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Chapters (40)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. MORE FROM BETH MORAN
  39. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  40. About Boldwood Books

‘What if I can’t live with myself, forcing you to make that choice, when I can live without you? When you’re my easy option, not the dream I could have had if I’d only dared to believe it.’

‘Wow. Don’t sugar-coat it, will you? It’s only my guts you’re ripping out here.’ He twisted away from me, rubbing his hands over his face as he tried to pull himself together. On the one hand, I was as shocked as him at my own brutal honesty. On the other, after so many goodbyes, I owed it to him to be clear that this was the final one.

‘I guess I’ll be making some changes to my new tattoo,’ he said, trying to smile as he pulled his shirt out of his trousers and lifted up one side.

‘I cannot believe you did that.’ I gasped, while at the same time completely unsurprised at the letters spelling out my name in elaborate font across his side. ‘I guess you could add some more letters? Turn it into beautiful.’

‘I was thinking something with bear. Or beaver.’

‘Beagle?’ I giggled, releasing some of my stress. ‘Beans?’

‘Ah, I’ll figure it out.’ He dropped his shirt with a rueful smile. ‘Are we going back in? I think the least you can do is give me one last dance now that you’ve ditched me.’

I paused before replying.

‘Actually, I think I’m going to go home. To Charis House. After everything, I should be with Nana Joy.’

Adam frowned. ‘I think Nana Joy would want you out enjoying yourself rather than feeling obliged to stay in with her. You’ve got a lot to celebrate.’

‘You’re right. But that’s not what I want. Nana Joy would want me to be happy. As surprising as it might sound, I think being at Charis House with my family will make me feel that.’

34

By the time I managed to find a taxi, Adam was up on stage with a whisky in one hand, microphone in the other, the whole room his backing singers. I slipped into the freezing-cold night, dodging the spray from a residual slush puddle as the taxi skidded up to the kerb.

I’d failed in my private promise to be completely honest.

Nana Joy was a huge reason to be skipping out on my final date with Adam. The urge to catch up on all the time I’d missed with her over the past year, to ensure that there was nothing lingering between us after the Tony O’Dowd hunt, was a physical ache.