The course of true love often has its twists and turns…

 

One can expect bumps in the road.

When they come, as they surely will,

 There will be help—

As Ireland is a land that believes in true love.

 

A heroine will remember the joys of loving,

 And learn to believe in happily ever after once again.

 

And the hero will forget his woes,

Only to remember he’s a Prince Charming,

If an unexpected one.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Nothing rocked Kathleen O’Connor’s world more than a girls’ trip.

Ireland’s rolling green hills zoomed by, dotted with soaring ancient stone ruins that made her heart trip. She nudged her best friend, Ellie Buchanan, who was singing off-key with Prince about partying in 1999. “OMG! It’s so freaking gorgeous I want to pinch myself!”

“And it never gets old,” Ellie replied as she navigated another death-defying narrow turn. “Some days I wake up and think, I must be on vacation.”

But Ellie lived here now, and so did Kathleen—for the next four months. Clenching the car’s grip handle, she reminded herself there was plenty of crazy driving back home in Boston. It didn’t ease her nerves as her friend zipped around another turn. “Promise me I’m going to get used to the driving. I didn’t expect it to be even crazier than back home! I mean, we have crazy drivers but not crazy roads and driving on the left. Jeez!”

Ellie laughed darkly and shot her a grin as she took another insane turn. They were at the end of the nearly three-hour car trip from Dublin airport to Caisleán. She could grit her teeth through this last bit. Of course, she’d been here once before, to visit Ellie, but it felt different now that she was coming to stay.

“You’re having way too much fun scaring the hell out of me, Ellie.”

“I’m keeping your mind occupied,” her friend shot back, her Southern accent making the words drip like pecan syrup on buttermilk waffles. “You’ve never been away from your family for longer than a few days. I know how big this is for you. You said your pop and all seven of your brothers about cried when you left after Easter dinner. That kills me.”

Seeing those crumpled male faces had made her sneak off to their ancient bathroom and mop her face so they wouldn’t see her crying. O’Connors weren’t criers. Still, as tough as Kathleen was, taking the bull by the horns and leaving Boston for the first time in her life had taken real courage.

Only the competitive artist residency she’d won through the Irish Arts Council could have lured her away from home—and even then, a big part of why she’d come was because Ellie was here. Being back with her best friend was going to be awesome. She’d missed her former roommate. “Pop and my brothers are so proud they could bust a button. They’ll handle it.”

Her family was as tight as they came, even more so after her mother had died when Kathleen was five. Her pop and her brothers had raised her tough, but they’d also given her wings. She planned to fly.

“It’s not just my residency. Pop is thrilled to have an O’Connor back in Ireland.”

Her parents’ ancestors had left this beautiful yet troubled place for a better life, landing at Ellis Island and settling in Boston, specifically Southie. As with so many Irish immigrants, tradition ran strong in her family. Their family pub, O’Connor’s, was considered one of the best Irish pubs in the city.

“You’ll have to pick your Irish dancing back up,” Ellie said with a grin. “I’ll bet you looked like a cutie pie in the outfit.”

“The wig itched, and it threw my timing off when I had to scratch.” She shuddered. All these years later, she could still feel the nylon wig. “I was booed at the St. Patrick’s Day parade one year. Of course, the guys who were doing it shut up after I threw a rock their way.”

“That’s why I love Southie.” Ellie laughed as she downshifted to take a crazy narrow turn, making Kathleen bite her lip. “No polite bullshit or backtalking. Everything is out in the open and in your face.”

Being a Southern girl, Ellie hadn’t experienced much of that directness in her childhood, so she’d embraced the rough honesty of Kathleen’s neighborhood. “Stop reminding me of home. You’ll make me tear up.”

“Wait! I’ll take your mind off it again. Hang on to your butt.”

Kathleen winced as her friend took another hairpin turn. They might as well have been careening down a fluorescent crazy straw. “Driving here isn’t for wimps. You’re doing pretty good for someone who’s only been here four months. I mean, you don’t even slow down when we come to a curve in the road.” Her knuckles might be white for days after this.

“I hear the censure in your voice. You get used to the curves and the speed. Out here along the Wild Atlantic Way, people usually lurch to a stop if they meet another car around a bend.”

