“Love sounds different when whispered in two languages.”
Eight months flew by as fast as the fiddle in "Toss the Feathers." The Dublin-Munich bridge had now become a well-traveled route. Patricia had returned to Ireland several times, and Cathal had even visited Bavaria, where he awkwardly but bravely faced Patricia's quiet father and inquisitive mother.
Their relationship had grown beyond the magic of their first meetings. Now, it was woven from the small things: phone calls during lunch breaks, silly photos sent to each other, and the comfort of being able to sit in silence together without needing to say a word. Patricia was no longer just "the teacher from Germany," and Cathal was no longer "The Corrs' nephew." They were Pat and Cal.
One weekend during a bright spring—a miracle in Ireland—Cathal took Patricia for a drive. "There's a place I want to show you," he said, and Patricia noticed a slight nervous tremor in his voice.
They drove north, leaving Dublin behind, towards County Louth. Cathal was quieter than usual during the drive, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Patricia could sense his restlessness, but she didn't ask, simply accompanying him in the anticipatory silence.
Finally, they arrived at a small, hidden bay, with a sandy beach flanked by rugged black rocks. The sea wind blew strong, carrying the scent of salt, and the cry of seagulls broke the silence. The place felt wild, ancient, and breathtakingly beautiful.
"Wow," Patricia whispered.
"My grandparents used to bring us here when we were little," Cathal said, his eyes gazing out at the grey sea. "Before everything got... busy. This is our family's 'secret' place."