“Thank you. It was a long time ago,” Rachel said, not adding that she still felt the loss as keenly as she did twelve years ago. “It may sound strange, but being here makes me feel closer to him. Maybe there are still people here in Ballylahane who remember him.”
“Oh, no doubt,” Seamus said, but his expression grew pensive.
“Well, thank you for taking the time to show me around,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m looking forward to learning everything I can.”
“I’ll have you work with Fiona tomorrow,” he said. “She’s my oldest daughter and our lead designer.”
“That sounds perfect.” She gave him what she hoped was an endearing smile. “I’m looking forward to trying my own hand at designing a tweed pattern before I go back to the States.”
Seamus looked at her thoughtfully. “I think we can work something out.”
Rachel pulled a face, feeling suddenly awkward. “You’re under no obligation to weave anything I come up with. I know the expense would be great.”
“Well,” he said, obviously amused, “let’s see what you come up with. It’s why you’re here, after all. And I’ve no objection to you weaving a dozen new patterns, if they sell.”
“That’s the trick, isn’t it? Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” Rachel said. “Thank you for an amazing day. Can you point me in the direction of Drumbarron Road? I need a pair of sneakers—er, trainers—and was told there’s a shop there that can sort me out.”
Seamus’s smile grew wider. “Sure they can. Cross over the bridge and go straight. Drumbarron Road is just beyond the bank. Turn right and you can’t miss it. Tell wee Conall I said hello. Oh, and before I forget, you’re invited to join my family for supper tonight at the house.”
“Oh, thank you! What time?”
“Half seven, and it’s very informal.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Rachel said. “Thanks again.”
She made her way out of the mill parking lot, which was surrounded by a tall stone wall, and stood for a moment to get her bearings. What had he meant about telling wee Conall hello? Could he be referring to the same Conall who had rescued her, or was there more than one Conall in the village? She decided it must be a different man, since nobody would ever describe the Conall she had met as wee.
Crossing over the bridge, she paused to watch a mother and her two children toss bread to a cluster of ducks below. Decorative iron street lamps marched across the stone bridge, adorned with flowering baskets that spilled over with colorful blooms. On the other side of the bridge, Rachel strolled along the main road and peered into the shop windows, admiring the woolen and tweed products on display. There were chunky sweaters from the Aran Islands, tweed caps and houndstooth capes, handbags, and handsome vests and coats. Even in the small town of Ballylahane, it seemed there were enough tourists to keep the shops in business. Past the bank, she turned right on Drumbarron Road and saw the sign for Heart and Sole ahead.
An overhead bell tinkled as she entered the shop, and it took her less than three seconds to realize she was out of her depth. The shop quite obviously catered to serious runners, and the sneakers she saw on display were high-end and expensive. A strip of red racing track ran the length of the shop, from the front door to a podium and a computer at the far end. Several racks of jerseys, shorts, and waterproof jackets stood near the cashier counter. She could hear the shopkeeper speaking on the phone, just out of her line of vision, and she quickly turned to leave before she was spotted. She had her hand on the door handle when a voice interrupted her.
“Hey, welcome to Heart and Sole. Is there something I can help you with?”
Too late, Rachel turned and then stared as she saw the man who had rescued her from the boghole the previous day. Today he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark blue pullover that emphasized his broad shoulders and the blueness of his eyes.
“Conall!” Rachel smiled, surprised and happy to see him. “You work here?” She wanted to laugh out loud. She hadn’t seen that one coming. He was a shoe salesman!
He came forward, grinning. “I do, yeah. I was hoping you’d come in.”
She looked around. “It’s a great shop, but I think I’m out of my league here.”
“No, not at all. In fact, I was thinking of what you said about not being much of an outdoors type, and I have a shoe that I think will be perfect for you. But we’ll need to confirm your size first.”
“I’m not sure. This looks like a serious running store and I’m not much of an athlete. A top-end sneaker would just be wasted on me.” She pulled a face. “I’d probably just lose it in a boghole!”
Conall laughed and the sound was so deep and rich that Rachel found herself laughing in return. He really did have the nicest eyes. And smile. And everything else too.
“A good trainer—er, running shoe—is never a waste,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you’re training for a marathon or just getting out to enjoy nature, comfort is key. A good runner is the first step toward a happier, healthier lifestyle.”
“You should make a commercial,” she said, teasing him.
“I did, actually. We have a video on YouTube that I think is quite good.” He gestured toward a row of leather chairs along one wall. “Have a seat and kick your shoes off. I’ll get a quick measurement.”
Feeling self-conscious, Rachel did as he asked, toeing off the Italian leather flats she’d worn for her tour of the mill. Underneath, she wore a pair of mustard-yellow socks with whimsical red mushrooms on them, and wished she’d opted for something a little more sophisticated. She watched as Conall grabbed a measuring device and went down on one knee in front of her.
“Stand up for me,” he directed, and then guided her foot onto the device with one large hand on her ankle, and slid her foot against the heel cup. Even through the sock, his fingers were warm. Looking down at his bent head, she saw his thick hair was cut in short layers, as bright and shiny as a new copper penny. She curled her fingers into her hands to prevent herself from touching. He slid the rulers against her foot and then had her switch feet.
“Okay, you’re a perfect European size thirty-eight,” he said, standing up. “Give me a sec and let me grab those runners.”
He disappeared into a back room and Rachel sat down again. She needed to get a grip on herself. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d found a guy so attractive. Maybe it was the charming Irish accent, or the way a smile always seemed to lurk in the corners of his mouth. Or the way he looked at her, as if she’d just lit up his whole day. When he returned moments later, he had four shoeboxes stacked in his arms.
“Let’s try these first,” he suggested and withdrew a pair of black sneakers with bright orange and purple accents. “They’re my bestseller and they’re super comfortable. Perfect for a leisurely walk or something more strenuous.”
Rachel slid her feet into the sneakers and allowed him to lace them for her. “They do feel good,” she admitted, standing up and taking several experimental steps.
At his urging, she tried on two more pairs and finally settled on the first pair. “I like these,” she said, admiring her feet in a nearby mirror. “I just wasn’t prepared to spend so much money on sneakers. I usually reserve this kind of price tag for my leather skimmers.”