Chapter Twelve
One Year later…
“The End,” Marissa felt a surge of pride as she typed the final line of her first romance novel. She turned to Fred, who was lounging in the oversized armchair in her home office. He was engrossed in the latest issue of Exeunt Magazine, a periodical dedicated to the London theatre scene.
“Ahem.” She cleared her throat to get his attention. “I have an announcement to make.”
He looked up from his iPad. “Oh, really? Are you…I mean, go ahead, make your announcement!” He sat up straight in the chair, and leaning forward, put his hands on his knees in a gesture of full attention.
She giggled. “I’m done,” she said calmly.
“Mars, that’s great! I am so proud of you!” He jumped from the chair and hugged her.
“Thank you!” she laughed and hugged him back.
“Who would have thought a year ago you would decide to use your master’s degree in folklore to be a fiction writer? I thought you were going to teach.”
“I did too, a year ago. But I’m really digging this writer thing,” she said. “My life has changed so much in the past year.” Glancing at the clock, she realized it was already one in the afternoon, and everyone was expected at their house at two.
“Fred, it is already one o’clock! Finn will be back from the airport with Mom and Grandma any minute! We have to get moving.”
Later that afternoon, Marissa Byrne-McKenna sat in the backyard garden at 369 Georges Street Upper. She looked around the large outdoor dining table at her family. Her mother and grandmother were in Dún Laoghaire for an extended summer visit. Jack, who had bought a lovely cottage on a cliff only twenty minutes away. Gran, who had assured her that the wee folk had blessed her union with Finn, and that they would experience only happiness in the years to come. Fiona, Finn’s sister, had become like a sister to her as well. And of course, Fred, who had just accepted a job as an adjunct director for the School of Creative Arts at Trinity College in Dublin.
At the other end of the table sat her beautiful Finn, the love of her life.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Jack said. He stood and raised his glass. “Marissa, may your pockets be heavy and your heart be light. May good luck pursue you each morning and night, and may your health be like the capital of Ireland—always Dublin! Happy birthday, me darlin’!”
Everyone responded with raised glasses, and a chorus of laughter and “Sláinte!”
“Happy birthday, Mó stor,” Finn whispered to her as they danced under the fairy lights in the garden.
“Thank you, my love,” she responded. Marissa looked up into her husband’s sparkling blue eyes and knew that the best was yet to come.
And they lived happily ever after.
The end.
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