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)
I made it downstairs quietly and slipped out the side door before donning my boots. The night air bit at my cheeks as I walked around to the front of the house, the gravel crunching underfoot. A mist had settled over the farm, clinging to the ground like wisps of smoke that shimmered in the security lights on all the barns and outbuildings.
For a moment, I didn’t see him. Perhaps he didn’t wait, although it’s only about five minutes after midnight. My heart plummeted, but then—movement from the shadows.
Tommy emerged from the darkness, a thick wool blanket slung over one shoulder. His grin was slow and smug, giving me a once over as if he’d never doubted for a second that I’d come.
“You’re late,” he teased.
“Ye waited,” I replied primly.
He chuckled. “Was hopin’ you’d know a place to go.”
I bit my lip, glancing toward the rolling hills beyond the farm. “Aye,” I said softly. “I know just the place if yer up for a walk.”
His grin widened. “Then lead the way, darlin’.”
And I did.
I took his hand and led him into the night.
♦
The air was crisp, the scent of damp earth and thick summer grass heavy in the air as Tommy and I made our way up the narrow path leading to the hilltop grove. He had brought an electric torch to pick his way across the field between his steading cottage and my house, and it helped shine the way to our destination.
The farm stretched behind us, more visible than normal because of a cloudless night and a nearly full moon. It wasn’t far, but the incline was steep, and with every step, the lights of the city of Clonmel became clearer beyond the horizon.
Tommy walked beside me in easy silence, the beam of light bouncing just ahead of us. I felt his curiosity burning, but I told him nothing about where we were going—only to follow and trust me.
I glanced up at him, catching the way he studied our surroundings. “Yer quiet,” I mused.
His mouth quirked up at the corner. “I’m takin’ it in. I used to think Kentucky was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen, but this is giving it a run for its money.”
The hawthorn grove stood ahead, a tangled cluster of ancient trees, their gnarled trunks thick and twisted from decades of wind battering this hillside. I knew every inch of this place—had spent countless hours beneath these branches, tucked away from the rest of the world, hidden but never truly trapped.
I glanced back at Tommy, my fingers tightening around his. “Just wait until ye see where I’m takin’ ye.”
Stepping off the narrow path, I led him beneath the trees, where the air grew still, sheltered from the night breeze by the dense canopy above. The ground was uneven beneath my boots, soft with fallen petals and dry leaves, and I could still smell the last traces of the hawthorn blossoms clinging stubbornly to the branches. Most of the flowers had already begun to carpet the ground, indicating that spring had gone and summer was here.
The grove wasn’t large—maybe fifteen, twenty trees at most—but the way they grew, their trunks bent and their limbs twisted together made the space feel enclosed, almost sacred. Some of the trees stood close, their branches arching toward one another like old friends whispering secrets, while others stretched wider, leaving open patches where the moonlight spilled through in pale, silvery streaks.
The wind barely reached us here, just the occasional breath of cool air rustling through the leaves. The hush of the night wrapped around us, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
I stopped in a clearing where the trees thinned just enough to reveal the rolling valley below, Clonmel spread out in golden specks of light against the dark silhouette of Slievenamon Mountain. The sight never failed to steal my breath, the contrast between the quiet solitude of the grove and the distant hum of life below.
Tommy let out a low whistle beside me. “Damn,” he murmured. “That’s something else.”
I smiled, watching his face as he took it all in. “Told ye it was worth the walk.”
It was the first time I’d ever brought someone here—my own hidden place, where I’d come to think, to dream, to escape. And now, standing here beside Tommy, his fingers still laced with mine, it didn’t feel like running away.
It felt like finding something I hadn’t known I was missing.
I took the blanket from Tommy, startling him, and spread it out. We sank down onto it, side by side with our attention on the view of the town in the distance.
I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “That’s Clonmel,” I said, nodding toward the lights. “Largest town in the county. The River Suir runs through it, and beyond that, ye can see the outline of Slievenamon Mountain.”