“Then someone has to back up and find a place to pull over on the turnout,” Kathleen said, giving in to the urge to clutch both her seat belt and the handle as they thundered around another curve. “I’ve noticed. You and the Irish could teach the crazies in Boston something about driving, especially on the Pike.”

Ellie pointed an accusatory finger across the dashboard. “With Massachusetts having the highest car insurance rates in the States, I doubt that.”

“We don’t have ditches on either side of the road in Boston—or escaped animals. Only the breakdown lane.”

Her city girl was showing, and she knew it. She peeked out the window at the deep ditch to her left. They had obviously been designed to keep animals of all kinds—sheep and cows mostly but also horses and the cutest donkeys alive—from overtaking the road after clearing the aged aluminum wire fencing, sometimes barbed and downright gnarly.

As a metal sculptor, she knew her metal. She’d used barbed wire in her most acclaimed work to date—the Heartbreak Series. The knotted, twisted metal had perfectly showcased her theme. Love sucked when it was laced with betrayal, and damn it to hell, did it leave deep wounds. She was mostly over hers, but once bitten, twice shy.

An image of the man who’d most recently made her crazy came to mind—Declan McGrath. He’d popped into her mind several times since their insane, lust-inspired meeting on her last trip to Caisleán—at a reception at the Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Center, where she’d be working for the next several months.

Her knees had gone weak the minute she’d seen him standing against a wall, a whiskey in his large hand. He had an arrestingly handsome face framed by blue-black hair and a hard muscled body, dripping with attitude, the kind she never could ignore. She’d almost dropped her own whiskey, and her skin had sparked as though the wires on a car battery had touched.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight anymore. But one thing she did know—he fired up her senses like no man had since her ex, Axl. The rare feeling he induced tantalized her.

Apparently, he’d felt the same way because they’d launched themselves at each other and shared a kiss unlike any she’d ever experienced. If they’d been metal and not flesh, they’d have turned white hot, that rare temperature when heat becomes incandescent.

She’d railed over her impulsiveness after she’d left Ireland and finally come to the unassailable truth—they were combustible.

In her art, metal forged by that kind of heat was never the same again. People seemed to be the same way, and that had her thinking about him. More than might be wise since he was the twin brother of Ellie’s fiancé.

She looked out the window, wondering how she was going to feel when she saw Declan again. And how he would react when he saw her. Crazy thoughts, O’Connor.

Ellie drove past a pasture filled with the infamous spray-painted cows depicting words like Romance and Forever in blue, so she knew they were close to Caisleán.

She studied those giant lumbering cows with their romantic words. Whoever had painted them could write Valentine’s Day cards. Good for him, but she was past her romantic phase.

She’d only worn her heart on her sleeve once, and it had been a mistake—the devastating kind. She didn’t want to end up drowning in a puddle of her own tears again. She’d spent six years with Axl, dreaming about girly happily ever afters, only to discover he’d been cheating on her all along. Dickwad. She wasn’t going to be that screwy again.

Have fun. But play it safe. That was her new model.

The thought of enjoying Declan during her stay enticed her, but she’d have to keep hold of herself and not get swept away by the heat between them. If he was of the same mind… She couldn’t wait to find out. Shit. Butterflies fluttered in her tummy. She released her death grip on the seat belt and tried to calm them. Nerves over a boy? This early? Not okay.

“You’re thinking about Declan, aren’t you?” Ellie asked softly.

She looked over quickly at her friend and saw only quiet understanding on her face. “How did you know?”

“You got abnormally quiet. You’re clenching your hands. And your cheeks are flushed like you’re getting hot and bothered. He’s really gotten to you.”

She and Ellie shared everything, the way best friends should. “It’s still weird not knowing how he feels, and it’s even weirder since you’re marrying his brother.”

“I don’t think it’s weird. I like Declan a lot. He’s had his heartbreak and then some, so you’re both in the same boat, so to speak. As for how he feels… Brady thinks he’s been in a dark mood lately. Liam says he’s abnormally sullen, and he’s one of Declan’s longtime friends, so he’d know. I don’t have the same scope, but sullen is a good word. He storms around Summercrest Manor and slams doors.”

