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Dealla and Saoirse waste no time sidling closer to my mother, their curiosity as obvious as their grins.

“What’s Casey going on about?” Saoirse asks, her bluntness slicing cleanly through the awkward tension.

“Ugh, I’m going to wring his neck, the bastard!” I mutter, my face burning with embarrassment.

“Language, Triona,” my mother scolds.

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I run out of my room in haste one time—once—and wouldn’t you know that both my brothers were in the direct vicinity to witness it.”

All three women exchange a glance, their faces unreadable except for the faintest hint of suspicion. Then, my mother fixes me with that look—the one that says she’ll not let me off the hook without full disclosure.

I groan. “I ran out in my sheer sleepwear.”

My mother gasps, one hand flying to her chest as if I’d just confessed to a heinous crime. “Triona! What were ye thinkin’?”

Meanwhile, Saoirse and Dealla double over in laughter, the pair of them nearly in tears as they lean on each other for support.

“I am so happy to know my misery brings such joy to the both of you,” I say, crossing my arms and glaring at them.

Dealla waves a hand at me, trying and failing to catch her breath. “Oh, Triona, you’ve painted such a picture—I can just see Casey’s face now. Mortified, wasn’t he?”

“Mortified?!” I exclaim. “He’s been bringing it up at every opportunity since, the little devil!”

“Sounds like Casey,” Saoirse says, her grin wide and unapologetic. “But honestly, Triona? Ye’re lucky yer da wasn’t about, or he’d still be tryin’ to recover.”

I groan again, my face surely as red as Saoirse’s hair. “That’s it. I’m moving out and changing my name. You’ll never hear from me again.”

Dealla pats my shoulder, still chuckling. “Oh love, it’s not half as bad as you think. Just be glad Casey didn’t drag out your embarrassment in front of the men.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Give him time. He’ll find a way.”

“True,” Saoirse agrees, smirking. “But ‘til then, at least we’ve this moment to savour.”

Just then, my father calls for my mother from the kitchen. She moves to squeeze my hand before calling back out to him. “Go get settled and freshened up, dealan-dé. I’ll call for ye.” Before she turns to leave, she lingers for a moment, her gaze locking onto mine.

In that fleeting moment, I detect a hint of sorrow in her eyes. Before I can say anything, she quickly masks it with a smile, releases my hand, and walks away.

As I watch her form disappear, an urge wells up inside me to throw my arms around my mother and offer her comfort. Sensing that beneath her composed exterior, she’s grappling with something on her own—all alone with her thoughts.

Dealla clasps my shoulders, practically shoving me toward my room, wrenching me from the spiral of my own thoughts. “Gods, I thought we’d never get a moment alone! There are things no letter can capture, and we’ve so much to catch up on.” Her words, warm and insistent, dispel the lingering weight of the day. With a gentle smile, I let her lead me away, and we step into the quiet refuge of our shared haven, leaving the chaos behind.

I change and situate myself just in time for my mother to walk in to us standing around one another, laughing.

“Ah, what a sight,” she says as she beams at us. “Seeing ye three ladies back together makes me miss being yer age. My auld lassies and I used to find ourselves in all kinds o’ trouble.”

She smiles at us with such warmth, her face alight with joy, and for a moment, I wish I could freeze the scene—capture it and hold it forever.

The sounds of male laughter from somewhere in the house shatter the peaceful moment. My mother’s gaze shifts, and she turns.

“Right, well, ye’re needed, dear. Someone’s here to see ye.” She gestures for me to join her side and loops her arm through mine. I glance over my shoulder at Saoirse and Dealla. Their guilt is obvious and hard to miss. I mouth ‘no warning?’ and Saoirse mouths back ‘we were threatened’.

Sensing my hesitation, my mother tugs me along. “There’s nary a need for temporisation, Triona. He’s been waitin’ all day!” Her voice is light as she tries to comfort me, but the flutter in my stomach intensifies.

“He?” I repeat, my voice a blade of curiosity tempered by dread.

“Aye dear, ye heard correctly.” With no further explanation, I’m dragged alongside her.

My father, Eamon, and Casey, crowd around the backdoor, speaking to someone just outside. I can’t see or hear who the person might be, but Ma will undoubtedly make quick work of that. Callan props himself against the wall, looking displeased.