Antonia felt a pang of guilt, as she remembered her last conversation with her mother. Their phone calls had always been infrequent, but she should have called Diane after she canceled the wedding. Instead, she let her sister handle it. If she was truly going to make changes in her life, Antonia needed to call her mother and have a long talk. Some of the conversation would have to include “you were right and I was wrong,” but she also wanted her mother to stop being so critical when it came to most of her decision-making. The work ethic Diane had instilled in them was a double-edged sword. Antonia may have been a workhorse, but she generally made safe bets, taking care not to move too far out of her lane. Even within her lane, she doubted herself at every turn.

And now she was in Ireland. Writing a book. Fucking a handsome professor.

She’d traveled outside her lane for the first time in her life and managed to accomplish something huge. Instead of thinking about what was next on her list, Antonia finally felt like sitting back and basking.

Aiden gave a low whistle. “Claudette is being enlisted to be a feckin’ spy.”

Pulled from her reverie, Antonia glanced at him before chuckling. “It’s a good thing, I promise you.”

He dog-eared his page and sighed. “I don’t know why she doesn’t just live a simple life in the country with Jean-Paul. They could continue making wine and start a family.”

Antonia rolled her eyes. “Because no story is without conflict. You have to insert drama somewhere and you can’t do better than a war.”

Aiden raised a brow. “I know how literature works, love. But I feel something for these two.”

“You’re attached to Claudette and Jean-Paul?”

“I want them to be happy,” he said in an exasperated tone. “She’s already lost her da and Jean-Paul might not have status, but they deserve a bleedin’ chance, eh?”

She smiled. “They do and they will. The author just wants to put you through the wringer first.”

He picked up the book, flipping back to his spot. “Well, they feckin’ better.”

Fearing she might hurt his feelings, Antonia fought the urge to laugh at him and returned to people watching. Just outside the cafe window, her gaze settled on a tall man in his sixties who stopped for a smoke. She watched him turn his back to the wind and unpocket a small white slip of paper. In it, he tucked a sprinkle of tobacco and, with expert fingers, rolled it until he created a thin cigarette. The older man raised the cigarette to his mouth and sealed the paper with a lick. When he did this, Antonia narrowed her eyes.

Something in his windswept face reminded her of someone. The wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, his square jaw set as he inhaled the smoke. Even the bridge of his bent boxer’s nose, seemed familiar. He was handsome for a man his age, he stood solid with broad shoulders and a straight back. As he faced the window, protecting his cigarette from the bay winds, Antonia studied him for a moment. And then she looked to Aiden who was lounging in his chair, his eyes cast down at his book. She frowned as her eyes darted from him to the man outside. The older man was blond, the wind blew his thin hair every which way. Light hair, but then his brother, Sean, is a blonde as well...