Page 56 of The Apple Cider Orchard

A subtle shift had occurred between them since their rain-soaked conversation in the cider barn – a lowering of defenses, a tentative trust emerging from mutual vulnerability. It revealed itself in small ways – the ease with which they now stood together, the absence of the wariness that had characterized their early interactions, the way his eyes lingered on her face as they spoke.

‘How did the meeting go?’ she asked, keen to find out if her attempts might have helped at all.

‘Come on, you two!’ Before he could reply, Eva called from the doorway, her figure silhouetted against the twinkling lights outside. ‘They’re playing a jig, and I need witnesses to my legendary spinning skills.’ She smiled mischievously at Jack. ‘And a partner.’

He gestured toward the door with a slight incline of his head.

‘Will we?’ he asked Molly, his tone light but his eyes holding a question that seemed to extend far beyond the immediate invitation. She nodded, strangely nervous and excited all at once.

Jack’s gaze rested on her face. ‘And no work tonight – only play.’

Chapter 29

The square was now a wonderland of light and sound. Fairy lights strung between the lampposts twinkled against the deepening blue of the evening sky, while flickering candles in copper holders cast golden pools across the café tables that edged the impromptu cobblestone dance area in front of the fountain.

At the far end, the band occupied the makeshift stage – a handsome lead singer of about twenty with a guitar, and three other young men playing more traditional instruments with the tight synchronicity that obviously came from years of shared playing.

Molly breathed in the crisp evening air, laden with the mingled scents of woodsmoke and the ever-present sweet tang of apples that seemed to permeate every corner of this village. The temperature had dropped enough that her breath formed small clouds, yet the press of bodies and the warmth of excitement kept the chill at bay. The lively music washed over her in waves – the banjo soaring above the deeper throb of the bodhran, the guitar and fiddle weaving intricate patterns beneath.

Eva had already plunged into the thick of the dancers, her yellow bandana visible as she spun between partners with practiced ease. Her laugh carried across the square, infectious enough to draw smiles from onlookers. Around her, locals and visitors of all ages moved in the organized chaos – some with perfect precision born of decades of practice, others with the enthusiastic approximation of occasional participants.

‘The same jigs for hundreds of years,’ a voice observed beside her, and Molly turned to find Josie from the newsagents watching the scene with evident satisfaction. ‘The moves don’t change, just the people moving through them.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Molly replied, watching as an elderly couple executed a spin with the grace of long partnership, their movements slower than the younger dancers but perfectly synchronized.

‘You should give it a go yourself,’ Josie encouraged before being pulled away by another local.

Molly remained at the edge of the swirling activity, fingers tapping against her thigh in time with the music. Despite her enjoyment, she hesitated to join in. In New York, her dancing was limited to occasional club outings with friends or the formality of corporate event mingling.

The music shifted, the tempo increasing even more as the band launched into a particularly energetic jig. The dancers responded immediately with a cheer, their movements quickening to match the pace. Eva’s face glowed with exertion and joy as she linked arms with the pharmacist from the Glen Remedy, both laughing as they spun in perfect rhythm.

‘“The Siege of Ennis” not fast enough for you?’

The voice behind her sent a shiver down Molly’s spine that had nothing to do with the evening chill. She turned to find Jack standing closer than she’d expected, his expression transformed by a half-smile that softened the usual seriousness of his features. The festival lights caught in his dark eyes, reflecting golden pinpoints that made them appear unusually warm.

‘It looks … scary, actually,’ she replied, strangely flustered by his sudden proximity. ‘So fast. Yet everyone seems to know exactly what to do.’

‘Basic steps are simple enough,’ he said, his gaze moving from the dancers back to her face. ‘But the craic is in the more … creative interpretations.’

There was something different about him tonight – a true relaxation of the guardedness that typically surrounded him like invisible armor. Whether it was the festival atmosphere, a positive meeting at the bank, or perhaps the cider she’d seen him drinking earlier, Jack Flynn seemed more approachable now than at any time since she’d been here.

The current tune ended with a flourish, dancers laughing and catching their breath as they awaited the next. After a brief consultation among themselves, the band struck up a slower melody – still traditional in its lilting rhythm, but more forgiving in its pace.

‘Better,’ Jack observed, and to Molly’s astonishment, he extended his hand toward her. ‘Easier to learn with this one.’

The callouses on his palm revealed all those years of physical work, yet there was nothing rough about the gesture itself, which held a surprising gentleness.

‘I’m really not a very good dancer,’ Molly warned, even as her hand seemed to move of its own volition toward his.

‘Neither am I,’ he replied with unexpected humor. ‘We can be terrible together.’

Their hands met, his fingers closing around hers with careful warmth. The simple contact sent a current of awareness through Molly’s arm, heightening her senses until she could feel each point where their skin touched. His palm was warm despite the cool evening, the callouses creating a textured landscape against her smoother skin.

Jack led her toward the edge of the crowd, positioning them where they would have room to move without colliding with the more exuberant dancers. With a confidence that belied his earlier disclaimer, he placed his free hand lightly at her waist, creating a frame for the traditional waltz position.

‘Just follow my lead,’ he said, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned closer to be heard over the music. ‘It’s all in the rhythm.’

The melody pulled them forward and to Molly’s surprise, Jack moved with unexpected grace. His frame provided clear guidance, the subtle pressure of his hand at her waist telegraphing each turn before it happened. Despite his size and the physical strength she knew he possessed from orchard work, there was nothing heavy-handed in his lead – just gentle suggestion that made following him feel natural.