. Waiting.

He gave her a knowing look.

โ€œWhat?โ€ she asked defensively. He could always tell when something was wrong.

Ever since she could remember, his role had been more than the Chief Operating Officer of Arias Infinity Creative Advertising. Ever since heโ€™d stepped in to help run the company after her parents died when she was twenty, heโ€™d been family. Heโ€™d kept everything running at AIC until she could graduate from Berkeley and take over as CEO.

She shook her head, remembering that everything was about to change. โ€œOh, Thomas.โ€

โ€œNo, donโ€™t start that again,โ€ he wagged a finger at her, โ€œyouโ€™ve been the CEO of this company for fifteen yearsโ€”youโ€™ve barely needed any help at all.โ€

She bit her lip, โ€œYou know thatโ€™s not what I mean.โ€

He leaned forward, โ€œI know, Mari. But Iโ€™ll only be a plane ride away, Hawaii isnโ€™t Mars. You will always have a place with us.โ€

โ€œHowโ€™s Michael liking the new house?โ€ she asked.

โ€œHe loves it and heโ€™s glad he flew over a month before me.โ€

โ€œMmmm,โ€ she understood, taking another sip of her espresso. โ€œSo he can decorate everything without you?โ€ she teased.

โ€œExactly!โ€ he laughed. โ€œWe are serious about you coming over, though. Yesterday he called me and asked if I thought youโ€™d like deep purple curtains for the guest room heโ€™s already designated as yours.โ€

She smiled. โ€œWell, thatโ€™s what you get for marrying an interior designer.โ€ She stopped to think, โ€œWait, he said that? He said deep purple?โ€

Thomas laughed then rolled his eyes and shook his head, โ€œNooo, he said majestic aubergine with hints of royal amethyst and the slightest whisper of plum.โ€ He finished with a flourish of his hand, waving it in the air for emphasis, the way Michael did.

They both laughed.

Michael was always authentically himselfโ€”very few people in the world were like that. Her aunt Marisol had been one of them.

โ€œIโ€™m happy for you guys,โ€ she said earnestly. โ€œYouโ€™ve worked hard all your life, you deserve this. Iโ€™m just going to miss you thatโ€™s allโ€”I love you both.โ€

He leaned over and patted her hand affectionately, โ€œWe love you too.โ€

There was a knock on the door. Agnes stepped inside. โ€œGood morning. Ms. Arias, you asked me to inform you when the team on the new restaurant account had finished the layout for their latest campaign?โ€

โ€œYes, thank you. Let them know I will be by in an hour for final looks.โ€

โ€œOf course,โ€ Agnes gave a short nod, then closed the door.

โ€œYou know,โ€ Thomas clasped his hands together, โ€œat some point, youโ€™re going to have to start delegating more.โ€

โ€œWhat? I like overseeing the final designs.โ€

โ€œI know.โ€

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. โ€œYouโ€™ve always been more interested in the creative. Itโ€™s what lights you up. Itโ€™s not too late, you know.โ€

โ€œToo late for what?โ€

โ€œTo make a different choice. You took over your parentsโ€™ company when they passed because you had to, and youโ€™ve done an amazing job these last fifteen years. Theyโ€™d be really proud of how youโ€™ve taken their small company and made it grow into all this.โ€ He motioned to the corner office and the view.

โ€œAwww, thanks,โ€ she smiled. โ€œI couldnโ€™t have done it without you.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s sweet, but yes you could have. Weโ€™ll have none of that false modesty here.โ€

She pursed her lips together. โ€œI could not have done it without you,โ€ she said it slowly so he would understand.

He shooed away the compliment before trying again. โ€œThe offer from SMR is still on the table. If you ever wanted to make a different choice, to sellโ€”Mari it would be OK. Running an advertising company doesnโ€™t have to be your career foreverโ€”I know it was never your dream.โ€

Marina glanced out the window to her right, at the birds, and the sky.

Thomas cleared his throat.

She stared back at him. Wanting to push the thoughts of a different life away, sheโ€™d had to push that part of herself away, push it downโ€”pack it in a box and never think of it again.

He looked into her eyes, his voice was soft but deliberate, โ€œYou can have a different life.โ€

She narrowed her eyes at him. โ€œDo you really believe that?โ€

He tilted his head. โ€œIโ€™m sixty-seven and Iโ€™m retiring to Hawaiiโ€”where Iโ€™ve never been by the wayโ€”so yes, I think we can all have a different life if we want to.โ€

Marina looked down at her desk, placing her finger in the sand of her small Zen garden, and moving it around in a spiral.

A lingering silence began.

She knew he was going to ask.

He cleared his throat again, โ€œNow are you ready to talk about whatโ€™s really bothering you? The fifteenth was yesterday.โ€

โ€œWhy yes it was,โ€ she stated matter-of-factly.

