Page 2 of Tempting Irish

“Why do ye do that?” I crawl down to his branch, trying to get a glimpse of what he’swriting.

“What?”

“Write on yerarm.”

The corner of his lips pull up. “I had a thought and I didn’t want to forgetit.”

“Lyrics?”

He nods, finishing hisscrawling.

“And that?” I point at a pattern of interconnected lines that he’s scribbled in black pen on hisforearm.

“It’s the Dara knot. Ye’ve never seen itbefore?”

“Not likethat.”

He takes my arm and flips it so that my palm is facing up, then starts to draw on the inside of my wrist with the black ink. The pen digs into my skin, but all I can think about is the way his fingers touch me, and the jolt of heat that runs up my arm, straight to mybelly.

I swallow hard and try not to shake as he finishes thelines.

“It represents the roots of the oak tree.” He gives me a lopsidedgrin.

My skin still tingles from his touch, but I manage to ask without stuttering, “What’s so special about an oaktree?”

He leans back and looks up. “When ye look at the tree, what do yousee?”

I shrug. “Branches.Leaves.”

“It’s what ye don’t see, what’s under the ground, that keeps the treealive.”

“Theroots.”

He nods. “If the roots aren’t strong enough, then when the wind blows and the storms come, the tree willfall.”

I run a finger along the lines, more an excuse to touch him, than interest in what itmeans.

“The Dara knot reminds us that as long as ye have strong roots, ye can survive even the worststorms.”

“People don’t haveroots.”

“Wedo.”

I frown at him. “Ye meanfamily?”

“And friends…” His gaze drifts down to the water where Cillian, Aiden, Shane, and Emer continue to horsearound.

His friends. His family. I’ve always been too young to be included in their group. Always left out, no matter how desperately I tried to join in. I kept hoping it would change when I got older, that one day they’d accept me. But once my mom and I move to Michigan next week, I’ll probably never see themagain.

Tears burn my eyes and I quickly blink them away, because I won’t cry. Not in front ofOwen.

“What if ye don’t haveeither?”

His gaze travels back to mine. “Ye’re Irish, Bee. Wherever ye go, ye’ll always have both. Our roots are all twisted and tangled together. We stand together. We fall together. But we’re neveralone.”

I lift my shoulders, then let them fallheavily.

“I don’t want to move,” I grumble. “And I don’t want a newfather.”

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