“It’s a nice beach. You’ll love it.” I say softy, not wanting to wake Cahal.

He gives a small grin. “I know. I was there last night. Had to make sure the kitchen was stocked for our stay.”

“Oh, right. Of course, you have.”

“Brooke, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I let out a big involuntary yawn as soon as the words spill out of Landon. “Oh? What is it?” I say, trying to blink away my sudden sleepiness.

He smirks. “It can wait. You should get some rest while you can. Your body needs it to heal.”

I nod my head, my eyes already starting to droop. Landon kisses my forehead before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

The next day

Landon

I pull into the driveway of the small cottage house. It is a nice little sunny spot tucked away in the large world. Had we been here under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed showing Brooke my childhood home—which is only a few hours’ ride away—and telling her about the Ireland’s history, taking her to see all Ireland had to offer.

But now, being so close to home only made me feel anxious and guilty. I need to tell Brooke, and being here is just a reminder of that fact. The truth will come out eventually, and I will be damned if she does not hear it from me.

I hop out of the truck, grab Cahal from the back seat then rounded to the front passenger side to help Brooke out. Her movements are slow, and I can tell walking pains her, but she is determined to do it. The hospital gave her a walking stick for her to brace herself, and we slowly make it inside.

After situating Brooke on the couch, I place Cahal in his bassinet, moving it so Brooke could see him. The living room has three large windows, giving the room a beautiful view of the beach. It also makes the room very bright and sunny—which is just what Brooke needs for healing.

I go to put together a tray of tea and some snacks. When I place it on the coffee table in front of Brooke, she starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, taking a seat beside her.

“You are,” she answers between giggles.

“Me? How so?”

“Because you, the rich CEO, hospital-owning Irish businessman, who employs an entire house staff, has just made me”—she leans forward to inspect the food on the tray—“cucumber sandwiches, pastry, and cut-up fruits With”—she sniffs at the tea pot—“peppermint tea?” she asks.

I nod. “What’s so funny about that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It seems so…common. I didn’t even know you could cook.”

Brooke

Landon gives me an offended look. “Of course, I can cook. I’m not completely helpless.” He mumbles the last part.