โ€œI presume it came?โ€ he asked gently.

โ€œYup . . . like clockwork,โ€ her mouth set in a line, the tension radiated through her jaw. She handed him the letter.

Thomas took a moment, then spoke softly. โ€œMari, you canโ€™t run forever.โ€

She looked at her hands. โ€œCanโ€™t I?โ€

โ€œHonestly, how can you be so bold and fearless in businessโ€”in every aspect of your lifeโ€”and be such a scaredy-cat in your personal life?โ€

โ€œAre you scolding me?!โ€ she said with mock indignation.

โ€œI wouldnโ€™t dream of it, kiddo. But cโ€™mon. Why are you fighting against this so hard? You havenโ€™t been back to Ireland since you were a teenager. Since before . . . your parents.โ€ His voice grew even softer.

โ€œI went back for Tรญa Marisolโ€™s funeral!โ€ she protested.

โ€œFor what? A few hours?โ€ he pushed.

She couldnโ€™t argue. She had purposely booked her flights so she could fly in and out.

โ€œItโ€™s just . . .โ€ she bit the inside of her lip, โ€œonce I do this . . .โ€

โ€œYouโ€™ll have to admit that sheโ€™s gone,โ€ he finished for her.

She nodded. โ€œThat theyโ€™re all gone.โ€

Sheโ€™d lost her parents within days of turning twenty and then sheโ€™d had Marisol for sixteen years, and now at thirty-seven, she had no one left.

โ€œYou will always have me and Michael,โ€ Thomas said, reading her mind. โ€œFamily is more than blood, Mari.โ€

She nodded again, trying to give him an appreciative smile. Her eyes turned to the photo on her deskโ€”it was one of her favorites. She was nineteen and wearing her hot pink T-shirt with the words Just Try written on it in white. Marisol wore a vibrant purple sundress and a silver necklace with a Celtic Tree of Life design set against an abalone shell background that managed to catch the light in the photograph. They had their arms around each other, their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek, and they were both smiling widely. The colorful Dingle buildings stood cheerfully behind them.

Still looking at the photo, Marina took a deep breath and picked up the phone, dialing the number for the solicitor now engraved in her mind after eighteen months of letters.

The line rang three times.

โ€œColm Duffy, solicitor. How may I be of service?โ€

โ€œMr. Duffy, itโ€™s Marina Ariasโ€”Marisol Ariasโ€™ niece.โ€

โ€œYes, of course. I am so pleased you phoned.โ€

โ€œYou win,โ€ she said simply. โ€œIโ€™ll be in Dingle in two weeks, on November 30th.โ€

โ€œWonderful!โ€ He sounded more than a little relieved. โ€œIโ€™ll inform the other party.โ€

Marina had a sinking feeling, โ€œOther party? In your letters you never mentionedโ€”โ€

โ€œYes, yes, another is required at the reading, but they are much easier to coral than yourself.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t suppose you can tell me whoโ€”โ€

โ€œMarisol gave strict instructions,โ€ he cut her off. โ€œYouโ€™ll just have to come over to find out,โ€ he said cheerfully.

She could almost hear the smile on his face.

Her heart was stuck in her throat, โ€œThe other party wouldnโ€™t . . . by chance be . . . Ronan Oโ€™Leary, would it?โ€ she tried.

โ€œAh, youโ€™ll be getting nothinโ€™ out of me, so you wonโ€™t,โ€ he chuckled.

Thomas stood up and moved closer to the phone. He mouthed the word, โ€œRonan?โ€

She gave him a panicked look.

โ€œWeโ€™ll be seeing you then, on the 30th!โ€ Colm Duffy punctuated the date. โ€œHave a grand evening, Ms. Arias. Oh, I forgot youโ€™re in California! Well, have a good one this morninโ€™!โ€

โ€œThank you,โ€ she said weakly, sinking into her chair as he hung up.

Memory after memory flooded her mind. Moonlit walks along the harbor. Working in Marisolโ€™s gallery side by side. The way his blue eyes bore into hers. The first time they kissed, the first time they . . . she pushed the memories aside, the way sheโ€™d learned to do for the last eighteen years.

Theyโ€™d been kids.

Sheโ€™d been so different then.

โ€œSo . . . Ronan?โ€ Thomas interrupted her thoughts. His voice crescendoed on the one word, making no attempt to veil his interest.

โ€œStop! It was a long time ago.โ€ She stood up and walked over to the window to stare at the Golden Gate Bridge.

Thomas came to stand beside her. He glanced at her then bumped her playfully with his shoulder. โ€œYouโ€™re blushing.โ€

Marina crossed her arms, shook her head, and let the air escape her lungs all at once.

Marisol . . . what are you up to?