Sullen was interesting, God help her. “You still like living at Summercrest with the boys?”

“Yes, until Brady and I can figure out a more private living situation. There’s a terrible shortage of houses and rentals, and most of the ones that are available have the damp or need more renovations than I want to handle. The county council is really strict about granting more planning permission for new houses, and it doesn’t allow outside labor. Daddy’s trying to figure out a plan.”

And he would. Lincoln Buchanan was a force of nature. “How is Papa Linc?”

“Good, although he’s traveling right now. But we’re digressing… Back to Declan.”

“I told you my plan.” Kathleen unclenched her hands and placed them on her thighs. “I’m going to play it cool. See how he acts. I don’t have the time to deal with a sullen Irishman, regardless of how attracted I am to him.”

“I’m glad you didn’t use past tense.”

“I know myself too well for that.” Kathleen had worked hard to be attuned to her emotions, especially after her mother died. As an artist, she had more to say because of it.

“That’s one of the many reasons why I love you,” Ellie said, warmth in her voice. “By the way, if you look across the pasture, you’ll see our girl.”

Kathleen turned her head to the right and couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh as she beheld the killer orange and red sunset illuminating the Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Center on the majestic green hills. “My God, it’s beautiful. You did good, giving it a million smackeroos.”

Her very rich friend snorted. “Thank you,” she said dryly. “Becoming a public benefactor has been a little weird, but considering the kinds of additions the center can make now—as well as the independence it’s gained—I’m glad I did.”

Ellie had spent most of her adulthood concealing that she was an heiress, the daughter of the billionaire king of windows, Lincoln Buchanan. In the beginning of their friendship, she’d hidden it even from Kathleen. Of course, Kathleen didn’t care how much money anyone had. People were either good or they weren’t. How light or heavy their pocketbook was didn’t factor into her estimation of them unless they acted like it made them better than others.

But Ellie had been burned before, burdened with a mother who only wanted money, first from Ellie’s father and then from her, and a deadbeat ex-fiancé who’d happily jilted her for a payout. “I’m glad it’s out in the open for you, but if someone steps wrong, I’ve got your back.”

“Appreciated.”

As they zoomed along the paved road leading to the center’s parking lot, her hands began to sweat. “Is that my studio out back?”

“Shed, in Irish. Newly constructed by Liam and a few others. I hope you like it.”

The dull gray aluminum shed around back might look ugly as a cracked sidewalk to some, but to her it was heaven. “It’s a wicked pissah.”

Ellie coughed out a laugh. “God, I’ve missed that one. People around here say ‘class’ for awesome.”

She’d have to learn the lingo, but that could wait. That shed was all hers, and she planned to use it to create a metal sculpture so evocative, so wicked, it was guaranteed to rock the art world.

As soon as Ellie pulled her car to a stop in the empty lot, Kathleen threw open the door and embraced the fragrant spring breeze rushing over her face…or that was the idea. She coughed as the smell hit her nose. “Jesus! What is that?”

“Welcome to the land of forever beauty and sometimes ordure. Someone just slurried their fields. Ugh! I’m going to gag.”

She lifted her shirt over her nose. “Slurry what?”

“They put cow shit in a blue tank, fill it with water, and spray it everywhere.” Ellie covered her nose with her hand as well. “Those wavy grasses don’t happen without a little TLC.”

“God, don’t say any more. Let me enjoy my moment minus the smell. Dammit, I’m going to kill it here.”

“Yeah, you are,” her friend said, grinning at her. “I’m so glad you’re here. Even though we’ve been talking every day, it’s not the same as when we lived together in Boston.”

Those days were over, and they both knew it. Ellie would be staying here in Caisleán —she was getting married—but their friendship would never change. Some people were like that. From the moment Kathleen had met Ellie to interview her as a roommate, she’d felt like she’d known her forever. They were sisters all the way and always would be.

“We’re going to have a blast here. I’m so psyched.” She shimmied her hips to celebrate but kept her nose covered. She must look like an idiot. She dropped it and tried not to inhale.

“Come on,” Ellie said, toughening up too and taking her hand. “I’ll show you the shed. Not that there’s much to check out yet. You’ll see what I mean.”

