Rendered speechless by his confession, I’m unsure of how to respond. I’m simultaneously thrilled and confused.
Because this doesn’t feel real, I blurt out, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“What?” he asks, looking perplexed. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m just making sure that the alcohol isn’t influencing you right now. People say and do things they’ll regret later when they’re under the influence. I would know…” I say, pointing a finger at my chest.
He gives me a sardonic look and says, “Lass, I’m perfectly sober. And I’m perfectly serious. I’d like for us to get to know each other better. If you’re okay with that, of course.”
I look down at my hands which are tracing the condensation on the pint glass in front of me as I contemplate his request. My mind wars back and forth between what my heartwantsto do and what my past trauma is trying to convince me Ishoulddo. I’ve spent the last several years letting my fears dictate my life, and for the first time, that voice isn’t the loudest noise in my head. “Yeah, I’m definitely okay with that.”
Eamon beams at me, and I can’t help but return a smile of my own.
“So how does this work?” I ask nervously.
He tilts his head to the side questioningly, “Surely you’ve dated before…”
“Um…” I look back down at my hands. “I’ve gone out a time or two, but it was just for a drink and nothing more.”
He’s staring at me in disbelief. “You’re joking. How is that possible for someone as lovely as you?”
I hesitate, knowing this is where things get tricky. How do I tell him that I’ve shied away from men because I was raped as a teenager? That’s not exactly something you work into casual conversation.
“I, uh, it’s kind of a long story…”
“It’s okay, Norah,” he says gently. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But to answer your question, why don’t we start out just talking and spending more time together? Preferably not while washing dishes for Paddy.”
He winks, and I let out a snort of amusement. “Alright. I think I can manage that.”
We spend the next hour or so talking about anything and everything. We start simple with favorite colors and bands, followed by birthdays and hometowns. I’m getting ready to ask him about his family when the doors to the pub are thrown open and Myra and Mac come stumbling out, laughing loudly, arms wrapped around each other. They’re drunk off their asses but stop short when they see Eamon and I sitting together.
“Oh, there you are, Norie!” Myra shouts. “We thought maybe the two of you disappeared somewhere more…private.” She gives me an exaggerated wink.
“Yes, because after all these years of knowing me, that’stotallymy style,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.
“I can’t keep up with you anymore! You also swore off men after the lastincident, remember?”
I gape at her in disbelief. Obviously, she’s letting the alcohol do the talking for her, but Myra knows how hard it is for me to trust men.
Before I can stop myself, I snap, “Well, better no men than every man within a thirty-mile radius. I’m actually surprised I’ve found someone youhaven’tslept with.”
Myra rears back like I’ve struck her, then narrows her eyes at me. “No need to be a bitch, Norah. Come on, Mac. Let’s get out of here.”
Turning their bodies, they stumble down the sidewalk. I hang my head in my hands and groan out, “I should have kept my mouth shut.”
Eamon is silent for a beat, then says, “I don’t know what incident she’s talking about, but it clearly isn’t her story to tell. I’d say she deserved that. Besides, anyone that hooks up with Mac can’t have much moral fiber.”
I lift my head and smile at him. “Good point. I don’t even know him, but it’s easy to see they have a lot in common. I just can’t believe she said that. She’s one of my best friends. We’ve had disagreements before, but we’venever purposefully hurt each other.”
“You know I’m curious now,” he tells me. “But, like I said, you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”
“Thank you, Eamon.”
He has no idea how much that means to me. I know I’ll have to tell him eventually, but not tonight. Checking the time on my phone, I realize it’s after eleven and I have a busy day tomorrow. I’d love nothing more than to just sit here and talk to him all night.
“I hate to be a grandma, but I really do need to get home. I’m working on Belle’s dress tomorrow and have to get an early start,” I tell him regretfully.
“I don’t think that makes you a grandma.” He chuckles. “Can I drive you home?”
