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)
But all I could think of was Tommy, of his rough hands, his teasing grin, of how he would never try to claim me with a scarf or a brooch or a well-bred horse.
“Thank ye,” I said quietly, adjusting the scarf because it felt like it weighed too much around my neck.
“See, I know what suits ye,” he said, satisfied. “And I’ll always take care of ye, Fi.”
That was supposed to be a comfort, I think.
Instead, it made my skin prickle, but I managed a polite smile.
He grinned back at me, satisfied with himself. “Now, come on. Let’s find a real test of skill.”
We moved through the crowd toward town center where games were set up. Brian headed toward the rings stall, which consisted of a wooden board mounted with hooks at different distances and angles. The goal was simple—toss the ring and land it cleanly onto one of the pegs. The closer the peg, the lower the points. The harder the target, the greater the prize. It was a classic Irish festival game, one I’d seen at countless fairs over the years.
Brian pointed up to a stuffed horse and proclaimed, “Going to win that just for ye.”
“Ye don’t—”
“How much to play?” Brian asked the vendor, an older man with a ruddy face and a distinct lack of teeth.
“Ten pence a ring,” the man said, “or three for twenty-five. Land one on that top ring and the stuffed horse is yers.”
Brian scoffed and handed over two ten-pence coins to the vendor. He attempted to sound humble. “I’ll only need one, but let’s get two just in case.”
He took his stance, shot me a beaming smile and tossed his first ring. It hit one of the pegs but bounced off. He chuckled with good nature, adjusting his grip, and tried again. Another miss and he didn’t look so amused anymore.
I watched as his jaw tightened, face flushing red.
“Bloody thing,” he muttered, digging out more coins and trading them for rings.
“Brian, ye don’t have to—”
“Nonsense.” He threw another. Missed. Cursed under his breath. “It’s a stupid trick of the angle.”
I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t give up until he won something. I was learning something about this man my father wanted to have me and I could tell he was the type who was determined to prove himself, but never quite succeeded in the way he wanted.
It didn’t take long for me to get bored and as I glanced around, that’s when I saw him.
Tommy.
Walking through the festival with a few of the other stable workers, his hands in his pockets. He moved with a confident gait, taking in all the sights.
I felt the punch of it the second he caught sight of me. First surprise, then a lick of flame in his eyes as he stared.
I inhaled sharply.
He didn’t smile, didn’t nod—just looked at me.
And I looked right back.
Something inside me clenched, deep and aching. I wanted to go to him. Wanted to tear off the scarf Brian had put on me and run in the opposite direction. But I stood still, frozen between two worlds, two choices.
Brian’s frustrated muttering dragged my attention back and I turned his way, telling myself I had no business wishing for things I couldn’t have.
He was fishing for more coins.
“Brian, really, it’s fine,” I tried again. “Let’s get a cider.”
“One more go,” he insisted.
“Just need a bit o’ practice,” the vendor said sagely, all too happy to take Brian’s money.
But before he could hand it over, a hand reached out past my shoulder.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Tommy said casually, his American drawl standing out against the thick Irish accents around us.
Brian turned sharply, glaring at the shopkeeper as he handed over the rings. “Let’s see what the Yank can do.”
Tommy ignored us as he weighed one of the rings in his right hand. He looked confident, as if he’d been playing the game his whole life, then casually flicked his wrist.
I watched as the ring sailed through the air, twirling end over end until it landed on the highest-scoring peg without even a rattle.
A perfect shot.
The vendor whistled, grinning as he plucked down the horse Brian had pointed to earlier. “Well done, lad.”
Tommy took it, turning to me with an easy smirk. “For the prettiest girl in Ireland.”
My breath caught.
Brian’s fists clenched at his sides. “Who the hell are ye?”
Tommy didn’t even look at him. His attention fixed solely on me as he handed me the prize. I took it, my fingers digging into the plush fur, and I knew I’d hold on to it tonight when I went to sleep. Then, without another word, Tommy turned and strolled away, disappearing back into the festival crowd.
I held the stuffed horse against my chest, my heart thudding.
Brian exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Do ye know him?”