Mismatched (21 page)

I watch him carefully, but he has a poker face; his expression gives nothing away.

“Okay, well, leave it with me. I’ll contact Padraig Flanagan’s grandson and explain the offer and get back to you as soon as he gives me his answer.” He’s gazing at the photos of the bar, his nose scrunched ever so slightly.

I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help but add, sadly. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s my home.”

He looks up and smiles reassuringly.

Ridlee continues. “So, here are all the documents pertaining to the business and the apartment attached to it. Obviously, as the boy’s attorney, the responsibility of due diligence lies with you, Mr. O’Mooney. I look forward to hearing from you.” Ridlee uses the clipped tone she reserves for when she’s being all legal an’ shit. I have to bite my lip so I don’t break out in a huge smile.

After receiving Mr. O’Mooney’s assurances that he’ll get right on the matter, we walk out of the solicitor’s office, all nonchalant. “Pub, pub, pub, pub, pub, pub, pub,” I sing-song, hooking my arm through Ridlee’s and guiding her toward the nearest public house.

“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.”

“I promise I won’t.”

I shrug, kind of sad now that I realize he’s a genuine nice guy. “Then what’s the point? Aren’t we just going to make it harder for me to go?”

“I hope not. I just felt as though I owed ye an explanation for my behavior last night and ye’d make me feel a lot better if ye’d let me take you out for a meal.”

I should say no, but my heart is just not going to let that happen. “Fine. Just let me run upstairs and get changed.” And totally redo my hair and makeup while I’m at it. I don’t say that part, because I don’t want him thinking I’m high maintenance.

“Take yer time. I’ll be here.” He sits back down and picks up a knitting magazine that rests near his chair, folding a leg over as he turns the first page.

I race up the stairs, trying but failing to not sound like a herd of elephants. I burst into the door of our room and start throwing things around, trying to find my makeup case and a pair of boots that don’t suck.

“What the hell, Rid?” says a whiny Erin. “People are trying to sleep around here.”

“Sorry, but I have a date and I have to get ready. Where are my Burberry ankle booties? Have you seen them?”

Erin sits up and stares at me, her hair a complete wreck. “What’d I miss?”

I throw my covers over to the other side of the bed. “Donal is downstairs and he wants to take me to dinner.”

She tilts her head at me. “Did you go down there already?”

“Yes.” I freeze at her troubled expression. “Why?”

 
“Take a look in the mirror and then ask me that question.”

My eyes widen in horror as she starts to laugh. I dash into the bathroom and nearly scream out loud at my reflection. Angry at myself for being so stupid, I put my hair up with a band and scrub all the leaky mascara and smudged lipstick off my face. Talk about a horror show. How that man found it within his heart to ask me out when I sat across from him looking like a deranged circus clown, I’ll never know. Maybe he needs glasses. Either that or he’s the nicest man alive and I should probably propose to him before someone else snatches him up.

Erin comes into the bathroom and leans on the inside of the door. “So, you’ve got a hot date, eh?”

“No, not hot. He and I discussed things.” I start applying my makeup with hurried, jerky motions as I explain. “We both know this is going nowhere and he’s just taking me out to apologize for being a putz last night.”

“A putz, huh? You actually failed to mention that for some reason. I wonder why.”

I throw a washcloth at her. “Shut up. Like I wanted to rain on your orgasm parade last night. What kind of friend would I be if I did that?”

“No one had any orgasms last night.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean. You’re all gaga over Michaél and I didn’t want to spoil the mood. It wasn’t a big deal, anyway. He’s just not a fan of the cliffs, and tonight he’s going to tell me why.”

“How come? I mean, if this
thing
between you isn’t a
thing
, why bother?”

I pause the applying of mascara to shrug. “I have no idea. But I’m not going to fight it. He’s hot, he’s into me, and I’m leaving in a few days. What could possibly go wrong?”

Erin rolls her eyes. “I’m the wrong person to ask.” She leaves me alone in the bathroom.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I yell out after her, but I get no response.

“Whatever,” I mumble to myself. I need to wrestle this hair into something resembling a ‘do before Donal gets so tired of waiting he leaves me behind again.

Ten minutes later and I’m there. Erin has laid out the perfect outfit for me on my bed. I force her to sit up in her bed and hug me.

“I’m totally sick to my stomach right now,” she says.

I let her lie back down. “Me too. I’m hoping some hair of the dog will help me get through it.”

“Beware the hair of the Guinness dog, that’s all I’m saying.” She rolls over onto her side, turning her back to me.

I rest my hand on her hip. “You going to be okay alone tonight?”

“Me? Alone?” Her eyes are closed and her voice is fading. “I have Mrs. O’Grady and her pet cemetery cat to keep me company. What more … could a girl…” She snores the rest of her thought out.

I’m dressed, perfumed, and ready to go less than five minutes later. Donal stands and comes to the bottom of the stairs as I reach the foyer below.

“Ye look very pretty.” He holds out his hand for mine, making me feel like some sort of princess as I descend the last step.

“Thank you. You do too.”

He leads me from the foyer to the front door.

“Goodnight, Mrs. O’Grady. See you before eleven!”

“Goodnight, deary! Have a nice time!”

Donal is driving a truck that looks like it’s been zapped by a shrink-ray. There’s room for the two of us in the front and maybe a couple cases of beer in the back. I hold my laughter in, knowing that to laugh at a man’s truck in any country is to call his masculinity into question.

He opens the door for me and shuts me in once I’m settled, and we drive to the bar in silence. I want to fill the awkward space with words, but nothing will come to mind; nothing that doesn’t sound trite or full of emptiness, anyway. Why do I feel like I need to confess the secrets I hold in my soul when I’m next to him? It makes no sense, so my default reaction is to do nothing at all.

The meal is delicious. Fish and chips that according to Donal are the very best available outside of England. We both sit back with a pint of beer when it’s all over and smile at one another.

“Care for a dessert?” he asks. “I’d be happy to share.”

“Share? Please. I don’t share sugar.”