“What? A bar? It’s not even lunchtime,” she protests.
“We need to celebrate!” I exclaim, no longer able to contain my excitement. “You were awesome, Rid! Did you see his face? He totally bought it! The pub will be mine, all mine! Woh-ha-ha-ha-ha!” I do my Count from Sesame Street laugh for effect.
“Whoa there, girl!” cautions my friend. “Don’t go counting your chickens before they hatch.”
I don’t care what she says; I have a good feeling about this.
We walk into the pub and up to the bar. “A bottle of your finest champagne, my good man,” I say to the barman, who looks at us quizzically but gets us the bottle anyway.
“Celebrating, ladies?” he asks, smiling. We’re the only ones in the pub apart from some old codger at the end of the bar who looks like he might be a permanent fixture.
“Might be,” I say seriously, looking at Ridlee as the barman pours us a glass each. The champagne bubbles and fizzes and we put our pinkies on the rims to stop the glasses from overflowing.
She meets my eye and winks. We both burst out laughing and clink glasses.
“The Pot O Gold!”
“The Pots O Gold!” she corrects me. “And to five-year plans.”
“I’ll drink to that, Rid.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
RIDLEE
I’M DEAD ASLEEP WHEN THERE’S a knock at our door at five thirty in the evening. I moan with the daytime hangover I’m suffering after overdoing it in the pub with our little celebration. I now know that champagne and Guinness do not mix well at all, especially when there aren’t twelve hours after the imbibing to sleep it off.
Mrs. O’Grady has helped herself and opened the door, stepping inside the room. “Sorry to bother you, girlies, but there’s a young man at the door who says he’d like a word with young Ridlee.”
Erin’s voice comes out sounding slurred. It could be because of all the drinks she had or the fact that her face is buried in her pillow. “You got this, Rid. I’ll wait right here. Keep an eye on things.”
I sit up, trying to blink myself back into the land of the sober. “You said someone’s outside for me?”
“Outside? Now what kind of host would I be if I left my visitors out on the front door stoop in the rain?” She leaves without further explanation, muttering to herself, probably about what an asshole I am.
I look around, wondering if I’m just dreaming. The door is open and I can hear the old woman clomping down the stairs. She offers someone a cup of tea. I must not be dreaming, because who the hell would be here to see me? Did I set something up in the bar and completely forget? Is this one of those alcoholic blackouts I’ve read about?
I stand and yawn, checking my breath in the palm of my hand. Woof. Not good. But since I won’t be kissing this stranger, whoever he is, I’m not going to worry about it. I wander down the stairs, checking the corners of my eyes for evidence of my lazy day. My hair feels fine, so the lack of a mirror doesn’t overly stress me out.
I freeze when I enter the living room. I’d been expecting a messenger from the lawyer’s office or some random guy from a bar, not Donal; certainly not a freshly showered and very well-dressed Donal. I think about reversing out of the room and tearing back up the stairs to fix my face, but it’s too late. He sees me and smiles.
“Ridlee. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Here you go, young man. A nice black tea to put some more hair on your chest.” Mrs. O’Grady comes into the room, brushing against me and knocking me sideways in her eagerness to deliver the beverage.
She hands him a cup and saucer and looks at me, unblinking. “Shall I pour you a cup as well?”
“Uhhh, I think I’ll pass on the chest hair, actually.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen should you need anything.” She gives me a look that I think means she intends to act as my chaperone when she passes by. I can’t help but roll my eyes. I look up and catch Donal smiling. He takes a sip of the tea, watching me over the rim.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. Yes, it’s a defensive body language thing, but since I’m feeling pretty defensive, it’s perfect.
He sits down, putting the tea on the table in front of him. I can’t help but notice how his thick thighs strain the material of his jeans. Wowza.
“I came for two reasons, actually. I came first to apologize, and second to ask ye if I could take ye to the pub for dinner.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, searching for the answer that could override my immediate reaction which is to jump into his lap and force him to deal with my hangover breath.
His expression goes awkward. “I can see that ye’re still sore at me for what I said and did last night, and I don’t blame ye. In fact, I don’t expect to be forgiven, but I figured if I didn’t bother to ask, I’d never know for certain.”
He sounds so damn polite, I can’t just keep on giving him the icy bitch treatment. My butt finds a seat as I watch him for clues about what he really wants. Is this all about getting me in bed? He’s pretty smooth about it if it is. On the surface, he really seems to be here to make his earlier transgressions up to me, but does any man just do that without ulterior motives? Not in my experience.
I shrug. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about me forgiving you. It’s not like you’ll ever see me again after this week. But if it makes you feel better, fine. I forgive you.” I look towards the stairs, wondering if I should just make this easier for us and get up and go.
“You’re leaving so soon?” He sounds sad enough that I look back over at him and abandon my plans to disappear up to my bedroom so quickly.
“We’re just waiting to hear back from this lawyer … I mean, solicitor guy. Mr. O’Mooney and then we’ll be outta here.”
He nods. “I know him. You have business dealings with him?”
“That’s why we’re here. Some stuff for Erin. Once it’s done, we’re leaving.”
He gives me a sad smile. “And ye wouldn’t consider staying a wee bit longer for a bit o’ sightseeing?”
“Are you offering to be my guide?” My heart is beating really fast and I feel a flush coming up my neck. This is the guy who blew me off last night and abandoned me on the cliffs. I should be telling him where to get off, but instead, I kind of feel like swooning. Maybe it’s the Guinness talking. I can’t be sure.
“Might be.” He lifts his cup of tea and takes a sip. Somehow he makes what should be an effeminate thing look sexy and rogue-like.
I sigh. It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s just not any kind of possible reality for me. I decide to just let it all hang out, putting my hands on my legs to steady myself. “Listen, Donal, I’m into you. I’m not going to pretend like I’m not. But the fact is that I’m a lawyer with a really good job who lives back in Boston, and I’ll be leaving here by the end of the week to get back to my life there. So I don’t see the point in making my departure any more difficult than it’s already going to be where you’re concerned.”
He puts his teacup down. “I understand. And I’d never want to put any pressure on ye.” He stands. “But if ye’re up for it, I’d still like to take ye to dinner.”
“Will you try to convince me to stay? Because I don’t want you to think that’s possible.”