< /b>
< /b>

Chapter 2: Ronan Oโ€™Leary

< /b>

Two weeks passed in a flash.

She and Thomas had one final week together at AIC. He oversaw the installation of the new COO, Sheila, and then stayed on for a few days to make sure the transition was a smooth one. His retirement party at the St. Regis was an eight-hour bash befitting his forty years at the company.

It had been a proper send-off.

Theyโ€™d both cried, but it was a cathartic sort of change.

The end of an era.

Marina made sure everything was set up for her week-long trip back to Ireland. Everyone at AIC knew what to do and she had already overseen most of the work for the large holiday campaigns.

Before she knew it, she was boarding a flight from SFO and making the trip she had been avoiding for most of her adult life.

Sheโ€™d slept most of the flight from San Francisco to Dublin and even dozed for the short plane trip from Dublin to the small airport in Kerry. Still groggy, she walked to the curb and found the driver dressed in black who held a plain white sign with her name on it.

He was an older gentleman with rosy cheeks and white hair. He looked like a talker.

Oh no.

Sheโ€™d purposely booked a private company so she wouldnโ€™t have to make small talk with a cabbie.

After a few minutes on the road and no major inquiries from her driver, Dan, she was beginning to hope that she might get the quiet one-hour trip from the airport she needed.

But once they passed the village of Firies, Dan transformed.

โ€œIs it your first time in Ireland?โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ she answered simply, hoping he wouldnโ€™t press the point.

As if on cue, โ€œAre you very familiar with our fair isle, then?โ€

โ€œI spent a couple of summers here as a teenager.โ€

โ€œIs that so? Did you stay with family?โ€

Marina looked out the window, focusing on the lush green hills.

Sheโ€™d traveled all over the world, but the green in Ireland compared to nothing else.

Sheโ€™d dreamed about those hills sometimes. The memories of the past started to edge their way into her brain.

How young she had been.

How different.

Dan cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present.

She looked towards him, he was examining her in the rearview mirror, waiting for a response.

There was no hope of riding the rest of the fifty minutes to Dingle in silence, so she relented.

โ€œMy aunt is an artist. Sheโ€™s from California like me, but she traveled the world and met many people. When I was eighteen, she inherited an art gallery in Dingle from an old friend of hers.โ€

Something about what sheโ€™d just said nipped at her brain . . . she was an artist from California. She hadnโ€™t gotten used to referring to her aunt in the past tense.

โ€œI spent the summer with her here when I was eighteen and then again when I was nineteen.โ€

โ€œOh, so youโ€™ve been coming to Ireland for some time, then. Strange, Iโ€™ve not seen youโ€”I live in Dingle, you see.โ€

โ€œNo, I havenโ€™t been back since I was nineteen.โ€

โ€œYou arenโ€™t close with your aunt, then?โ€

โ€œNo, I mean yes, we are close.โ€

He looked puzzled.

โ€œWe see each other at least a couple of times a year. She flies to California, or we meet in Paris, Rome, London . . .โ€

Past tense. Past tense. Past tense. The inside of her brain screamed at her.

โ€œI just havenโ€™t been back . . . here.โ€

Dan squinted, putting something together.

โ€œYou must be Marisolโ€™s niece!โ€ He slammed his hand against the steering wheel and gave her a large grin in recognition. โ€œI remember you now! You used to go around with,โ€ he searched his memory, โ€œthat Oโ€™Leary lad, Ronan!โ€ He snapped his fingers, pleased with himself. โ€œThick as thieves, you were! Quite a name and fortune heโ€™s made for himself! Good on him! I remember now,โ€ he said again.

She turned back to the green outside the window and tried to relax the tension that had started to build in her jaw. Theyโ€™d just entered a medium-sized town which was cheerfully decorated in green garlands and white lights.

The streets were bustling with people and the colorful shops displayed Christmas trees in the windows.

Her eyes went from the shops to the signs. A billboard showed Irish rock star Kilian Oโ€™Gradyโ€™s face larger than life, his signature mop of brown curls partially obscured his eyes.

Marina focused on the scenes of life outside the window, trying not to fall into her grief.

He took in her expression. โ€œWe were all very sorry about Marisol. A great loss, she was. Always got you to see life differently, like. To see things from a different angle,โ€ Dan paused as if he was trying to find the words, then he snapped his fingers. โ€œAlways gettinโ€™ ya to see things in a different light. Such a lovely, vibrant womanโ€”brought such life to the town.โ€

โ€œYes, she was,โ€ Marina said softly under her breath, watching the green hills flash by. The sadness in her voice was clear even to her own ears.

Dan left her to her thoughts after that. Giving her only a hearty, โ€œWelcome back,โ€ once theyโ€™d reached their destination.

Standalones by Juliet Gauvin

Standalone Christmas Romance