And though they might like the idea of a new shop in town, the reality of it slammed up against the whole aversion-to-change thing. Still, since Georgia was no longer a complete stranger, most of the people in town were more interested than resentful.
“A design shop, you say?”
“That’s right,” Georgia answered, turning to look at Maeve Carrol. At five feet two inches tall, the seventy-year-old woman had been Ronan’s nanny once upon a long-ago time. Since then, she was the self-appointed chieftain of the village and kept up with everything that was happening.
Her white hair was piled at the top of her head in a lopsided bun. Her cheeks were red from the wind, and her blue eyes were sharp enough that Georgia was willing to bet Maeve didn’t miss much. Buttoned up in a Kelly green cardigan and black slacks, she looked snug, right down to the soles of her bright pink sneakers.
“And you’ll draw up pictures of things to be done to peoples’ homes.”
“Yes, and businesses, as well,” Georgia said, “just about anything. It’s all about the flow of a space. Not exactly feng shui but along the same lines.”
Maeve’s nose twitched and a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. “Fing Shooey—not a lot of that in the village.”
Georgia smiled at Maeve’s pronunciation of the design philosophy, then said, “Doesn’t matter. Some will want help redecorating, and there will be customers for me in Westport and Galway …”
“True enough,” Maeve allowed.
Georgia paused to take a look up and down the main street she’d come to love over the past year. There really wasn’t much to the village, all in all. The main street held a few shops, the Pennywhistle pub, a grocer’s, the post office and a row of two-story cottages brightly painted.
The sidewalks were swept every morning by the shop owners, and flowers spilled from pots beside every doorway. The doors were painted in brilliant colors, scarlet, blue, yellow and green, as if the bright shades could offset the ever-present gray clouds.
There were more homes, of course, some above the shops and some just outside the village proper on the narrow track that wound through the local farmers’ fields. Dunley had probably looked much the same for centuries, she thought, and liked the idea very much.
It would be good to have roots. To belong. After her divorce, Georgia had felt so … untethered. She’d lived in Laura’s house, joined Laura’s business. Hadn’t really had something to call hers. This was a new beginning. A chapter in her life that she would write in her own way in her own time. It was a heady feeling.
Outside of town was a cemetery with graves dating back five hundred years or more, each of them still lovingly tended by the descendants of those who lay there. The ruins of once-grand castles stubbled the countryside and often stood side by side with the modern buildings that would never be able to match the staying power of those ancient structures.
And soon, she would be a part of it.
“It’s a pretty village,” Georgia said with a little sigh.
“It is at that,” Maeve agreed. “We won the Tidy Town award back in ‘74, you know. The Mayor’s ever after us to win it again.”
“Tidy Town.” She smiled as she repeated the words and loved the fact that soon she would be a part of the village life. She might always be called “the Yank,” but it would be said with affection, she thought, and one day, everyone might even forget that Georgia Page hadn’t always been there.
She hoped so, anyway. This was important to her. This life makeover. And she wanted—needed—it to work.
“You’ve your heart set on this place, have you?” Maeve asked.
Georgia grinned at the older woman then shifted her gaze to the empty building in front of them. It was at the end of the village itself and had been standing empty for a couple of years. The last renter had given up on making a go of it and had left for America.
“I have,” Georgia said with a sharp nod for emphasis. “It’s a great space, Maeve—”
“Surely a lot of it,” the older woman agreed, peering through dirty windows to the interior. “Colin Ferris now, he never did have a head for business. Imagine trying to make a living selling interwebbing things in a village the size of Dunley.”
Apparently Colin hadn’t been able to convince the villagers that an internet café was a good idea. And there hadn’t been enough of the tourist trade to tide him over.
“’Twas no surprise to me he headed off to America.” She looked over at Georgia. “Seems only right that one goes and one comes, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” She hadn’t looked at it that way before, but there was a sort of synchronicity to the whole thing. Colin left for America, and Georgia left America for Dunley.
“So you’ve your path laid out then?”
“What? Oh. Yes, I guess I have,” Georgia said, smiling around the words. She had found the building she would rent for her business, and maybe in a couple of years, she’d be doing so well she would buy it. It was all happening, she thought with an inner grin. Her whole life was changing right before her eyes. Georgia would never again be the same woman she had been when Mike had walked out of her life, taking her self-confidence with him.
“Our Sean’s been busy as well, hasn’t he?” Maeve mused aloud. “Been a help to you right along?”
Cautious, Georgia slid a glance at the canny woman beside her. So far she and Sean had kept their … relationship under the radar. And in a village the size of Dunley, that had been a minor miracle. But if Maeve Carrol was paying attention, their little secret could be out.
And Maeve wasn’t the only one paying attention. Laura was starting to give Georgia contemplative looks that had to mean she was wondering about all the time Georgia and Sean were spending together.
Keeping her voice cool and her manner even cooler, Georgia said only, “Sean’s been great. He’s helped me get the paperwork going on getting my business license—” Which was turning out to be more complicated than she’d anticipated.
“He’s a sharp one, is Sean,” Maeve said. “No one better at wangling his way around to what he wants in the end.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maggie Culhane told me yesterday that she and Colleen Leary were having tea at the pub and heard Sean talking to Brian Connor about his mum’s cottage, it standing empty this last year or more.”
Georgia sighed inwardly. The grapevine in Dunley was really incredible.
“Yes, Sean was asking about the cottage for me. I’d really like to live in the village if I can.”
“I see,” Maeve murmured, her gaze on Georgia as sharp as any cop’s, waiting for a confession.
“Oh, look,” Georgia blurted, “here comes Mary Donohue with the keys to the store.”
Thank God, she thought, grateful for the reprieve in the conversation. Maeve was a sweetie, but she had a laser like focus that Georgia would just as soon avoid. And she and Sean were keeping whatever it was between them quiet. There was no need for anyone else to know, anyway. Neither one of them was interested in feeding the local gossips—and Georgia really didn’t want to hear advice from her sister.
“Sorry I’m late,” Mary called out when she got closer. “I was showing a farm to a client, and wouldn’t you know he’d be late and then insist on walking over every bloody blade of grass in the fields?”
She shook her mass of thick red hair back from her face, produced a key from her suitcase-sized purse and opened the door to the shop. “Now then,” she announced, standing back to allow Georgia to pass in front of her. “If this isn’t perfect for what you’re wanting, I’ll be shocked.”
It