They walked around the three-story white building that had been originally built as a massive house. Everyone in Caisleán knew the story—after his wife had died tragically young, Carrick Fitzgerald had built her dream house as part of the grieving process. Then he’d donated it to the town to be used as the arts center.

The large picture windows gleamed, and through the ones on the first floor, she could see the painting studio where Carrick’s new wife worked and taught. She’d already met both Angie and her sister, Megan, a potter who taught at the center. They were both from the States. As was the director of the center, Betsy O’Hanlon, whom everyone called Bets. Ellie’s fiancé said it was an American invasion in the best way. Kathleen was excited to be a part of it.

The mowed grass around the center was damp and gave under her feet as she walked next to Ellie. The shed was a short distance away from the main center—a mindful choice that had been made both for fire safety considerations and because of the noise of her tools.

Ellie tugged on the metal door, grunting like an old man, and Kathleen nudged her aside. “You stained glass artists have no muscle.”

She pulled the heavy door open, pleased it was well oiled. Her eyes squinted to make out the dark interior of the shed before Ellie flicked on the overhead lights. The concrete floor was still white and pristine, but that was all.

“It’s empty.”

“The items you wanted haven’t been delivered yet,” Ellie said with a hefty sigh. “I was hoping they’d arrive this afternoon. Bets has been at them for days now. One thing about Ireland: stuff doesn’t always run on time, and Customs can be a bitch.”

Kathleen had done her best to select equipment from Ireland, but some of her most specialized tools—like her English wheel, plasma cutter, grinder, and Pullmax metal shaper—came from suppliers in Sweden and Germany.

She’d planned on starting tomorrow. Unlike the other residents, she wouldn’t be teaching. Her entire time here would be devoted to making her sculpture, and she needed every minute of it. She lifted her chin and told herself to suck it up. “It’ll show up. I’m not letting this get me down.”

“Your design is awesome! I can’t wait to watch it unfold. I might even bring some of my stuff out here and work alongside you so we can talk as we go.”

Kathleen swung her arm around her friend’s waist. “That would be nice. We didn’t have enough space for that in our art studio back in Southie.”

No, in their converted warehouse studio for nearly twenty artists, they’d had only a small dedicated space apiece, although Kathleen had shared the machine shop with a few other artists.

Here she wouldn’t have to share at all, and everything was brand new, courtesy of both her residency as well as Ellie’s donation to the center. The arts center had put forth half the money for the shed and supplies, hoping to bring in more metal artists in the future.

Instead of kissing the concrete floor in sheer happiness, Kathleen gave in to the urge to do a little jig from her Irish dancing days and laughed at herself for being so out of practice.

“I’ll tell Brady we’ve got tonight’s entertainment at the bar covered,” Ellie said with a grin, joining in. “If we’re lucky, the Lucky Charms will invite us to dance with them at the pub when they put Bon Jovi on.”

“I’ve only seen the videos you’ve sent of Bets and her girlfriends dancing. I love that they’ve added you and Angie to the mix. Man, I want to be dancing like that when I’m sixty.”

“Me too! It’s totally cool. Brady loves watching me, and I’ll bet someone he shared a womb with will love watching you.”

She didn’t need to say Declan’s name. Kathleen’s skin tightened thinking about having his eyes on her as she moved her body. God, she was getting hot.

Her phone bleeped then, signaling a text. Good. It would be her oldest brother. Hearing from him would be like taking a cold shower.

“Five euros it’s Billie,” Ellie said with a wink. “He won’t be able to give a car his complete attention until he knows you didn’t die in a plane crash. I’ve never heard anyone bitch and moan about airplane crashes as much as he does. He only thinks cars are safe, which makes sense since he’s a mechanic.”

“Except Robbie always reminds him how many car accidents there are a year.” Kathleen shook her head. “It’s gonna be Robbie. He got my brothers to agree he’d be the main point of contact so they don’t text me all the time.”

“You’re kidding! Robbie is the best older brother ever.”

