Soaring by Kristen Ashley

in his hometown and that was his prerogative.
    He wanted to be a firefighter so he made that work.
    That was commendable.
    But I hated the idea that he felt with the rest he had to take what he could get.
    I wanted him to be fulfilled. Happy. If not having it all (because who did?), at least having as much as he could get. Loving his family, his home, his job…his life .
    Not taking what he could get.
    “Hey, Miz Hathaway.”
    I turned at Aisling’s greeting and smiled when I caught her beautiful blue eyes.
    “Hey, blossom. Thanks again for all your help yesterday.”
    Mickey had not been wrong. She’d loved helping. She’d worked hard, this mostly being, as the stuff quickly disappeared, running around rearranging so the other items for sale would be attractively displayed and not looked picked over or like the dregs since the early birds got the good stuff. She also sold beverages, the goodies, and when each drink dispenser was purchased, she’d helped me empty them out and clean them up so they could go out the door.
    “No probs,” she repeated her brother’s words of earlier, moving into the kitchen and looking up to her father. “Want me to do the spinach?”
    “Closer to, beautiful,” he said softly, gazing at her the same way. “Make sure it’s fresh. Got a lot of grillin’ to do.”
    “’Kay, Dad,” she mumbled, shifting around him, eyes to the counter, eyes that assessed the situation immediately as she saw what Mickey had done, what needed to be done, and thus she left what was still needed while clearing away what no longer was.
    Yes, she was a good girl who liked to take care of her family and I liked that, thus I started to fall a little in love with quiet, sweet Aisling Donovan too.
    “Son, you wanna start the grill, get it ready for your dad?” Mickey offered.
    “Totally!” Cill accepted loudly.
    Mickey gave his grin to his boy. “Fire it up.”
    Cillian raced away.
    Mickey went to the fridge and came out with his own beer.
    When he turned, he caught my eyes. “Let’s move this outside.”
    “Sounds good,” I agreed.
    He reached out and nabbed a packet of tortilla chips that were sitting on the counter and said to Aisling, “Grab the guac from the fridge before you head out, yeah, darlin’?”
    “Yeah, Dad,” she replied.
    We went out and I saw that when Rhiannon left the furniture, she also left the patio furniture. Further, I noted this was an outdoor family.
    I knew this because there was a colossal shining grill against the side railing of the deck—a deck that spanned the living room and kitchen areas of the long house. Further, there was a four-seater, wrought iron table with umbrella and chairs that I knew would be comfortable because they had fluffy taupe cushions, high backs and they rocked. There were also two matching lounge chairs with matching cushions, angled toward the view of Mickey’s backyard, which was mostly trees. And last, there was a coordinating loveseat at the opposite end of the deck from the grill that had an ottoman in front of it and tables at each side.
    All this, and in the densely wooded backyard that had a narrow wedge of grass close to the deck, I saw a tire swing in a tree. There were Frisbees lying in the grass (three, to be precise). And to one side, what appeared to be a narrow baseball pitcher plate set up, beyond it a tall, wide net to catch pitched balls.
    I followed Mickey out but he went to the grill to survey Cillian’s activities.
    I decided on the table, where we could all sit, eat chips and guacamole, and chat.
    Mickey and Cillian joined me, Mickey opening the chips after he sat, tossing them on the table.
    Aisling came out with the guac, which was homemade, had the perfect hint of cilantro, a nice tang of garlic and minimum tomatoes, making it sublime (Mickey’s creation, which made me look forward to dinner). She also saw the chips, rolled her eyes at her father and went back in, coming out with a bowl in which she dumped the