Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Tommy exhaled, his breath visible in the cool air. “Hell of a view. It’s crazy how all those lights from the town sort of make the entire area glow.”
“They say that mountain is enchanted,” I murmured. “A fairy mountain, home to the sidhe.”
“She?” he asked curiously.
“Spelled s-i-d-h-e, but yes… it’s pronounced shee. Irish for fairies. And inside the mountain, supernatural women live—temptresses who lure men away with their beauty and magic, never to be seen again.” I gave him a sly smile. “Ye should be careful, Yank. If ye hear a woman callin’ yer name from the slopes, best not to follow.”
Tommy smirked, leaning in just enough to make my breath hitch. “Too late, darlin’,” he drawled. “Pretty sure I’ve already fallen under a spell.” He lifted a hand to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper. “Though I don’t think it’s the sidhe I need to be worried about.”
My heart stumbled as his fingers lingered at my jaw, the warmth of his touch spreading through me, and I no longer felt the chill. “No?” I asked breathlessly.
Tommy grinned, mischief written all over his face. “Nah. I think the real danger’s sittin’ right in front of me.”
His hand dropped away without so much as a kiss, and I’m pretty sure that was intentional. He had me on the line and I wasn’t twisting to get off. “This place is pretty magical,” he murmured, looking back out over the twinkling valley.
I smiled. “Aye, it is. I used to come here as a child and sit for what felt like hours, pretending I was a queen overlooking my kingdom.”
He chuckled. “Sounds about right.”
I nudged his shoulder playfully before continuing. “Clonmel’s a town of history. It was a trade town centuries ago—livestock, butter, cider, all of it moved through there.”
“Cider, huh?” Tommy mused.
I smirked. “Aye. Bulmers Cider—best in Ireland. Made right there in Clonmel.”
Tommy rubbed his chin, still peering down over the town. “Sounds like I oughta take a trip over there.”
I hesitated for a second before speaking, then forced the words out. “Ye should.”
He turned his head to look at me fully, his shimmering eyes searching mine in the dim light. “Then you take me.”
The way he said it—so simple, so sure—sent a shiver down my spine. I knew what he meant, even if he didn’t say it outright. This wasn’t just about Clonmel. It was about freedom, about stepping beyond what was expected of me, even if only for an afternoon.
But could I really let this be something I wasn’t sure I could hold on to?
I swallowed and nodded. “All right. I’ll take ye. That’s what friends are for.”
Tommy shook his head, a smirk on his face. “Not like friends. It would be a date.”
“A date, huh?”
“Yes, a date.”
“Okay, then.”
It pleased me more than it should have—the planning of a date with a handsome boy. A gust of wind rustled the hawthorn branches but the new leaves buffered us well. I trembled, more from the moment than the cold. Tommy noticed and shifted, draping the edge of his coat over my shoulders.
I cleared my throat, focusing back on the trees. “Do ye know about hawthorns?”
He shook his head. “Tell me.”
I traced a finger along the rough bark of the nearest tree. “They’re sacred in Ireland. Some say they belong to the fairies, and if ye cut one down, ye’ll have terrible luck.” I tilted my head, giving him a teasing look. “I wouldn’t test it, if I were ye.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave ’em alone, I promise.”
I smirked, but my voice turned more serious. “People still respect them. Ye’ll see them standing alone in fields, untouched even when the surrounding land is cleared. My grandmother used to say that if ye make a wish beneath a hawthorn tree on the right night, it might just come true.”
“You ever made one?”
I hesitated, then admitted, “Once or twice.”
“Any of ’em come true?”
I thought about that, letting the silence stretch between us. “Not yet.”
He watches me for a moment. “Maybe you weren’t wishing hard enough.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach dip, but I shook my head, shoving the feeling aside. “Or maybe the fairies don’t like me.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm in the night air. “Nah. I reckon they do.” He reached over, took my hand. “I think both Kentucky and Ireland are beautiful, but your country is so old and there’s so much history and lore. I think that lends to the magic. Tell me more about the sidhe.”
We sat there for a long while, just watching the lights, and I told him stories of magic and supernatural creatures. I told him about the Race for Fionn’s Hand and Legends of Eremon. He listened attentively, asked questions and laughed at the antics of the ancient people.