Near the bay, he turned onto a narrow road that wound upward, until finally, he pulled into a small parking area in front of a large stone house. Ivy rambled over the walls and enormous rhododendrons edged the lawn.
“Wow, this is incredible,” Rachel said, peering through the windshield. The house where Seamus McDermott lived with his family commanded a view of the village and the small bay below. The paned windows glowed a warm pink and yellow from the reflection of the setting sun.
“It is nice,” Conall agreed. “McDermotts have lived here for almost two hundred years. It was built for the mill owner when the tweed factory first opened.”
“One of your great-great-grandfathers?” Rachel guessed.
“A great-great-great-uncle, actually.”
Climbing out of the car, he rounded the hood and opened Rachel’s door, lending her a hand as she juggled the flowers and gift bag.
“So your father and Seamus are brothers?”
“Yes. Seamus is the oldest of the four siblings, which includes my father and my two aunts, Isla and Nora.”
“Where does your father live now?” she asked as they crossed the driveway to the house.
“He and my mum have a house in town,” he said, knocking on the door. “Dad manages the export sales for McDermott Mills. You’ll meet him before too long.”
Before she could reply, the door opened and Seamus and his wife were there, welcoming them both inside.
“I’m Rose. It’s lovely to meet you, Rachel,” his wife enthused. “Imagine you meeting our Conall on your first day here! Seamus told me what happened, but I really want to hear your version.”
Rachel laughed, her gaze finding Conall’s and sliding away again. “Well, there’s not much to tell except that he literally saved my life. If he hadn’t come along when he did, nobody would have ever known what happened to me.”
Catching the playful gleam in her eyes, Conall gave an exaggerated stretch, flexing his fingers. “Yeah, it was a tough job, but someone had to do it.”
Rachel gave a mock gasp of outrage, but couldn’t help laughing when he gave her a cheeky wink and bumped his arm against hers, letting her know he was teasing.
Rose made a tsking sound and drew Rachel deeper into the house. “What a terrifying experience, and not a very good first impression of our little town. Come on in and let me get you something to drink.”
“Here, these are for you and Seamus,” she said, handing Rose the flowers and the small gift bag. “Thank you so much for having me over tonight.”
“Oh, how lovely! And the pleasure is all mine. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Rose said.
Rachel followed her into a sitting room with comfortable furniture pulled up in front of a massive stone fireplace. In spite of the high ceilings and deep casement windows, the stone manor felt both warm and welcoming.
As they entered the room, two women rose from their chairs and Rose quickly introduced her daughters, Fiona and Mary-Kate. Fiona looked to be several years older than Rachel, while Mary-Kate looked to be barely out of high school. They each had what Rachel was coming to recognize as the McDermott coloring, with dark-red hair and blue eyes. After the introductions were made and a glass of wine was pressed into Rachel’s hand, she took a seat next to Conall on the wide sofa.
“You and Fiona should have plenty to talk about,” he said. “She studied textile design in Paris before she came home to drag McDermott Mills kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.”
Fiona laughed and reached down to pat a small pug who lay by her feet. “Conall exaggerates. I simply persuaded my father to install some more modern equipment, and we updated our computers and our sales department.” She gave a modest shrug. “And I may have had some influence with certain fashion designers in the industry.”
“Mr. McDermott said I’m to spend tomorrow with you in the design studio,” Rachel confirmed, smiling at the other woman. “I hope you have a lot of patience. My experience is more with home textiles and not apparel.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Fiona assured her. “It will be nice to have a set of fresh eyes. Sometimes I think I’m just using the same patterns over and over and only changing up the yarns.”
“Don’t let her fool you. Fiona is the backbone of the business,” Seamus said, pride in his voice. “And you’re to call me Seamus. We don’t stand on formality, not around here. I’ve known most of the workers at the mill my whole life and we’re like a family.”
“Is it the same with your family business?” Rose asked.
Rachel hesitated. “My uncle owns the business and my grandfather ran it before him. But it’s such a big operation and being in the city—well, I’m not sure it’s as family-oriented as McDermott Mills. We have more than four hundred employees, and honestly, I think my uncle only knows a handful of them personally. He spends most of his time in meetings and leaves the day-to-day operations to his managers.”
“Ah, I understand,” Seamus said, but Rachel knew he didn’t.
“So you’ll go to work for your uncle when you return to Chicago?” Mary-Kate asked.
“Yes, that’s the plan.” She didn’t tell them that she had worked at her family’s factory every summer since she was a teenager, or that she’d won several prestigious awards for her designs during college and grad school. This internship would round out her wheelhouse of experience by enabling her to design tweed and also see the art of handweaving, which had all but disappeared in the United States, except for small cottage industries. “This internship is the last requirement I have in order to obtain my advanced degree in textile design. Once I graduate, I’ll work for Lakeside Industries as a designer.”
“I hope working for McDermott Mills is a positive experience for you, Rachel,” Seamus said.
“I’m sure it will be.”
Rose stood. “Dinner is ready, so let’s sit down to eat while it’s still warm.”
Conall rose and walked with Rachel into the adjoining dining room, where the table had been elegantly set. He pulled a chair out for Rachel and sat down next to her. Leaning close, he spoke softly into her ear. “Doing okay?”
She nodded, but cast him a grateful smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
She realized it was no less than the truth. She held his gaze for an instant before looking quickly away. She was beginning to understand what people meant when they talked about the charm of the Irish. But, as appealing as he was, she hadn’t come to Ireland to get involved with someone, especially when there was absolutely no chance of it going anywhere. In three months, she would return to Chicago, so no matter how handsome or charismatic Conall McDermott might be, there was no point in encouraging any kind of relationship with him. She had come to Ireland to learn about tweed—and maybe something about her father—and not to indulge in a spring fling.
Definitely no flings.
She glanced at Conall, who was laughing at something Fiona had said, his blue eyes bright with amusement, his smile infectious. Something loosened and slowly spread in the pit of her stomach, like warm honey. Something that felt suspiciously like longing.