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| Village of Ballydara, Book 1 |
It Only Takes Once, Book 1 of the Village of Ballydara series, is a romantic comedy set in Dublin and the Irish countryside! It's the story of a young single mom following the mad impulse to find the perfect father figure for her son—and what she discovers about love and forgiveness along the way…
Twenty-something Aislin (pronounced “Ash-lin”) Moore, suspects that her life is seriously stuck in neutral. All she needs is a man…or to be precise, a father. Not for herself—she’s completely estranged from her scruple-impaired dad, and plans to keep it that way. But her daddy-hungry son Kevin has been without one long enough…and she’s determined to succeed at motherhood, even if the rest of her life is a bit of a disaster. So Aislin follows the mad impulse to track down the perfect father-figure for him: who else but Ben Carpenter, Kevin’s real father.
She’s determined to keep her relationship with Ben platonic, especially after their truly awful breakup seven years ago. But Aislin has a way of mucking up her most inspired schemes. She discovers her chemistry with Ben is stronger than ever…then her father’s unexpected gesture creates a seismic shift in their relationship too. What should she do? Ignore her father, or take a chance on forgiveness? Cool it with Ben, or take a chance on love?
She’s determined to keep her relationship with Ben platonic, especially after their truly awful breakup seven years ago. But Aislin has a way of mucking up her most inspired schemes. She discovers her chemistry with Ben is stronger than ever…then her father’s unexpected gesture creates a seismic shift in their relationship too. What should she do? Ignore her father, or take a chance on forgiveness? Cool it with Ben, or take a chance on love?
It Only Takes Once
Chapter One
The Sign
The urge to contact an old boyfriend should be
approached with extreme caution, I always say. Even if you’ve excellent
reasons, any impulse with such potential for disaster on a grand scale should
be either squashed immediately, or given due consideration: i.e., discussed
exhaustively with your friends, whom you have bribed with cheap wine and
equally cheap Cadbury’s to listen to you, and for your trouble, will give you
their expert counsel.
In case the confab with friends
regarding the ex sets off an uncharacteristic impulse to take action—Saturday
night’s strategy session with Deirdre and Maggie ended with a rash, midnight
phone call to America —you’ll
want to be on the lookout for signs and portents that you’re on the right
track.
I was saying exactly that to Deirdre
six days later, in the back room of her mam’s shop, O’Donnell’s Books &
Collectibles. “Though I was sure I’d get a sign before now. Especially here.”
After all, you’d think a shop stuffed
with fairy-themed merchandise—that’s Irish fairies, mind—in
tourist-jammed Temple Bar, smack in the middle of Dublin, Ireland, which is
home to spiritual icons galore, would be a magnet for messages from the Other
Side, the far corners of the world, or the Infinite.
“Signs,” scoffed Deirdre. As my fellow
shop assistant, she could’ve been
helping me sort through the tatty
leftovers from her mam’s parish jumble sale, but she was busy Web
surfing. “Maybe you’re meant to watch for the one saying the call was a waste
of time.”
“No way,” I said, though I was
starting to wonder. While I hardly expected a metaphysical memo to waft in,
such as, Attn.: Aislin Moore, Congrats on the genius phone call, surely
a teensy insight into my next move wasn’t too much to ask? I gazed balefully at
yet another overflowing box, perched on a high shelf. “One more box to go. And
the dustiest of the lot.”
“Sling it
’til Monday,” Deirdre said, clicking madly. “Mammy’ll never know.”
I sneezed. “I’m for that.” I swiped my hands on my jumper, then
made the mistake of glancing at the box again. It seemed to droop toward me
reproachfully. “Shag it all,” I muttered. On tiptoe, I grabbed one corner of
the box and jerked it forward. “As if this crusty junk is worth anyth—” I yelped as something thunked me on the
head and fell to the floor.
“What?” said Deirdre, eyes glued to
the screen.
Rubbing
the sore spot, I knelt to pick up the offending item, and almost fell over. “Oh, my God, this is it! The sign
I’ve been waiting for.”
Deirdre swiveled round. “A book.” She wrinkled
her pretty nose. “You can’t wear it or eat it—what’s the use?”
“Don’t you see?” Trembling, I ran my
fingers over the title, and lurched to my feet. “My fate is shagging sealed.”
Deirdre still looked blank. “It’s a
sign! Telling me to ring his mam again.”
“An old book told you that?” Deirdre
said, incredulous. “The dust in here has addled your brains.”
“Little Women is not just an
‘old book,’” and I hugged it to my chest, “it’s my favorite book of all time.”
I’d read my dog-eared paperback a gazillion times, and watched all the film
versions over and over. “So, I’ve got to keep trying to contact…you
know. Him.” Spurred into action, I set the book down and pulled my rucksack
from under the desk. “It’s the least I can do for—”
“Aislin, like I said Saturday, you
are so going to regret this,” Deirdre said darkly.
“Bollocks.”
Enjoying the novelty of being decisive, I dug out my mobile. “What’s the harm, to make sure she got my message? Maybe my phone
numbers got a bit garbled.”
Deirdre shook her
head, her dark, glossy hair swinging round her shoulders. “So what if you meet up with him again, and
he turns out to be a loser…or even a gobshite?”
“He’s not the
sort,” I said without thinking.
“Well, people
change. But have you considered your worst case scenario?”
“Like what?”
Staring at my phone, I could feel my grand resolve weaken. I’d tons of reasons
for contacting him—I’d even made a list. What was I waiting for?
“Like…our man
could still be carrying the torch,” Deirdre said with a melodramatic air. “And
in his undying passion for you, he jumps on the next flight to Dublin .”
“As if.” My
stomach tightened at the very thought. “I can guarantee that the last time I
saw him, he’d dumped whatever torch he ever had for me.” If he’d had one at
all...