“Until he starts driving me crazy. He never stops thinking like a cop. Did you know he wanted to have my address, the center’s address, the names of the people I’ll be spending the most time with, and the make and model of my rental car? I swear, he was planning to look everyone up. Meanwhile, he and my other brothers keep teasing me about falling into the fairy world. They don’t want to admit how much they’re going to miss me.”

“From my experience, that’s the Irish way too. They’re crazy superstitious, and they talk about bad luck and death all the time. You’ll see, but I know one thing. You’re going to fit right in.”

“I don’t doubt it. I felt the pull of my Irish roots when I came last time.”

The Irish had different accents and used different words. They certainly dressed differently, and God knew this place was remote as hell. She’d never seen a real cow or sheep before coming here—only a horse, and even then, it had been a police horse. But she still felt a thread of familiarity with the people and knew it to be the bond of Irish heritage. It was a wicked pissah.

Her phone bleeped again, and she pulled it out and held it up for her friend. “Yep. It’s Robbie.”

 

You alive? I’ve got a salvage boat ready to come after you if you’re on some flimsy inflatable raft in the middle of the Atlantic.

 

Typical snarky message. She teared up as she replied.

 

The raft wasn’t too bad, but I had to pay for those little liquor bottles like we’d get at a packie. I’m at my shed, well away from the ocean. It’s magic.

 

He texted her back instantly.

 

Seen a leprechaun yet? If you do, knock him out at the knees like I taught you, put him in a box, and ship him back to Southie. We need a short guy with a pot of gold around here. Send pics of the shed. I’ll tell Pop and the rest you enjoyed the raft as a bad April Fool’s joke. Love ya.

 

She had to swipe her eyes with the sleeve of her black coat. “He’s such a moron.”

“Your brothers are the best,” Ellie said, hugging her. “I’m still proud y’all adopted me. I told Brady he’s going to have to meet them, especially since he also runs the family bar like your brother does.”

“Pop and a few others might come to Ireland someday—”

“What if I flew them over for my wedding?” Ellie asked, lifting her brow.

Kathleen knew where this was going and made a face. Ellie and Brady hadn’t set a date yet, so they had time to figure everything out. “You know how proud we O’Connors are. We make our way. They’ll want to be there for you—”

“But it’s expensive.” Ellie heaved out a breath. “All right. We’ll talk about it later. Is it time for a drink?”

Kathleen gave another dance. “God, yes!”

“I’ll tell you right now… The entire village is showing up at the pub to welcome you. If we were back in our old neighborhood, I’d called it a rippah. Hope you’re not too jet-lagged.”

Like her family always said, You can sleep when you’re dead. “Your Boston accent still needs work, but bottom line: I can handle a big party.” They linked arms and headed back to the car. “Damn, but it’s good to be back together.”

“You bet it is! Let’s head over to my sweetie pie’s pub and get this party started.”

She took a last look at her shed and then followed Ellie to the car. When they arrived in the mostly full lot, Kathleen couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the pub. Or, more specifically, the sight of her best friend’s new stained glass window over the front door of the Brazen Donkey.

“Your pictures didn’t do it justice, babe. Oh my God!”

Her brilliant design was a colorful, cheeky depiction of the pub’s name. A floppy-eared donkey stood in profile in front of a whiskey barrel, which he was peeking into with obvious delight. The design was captivating, not kitschy. Because seriously—a stained glass donkey? Typically, the only time art elevated that animal was in nativity scenes.

“You struck the perfect balance between the old and the new.”

Art was all about creating something universal—classic, even—while making it unique and timeless.

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

Ellie was still getting used to praise, so Kathleen let her off the hook, her job done. “Got a verdict yet about whether Brady’s pub is better than O’Connor’s?”

Her family’s Irish pub in Boston kicked butt, only it wasn’t on the so-called hallowed ground of Ireland. Legend, she’d read on the flight over, boasted that the whiskey and beer tasted as if the angels and fairies themselves had crafted them.

Ellie made a face. “My current answer is that they’re different in the best ways—like an apple and a pear. I love both.”

“Brady and my brother can’t take offense at that answer,” she said with a laugh. “One thing is for sure. I plan to do my own form of study. I can already taste my Guinness. Before we get to that, I have to tell you again—your window, babe, is a real wicked pissah.”

