“This is what you call a barn?” she asked quietly.
“Maggie holds a lot of community events here,” Patrick told her. “Pick-your-own events that vary by season and harvest. School field trips. Hayrides and pumpkin patches in the fall.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“It is,” Patrick agreed. “Comes in handy, too, for family get-togethers.”
“I can see that.”
Morgan looked over the multitude of tables. Festive fall decorations had been placed throughout. Masses of people moved about the space, many of them sporting blue-black hair and bright blue eyes.
She took another deep breath. No amount of mental pep talks would have prepared her for this.
Patrick’s hand was at the small of her back. Grounding her. Reminding her that she was now a part of this as well.
Maggie Callaghan found them within the first five minutes, which Morgan suspected was not an accident. She was a small, curvy woman with beautiful auburn hair and swirling green eyes.
“Welcome,” Maggie said, beaming, and Morgan had the distinct impression she was talking about more than just coming to Thanksgiving dinner.
“Did you tell anyone you were going to do this?” Morgan asked low enough that only Patrick could hear.
“No,” he said, smiling, “but Maggie always knows.”
“You made it!” Riley said, waving them over. “Come sit with us.”
Morgan recognized many of the people already seated. Patrick’s sister Kate. Riley’s younger brothers, Rory and Daniel, and a slew of their cousins. She waved with her right hand, keeping her left hand out of view, wanting to keep her and Patrick’s secret private for just a little longer.
Was she crazy? Maybe. They hadn’t known each other long in the grand scheme of things, and yet, shedidknow him. Not the details. But they didn’t matter. What mattered was the absolute rightness she felt in his presence. The sense of completenesswhen they were together, whether discussing a case, or burning breakfast because they’d started kissing and gotten carried away.
Because thatcroiestuff? It was real.
And really, that was all that mattered.
The tables ranthe length of the barn, and the food ran the length of the tables, and the noise covered it all as close to a hundred people ate, talked, and laughed.
Morgan ate more than she’d eaten at a single sitting in her entire life and enjoyed every delicious bite.
She thought about previous Thanksgivings. About sitting at a table without conversation, laughter, and warmth, and realized finally, fully, what she’d been missing.
Much later,over the remains of coffee and some truly exceptional pies and pastries, it was Declan who, with the mischievous glimmer of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, asked whether, given Morgan’s invaluable contributions to making C & C Security and Investigations a reality, they needed to update the name to Callaghan, Connelly, and Sullivan.
The section of the table within earshot went quieter.
Patrick squeezed her hand under the table in a silent question.
She let him lift it.
The ring caught the light—the diamond clean and bright, the emeralds deep and warm—and the quiet spread outward from their end of the table like a wave.
“No,” Patrick said easily, as he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Because she’ll be a Callaghan.”
The barn erupted with shouts and yells and a chorus of hooyahs, hooahs, and oorahs.
She’d worked in rooms that required professional composure in the face of unexpected developments. She’d maintained it in coroner’s offices and crime scenes and federal inquiries. She had not, until this moment, been in a room full of Callaghans receiving good news at full volume, all at once, from every direction simultaneously.
It was loud. It was warm. It involved at least half a dozen dogs who had no idea what was happening but were enthusiastically supportive. It was completely, entirely, overwhelmingly real.
Patrick’s arm came around her shoulders, grounding her as always.