My shoulders rose and fell. “Maybe that’s just life. No one’s happy. Maybe everything gets stale and sad.”

“What, like we’re pieces of bread? No. I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” I thought of my parents in their big, sad house. “Especially when we push our relationships past their expiration dates.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you know. Love only lasts a handful of years. Like, four.”

Fierce lines creased his brow, and his gaze darkened. “That’s bullshit.”

I fell back down in the grass, the sky stretching endlessly above me. The sweet smell of the flower I’d torn up tickled my nose. “Why? It’s biological. You mate, raise young together, and then go your own ways after the kids can take care of themselves.”

“We’re not animals.”

“Well, we’re not plants.”

He frowned at me. “Okay, what about swans? They mate for life.”

“They also fly.”

He stared at me like I was insane. “So—you don’t believe relationships last past four years?”

I toyed with the grass. “Of course they do. I just don’t think we’re biologically meant for life-long monogamy.”

“My parents had the best relationship in the world.”

I shrugged as best I could from my prone position. “I’m not trying to argue. And I don’t expect you to agree with me.”

He looked offended. “But you think I’m being naïve.”

That was awkwardly uncomfortable enough that I sat upright and cleared my throat. “I don’t think you’re naïve. And I’m not anti-relationship. I actually think it’s a very—nice—idea, but it’s also encultured. I mean, I’m not surprised you believe in it—your community is very, uh, conservative, with traditional values—”

“Nat. You’re being offensive.”

“I’m not trying to be offensive, I’m just saying, I studied anthropology—”

“Which is not a golden ticket to judge people.”

“I’m not judging! I just—I’m trying to point out that you have a bias—which is normal, everyone has biases, it’s part of being human—but it’s important to recognize your bias and understand when it comes into play—”

He stood. “Well, maybe part of your bias is that your parents have an unhappy marriage so you don’t believe there could actually be happy ones.”

“Below the belt.”

His gaze dropped below the belt, and I flushed when he raised his eyes again, hot and steady. I cleared my throat and looked away. “And, okay, probably a valid point.”

“So do you also not believe in love?”

I shrugged, wishing we’d never started this conversation. “I believe in oxytocin and vasopressin. I believe in attraction and attachment.”

“But you don’t believe in forever.”

I also came to my feet. The wind played with his hair and pulled tendrils of mine loose. “I believe in having a solid enough partnership that you stay with it because it’s better than being lonely and you want to be part of a solid family unit.”

“Because it’s better than being fucking lonely?”

“Mike, don’t take me out of context—”

“I don’t think I am. You don’t believe in love.”

“I think people fall in love, I just don’t think it sticks. Why do you care? This should not be such a big deal.”

He massaged his shoulder like he’d filled with too much tension. “I think it’s sad.”

I prepped myself to run. “Well, maybe I’m sad, then. Let’s head back.”

I didn’t see Mike again until early evening the next day, after I’d returned from meeting up with a historian in Cork. The woman had been very informative and interesting, and while she’d given me several new insights into the county’s history, I wasn’t sure it would be directly helpful for learning more about Ivernis.

I ran into Mike when I was heading up to my room—or more accurately, he ran into me, stepping out of the library as I passed. I halted, worried that he might still be mad at me from the night before. Instead, he grinned at me. “Gibbons.”

“What?”

“Gibbons are monogamous. And they don’t fly.”

I smiled. “I forgot gibbons. I saw a pair at some zoo in California.” They’d swung around on their long, flexible arms, playing and flirting until the female had grown bored and climbed a tree. The male had followed, trying to get her attention and generally making a nuisance of himself as she tried to get some peace. Still, after a while she’d given in and they’d gone tree swinging again. Cam and I had watched, rapt, for half an hour. “You looked that up?”

He shrugged as though it was nothing. “I look everything up. My sisters think I’m a space shot, but I’m actually very well informed.”

I raised my brows. “You can be a well-informed space shot.”

He grinned again and leaned against the wall, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat from our bodies. “Come to dinner tonight?”

“Um.” I seemed to be having trouble finding oxygen. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and my breath caught. He drew his thumb slowly over my cheekbone and my heart stuttered to a halt.

He straightened, that charming grin taunting me. “Sorry about that. You had an eyelash.” He placed his hands in his pocket and sauntered down the hall.

I had to lean against the wall to regain myself, and he’d just turned on to the stairs when I pushed upright and shouted after him. “Michael O’Connor! My eyelashes are nearly invisible!”

Only laughter answered me.

We went out to dinner at O’Malley’s, the one nice restaurant in the village center. It was half empty when we arrived, but after twenty minutes every seat was taken.

“News travels fast,” Kate said without looking up from her menu.

I had to agree. Every person craned their head our way, from a table of weathered old men in low hats and heavy jackets to a group of girls Anna’s age. Only the smallest children seemed to be clueless, crying loudly as their parents failed to pay attention to them.

It only took fifteen minutes before the first person approached, and the noise level dropped noticeably. Mike tossed me a quick smile as a middle-aged man cleared his throat beside Kate. “Mrs. O’Connor?”

She lowered the menu. “Yes.”

He tipped his hat. “I’m Eamon Murphy. Knew your husband when he was a lad.” His gaze flitted toward Mike. “You’re the image of your dad.”

Kate smiled politely. “I believe he mentioned you.”

“Good to have O’Connors back in town again. Doesn’t seem right without you.” He waited.

Kate waved toward them. “My daughters, Anna and Lauren. My eldest, Michael. And this is Michael’s friend, Natalie.”

I heard the thumps of several kicks. A foot smacked into my leg. I couldn’t tell if it had been meant for me or someone else.

“Ah, the archaeologist.” Eamon smiled, wrinkles spreading out over his leathery cheeks and brow. “I hear something’s dodgy with the excavation? You better fix that.”

This time, I was the kicker. Mike winced.

Eamon missed it, as he’d turned back to Kate. “We’ve all been very curious about you. Expected you to come back years ago.”

Kate’s fingers stiffened around her silverware. “Well. I didn’t.”

He didn’t take note of the shortness in her voice. “Lovely city, Boston. I can see why Brian wanted to visit, you know, though we always thought he would settle down here.”

I searched for something to diffuse Kate’s pained look. Anna beat me to it, speaking up in an exact mimic of her mother’s tone. “Well. He didn’t.”

Eamon chuckled, and the talk turned to more mundane things. By the time the food arrived, several other locals had edged up to our table. Everyone was very curious about Brian O’Connor’s life in America, though the curiosity was tinged with a wide array of other emotions—disapproval, excitement, disdain, hurt, vicarious interest. Kate did her best to give succinct explanations, but each time another person approached and asked, “Why didn’t he come home?” she tensed even more.