“I think so too.”

Kathleen glanced down the small main street of Caisleán, with its brightly colored stores and shining windows. The town was downright cute but tiny as hell. It didn’t even boast a stoplight, only one of those roundabouts filled with a large circular planter overflowing with red tulips and yellow daffodils. “There’s no garbage on the street like there is back home.”

“Or broken glass. You don’t need to clutch your purse or make a beeline down the street.”

“No bad boys congregating on the corners…”

She broke off as she caught sight of one particular bad boy exiting a shop across the street.

Declan McGrath.

Her body instantly sizzled with heat as she watched him stride purposefully toward them. His edge, his reserve, and his flat-out hotness rocked her back. Their eyes locked, and she swore his mouth curved to the right.

“Oh, boy, here we go.” Ellie waved him over like they were in junior high. “Hey, Declan! Look who I’ve got.”

“Cut it out,” she hissed. “You’re going to make this weird.”

“I can’t help it,” her friend whispered back. “I saw how he looked at you and then how you looked at him and… Whoa! You two! I’m going inside. You’ll do better without me.”

Kathleen couldn’t agree more—her friend’s face was blushing three shades of red. “Go.”

“Tell him I had to pee after the trip from Dublin,” Ellie said in an undertone as she ran to the front door.

“Why are you still standing here?” Declan called out as he came closer. “Didn’t you want to run inside too? I’ve never seen Ellie run away like that. Looks like she was getting out of the way.”

Busted.

Her skin turned hot under her clothes despite the spring breeze as he took her in from head to toe. She planted her feet, knowing she’d need her balance as she gave him the same treatment.

Lordy, his looks should be illegal. Midnight black hair. Blow-torch-blue-flame eyes. A rock-solid jaw. Hell, everything he sported was rock solid—from his shoulders to his hips to his legs. Declan was built and tall and as tough as they came.

She cocked her hip, knowing how to handle boys like this. “I wanted to admire my best friend’s window a little more. Ellie raced inside to tell everyone we’d arrived. I hope no one’s jumping out of a cake.”

His brows slammed together. “Cake?”

“Apparently there’s a party brewing,” she explained.

“To welcome you, yes.” He ate up the remaining distance between them, all badass male in a brown leather bomber jacket, faded jeans, and workman boots nicked with wear.

Come to mama.

He touched her short brown curls the moment he was near, sending off a shower of invisible sparks along her skin. “Your hair looks even shorter than last time.”

She made herself knock his hand away. “I just got it cut. You got some problem with my head, Ace?”

God, they might as well be kids back in her neighborhood. No one passed notes asking if someone liked you with a box to check. When you had it bad for a boy, you kicked him in the shin or threw a rock at him on the playground to get his attention. He pulled your hair and chased you around the school. Then you teased each other until he grabbed you in kiss tag and planted one on you. After that, you went steady.

“No problem. Only commenting.” Declan’s wicked mouth curved as he raked her with another lusty gaze.

She cocked her hip, bringing his amused eyes back to hers. Yes, he was as delighted with their game as she was. Her belly went liquid with heat. “What’s got you working so late on a Friday night?”

“Ordering, Kathleen. My boss has turned that task over to me and ruined my life.”

She had to lock her knees at the way he said her name in his Irish accent. He might as well have lit a trail of gunpowder inside her. “Ruined your life, huh?” She tried and failed to contain her smile. “If it’s ruined, fix it. Only you can, you know.”

He snorted. “I already live with Yoda, in the way of Liam O’Hanlon, who has turned the dungeon at Summercrest Manor into a meditation room, God help me.”

“Oh, you’ve got it so tough, Ace, living in an old place like that.” When she’d visited Ellie, she’d had to hold in her sighs at its beauty.

“It’s a grand place, for sure, and I have a grand living as well, but a man can vent, can’t he? Or don’t they do that back in Boston?”

“They do. I’m sure you’ll figure things out.” She gestured to their family’s pub. “Your brother did when he finally got to take over the Brazen Donkey from your dad.”

“He did at that, and with much help from his one true love.” He pointed to the window over the front door. “People have been coming to Caisleán to see her design. Not that the pub needed the advertising, but it’s brought new fame to the Brazen Donkey. She’s got one hell of a gift, that Ellie Buchanan.”

