bed.
The strain of keeping the mask in place required too much energy. She sighed as she rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Thank you, Liam. I’m sorry I got angry with you. It’s just that little scrap of cloth represents so much of what I can’t have. It’s hard to look at it and know my responsibilities will always keep me from doing what I love.”
“And what do you love, Maggie Andrews?” His voice was soft.
In the darkness of the room, Maggie’s energy gave out; her mask slid off and the pent-up words tumbled out. “I love finding the piece of art that needs just a touch of restoration to bring it to life once again. Whether it is rare or common, it doesn’t matter. To know that I have the skill to restore it to its former glory and give it a new life in our world; to see a piece I’ve spent hours, days, months uncovering, researching, painstakingly put back together and on display in a museum or gallery for others to see. That’s what I love. Knowing that two of us—the talents of the original artist combined with my skills in restoration—produce an entirely recreated piece that shines for a new generation to appreciate.”
Liam didn’t need a light on to know her eyes shone with passion. This was what the woman had been trained to do; this was what she should be doing. Much as he appreciated her father’s business sense, he now doubted the man’s parenting skills. The woman’s soul wasn’t interested in the bottom line; her soul was tied to the glories of ancient art.
“Then why do you work for your father, woman? Why don’t you follow your heart?” He knew the answer even as he asked the question, but needed to hear how Maggie saw it.
She was just so tired. Tired of hiding her real personality under a thick wall of professionalism; tired of working for her father’s dream instead of her own; tired of not having a friend. Maybe it was the Irish moonlight, maybe it was her own exhaustion, but Maggie found herself answering.
“Because he is my father. He built that company from scratch. He missed so many family gatherings, so many birthdays, because he was working so hard to make a go of it. Thomas…” Her voice cracked and she paused. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath to steady herself. The scent of Liam’s aftershave filled her nose and desperately she grabbed onto the shreds of her control.
“But Tom died.” Liam prompted her. “And you still grieve for him by trying to do his job.”
The shreds slipped between her fingers and tears slid from the corners of her eyes. Not trusting her voice, she nodded in the darkness.
“A job you don’t really want, do you, Maggie?”
His voice was kind, soft and understanding, gentle. A small sob escaped and she clapped her fingers to her mouth, trying to stuff everything back inside again. But his arm slipped behind her neck and for the first time in her adult life, Maggie cried on another person’s shoulder.
She could not hold back the sobs. She cried for her brother’s wasted life, and she cried for her lost dreams. She cried for her own inadequacies and for the fact that she couldn’t afford the tapestry. Her sobs came from the very depths of her soul and all Liam could do was hold her as her grief and sorrow poured out.
“Ach, the poor lass. She’s been shuttin ’ that in for a long, long time.” Seamus’ voice floated up and Liam nodded, knowing that somehow, the leprechaun could see him.
“Just hold her, lad. That’s all she needs; a good, strong shoulder to cry on.”
“Don’t suppose you could get me some of those tissues?” Liam’s voice was quiet and he pointed in the general direction of the tissue box on the dresser.
“Sure, boy-o. Here ye go.”
Liam felt the outline of the box suddenly under his fingers. Deciding this was not the time to worry about the little man’s magic, he pulled out several tissues. Maggie’s hands lay limply against his chest, and he pushed a tissue between
The strain of keeping the mask in place required too much energy. She sighed as she rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Thank you, Liam. I’m sorry I got angry with you. It’s just that little scrap of cloth represents so much of what I can’t have. It’s hard to look at it and know my responsibilities will always keep me from doing what I love.”
“And what do you love, Maggie Andrews?” His voice was soft.
In the darkness of the room, Maggie’s energy gave out; her mask slid off and the pent-up words tumbled out. “I love finding the piece of art that needs just a touch of restoration to bring it to life once again. Whether it is rare or common, it doesn’t matter. To know that I have the skill to restore it to its former glory and give it a new life in our world; to see a piece I’ve spent hours, days, months uncovering, researching, painstakingly put back together and on display in a museum or gallery for others to see. That’s what I love. Knowing that two of us—the talents of the original artist combined with my skills in restoration—produce an entirely recreated piece that shines for a new generation to appreciate.”
Liam didn’t need a light on to know her eyes shone with passion. This was what the woman had been trained to do; this was what she should be doing. Much as he appreciated her father’s business sense, he now doubted the man’s parenting skills. The woman’s soul wasn’t interested in the bottom line; her soul was tied to the glories of ancient art.
“Then why do you work for your father, woman? Why don’t you follow your heart?” He knew the answer even as he asked the question, but needed to hear how Maggie saw it.
She was just so tired. Tired of hiding her real personality under a thick wall of professionalism; tired of working for her father’s dream instead of her own; tired of not having a friend. Maybe it was the Irish moonlight, maybe it was her own exhaustion, but Maggie found herself answering.
“Because he is my father. He built that company from scratch. He missed so many family gatherings, so many birthdays, because he was working so hard to make a go of it. Thomas…” Her voice cracked and she paused. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath to steady herself. The scent of Liam’s aftershave filled her nose and desperately she grabbed onto the shreds of her control.
“But Tom died.” Liam prompted her. “And you still grieve for him by trying to do his job.”
The shreds slipped between her fingers and tears slid from the corners of her eyes. Not trusting her voice, she nodded in the darkness.
“A job you don’t really want, do you, Maggie?”
His voice was kind, soft and understanding, gentle. A small sob escaped and she clapped her fingers to her mouth, trying to stuff everything back inside again. But his arm slipped behind her neck and for the first time in her adult life, Maggie cried on another person’s shoulder.
She could not hold back the sobs. She cried for her brother’s wasted life, and she cried for her lost dreams. She cried for her own inadequacies and for the fact that she couldn’t afford the tapestry. Her sobs came from the very depths of her soul and all Liam could do was hold her as her grief and sorrow poured out.
“Ach, the poor lass. She’s been shuttin ’ that in for a long, long time.” Seamus’ voice floated up and Liam nodded, knowing that somehow, the leprechaun could see him.
“Just hold her, lad. That’s all she needs; a good, strong shoulder to cry on.”
“Don’t suppose you could get me some of those tissues?” Liam’s voice was quiet and he pointed in the general direction of the tissue box on the dresser.
“Sure, boy-o. Here ye go.”
Liam felt the outline of the box suddenly under his fingers. Deciding this was not the time to worry about the little man’s magic, he pulled out several tissues. Maggie’s hands lay limply against his chest, and he pushed a tissue between
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