“She does indeed,” Kathleen agreed. “She’s been killing it.”

“I imagine you’ll do the same,” Declan said, shifting on his feet. “With Ellie as your herald, everyone in town is high on you.”

And you? she wanted to ask. She waited a beat. He met her gaze with pure potency.

“That’s nice. It’s always good to have friends, especially in a new place.”

“You certainly have that. And more.”

The word more lingered in the air, like a piece of paper waiting to catch fire from the sparks going up between them.

She poked first. “Lucky you happened to come along right as I pulled up. I’m guessing that was your butcher shop you left?”

He inclined his gorgeous chin in acknowledgment. “That’s right. It’s called the Last Chop.”

From the vantage point of the shop’s front window, he’d be able to see the lot of the pub. Could Declan have been waiting for her? “That’s a funny name.”

She made a slicing motion with her hand. Giddy like a schoolgirl because a boy she admired liked her, she started laughing.

He joined in, his laughter a rough rumble of sound, before saying, “I find it pretty amusing myself, but I’m told I have a dark sense of humor, even by the Irish.”

“I don’t mind dark.”

“Good to know.” He held her eyes again.

She waited another moment. Wasn’t it weird they were talking this much? Especially when there were a bunch of people inside waiting to welcome her? Surely he was still standing here because he wanted to flirt. But did he want it to go beyond flirting?

Time to find out. She patted his broad, muscular chest. “I should probably head inside. You want to buy me my first true Irish beer?”

The silence between them grew again, charged with power. Dammit, he knew how to draw things out. He started to smile, holding her gaze still. Oh, he was working it.

Answer me. She poked at his chest when he didn’t budge. She wasn’t going to draw this out forever. “Forget it! I can buy my own damn beer.”

As she brushed past him, he closed a hand around her wrist, the touch shocking her nerve endings. “Now wait just a moment—”

“Kathleen O’Connor!” a male voice shouted from the pub’s front door. “You’re wanted inside.”

She didn’t need to pull her arm away. Declan dropped his hold instantly, but her flesh still sizzled. Wishing she could take a deep, cleansing breath, she gave her full attention to the ninety-three-year-old man bustling toward her. She’d met him on her last trip and had fallen totally in love with him. He had the soul of an artist, although he’d only begun to put it into practice recently.

“Eoghan O’Dwyer! You look even more handsome than you did when I last saw you.”

He gave her a cheeky wink as she kissed his weathered cheek. “Thank you, my dear. You’re as welcome to these eyes as a fine whiskey on a cold day. Ellie said you were coming along, but now I see the way of things. Is this one bothering you?”

Declan glowered. “We were having a chat, is all, you old codger. When did that become illegal in this country?”

She laughed, delighted Declan seemed put out by the interruption. She wondered if Ellie had sent Eoghan out. She’d have to ask her friend later. “He’s not bothering me. Much.”

Declan gave a rude snort.

“I’m kidding, Eoghan. Ace here and I were shooting the breeze and talking about Ellie’s window. I’d seen pictures but—”

“The real thing looks as if it were created by angels themselves,” Eoghan said with a sigh. “I can’t wait until I can make a window such as hers.”

“First pottery and now stained glass,” Declan said, shaking his head ruefully. “Eoghan, you’ll have to live another few decades to master it all.”

Eoghan fitted his hand through her arm in the way of an old gentleman. “Who says I won’t, Declan McGrath? I feel younger every day. Now then. Come inside, Kathleen, and have a drink. I’m buying your first round.”

Declan caught her gaze. His shrug seemed to suggest he wouldn’t object.

The butterflies in Kathleen’s tummy fell to the ground in disappointment. Still, she bucked up and said, “You coming, Ace?”

His blue eyes fired with heat, the long scorching kind a guy gave to a girl to make sure she understood him. “I’ll catch up with you. I need to make a call.”

She took Eoghan’s arm more firmly as they walked to the front door of the Brazen Donkey. She was ready to party.

Declan McGrath might have taken a step back, but he wasn’t immune to her.

Not one bit.

 

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