“Was she at Paddy’s with you tonight?”
“Yes,” I say. “She’s the quiet Hispanic beauty.”
“Who else was there?” he asks.
“Charlie, Myra, and Amelia. Myra is the one you saw outside.” I scowl at the memory of our altercation.
“Myra and Mac. Has a lovely ring to it, eh?” he teases.
I make a gagging sound that makes him chuckle. As we step onto my small porch and stop in front of my door, I look towards the street, at my feet, anywhere but his handsome face.
“What’s wrong, lass?” Eamon asks, sensing my discomfort.
“Erm…“ I start nervously. “This is the part in the books and movies where the guy usually kisses the girl goodnight. I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but I guess I should tell you that I don’t think I’m that kind of girl.”
“Ah, I see,” Eamon says, cheeks flushing slightly. It’s quite possibly one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
“I’m sorry! I can’t believe I just said that” I moan in humiliation, covering my face with my hands. “I’m so awkward and have no idea what I’m doing!”
Laughing, he places his hands on my arms. “Norah, look at me.”
He waits for me to lift my head, then says, “Don’t be sorry. If more women would be as honest as you from the get-go, it would save a lot of men some embarrassment. I promise you that I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want. We agreed to get to know each other better first.”
My lips turn up in a small smile. Is it possible that I’ve actually met a man who isn’t thinking of how soon he can get me into his bed?
“You’re not Myra, and I’m not Mac,” Eamon says firmly, hands still lightly gripping my arms.
“That might just be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I smirk.
He grins at me fully, taking my breath away.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asks.
“Costumes. Specifically Belle’s. Her gown will take the longest.”
I refrain from giving him all of the details, like how each petal of the rose dress has to be attached at just the right angle or how sewing beads on the bodice is the ultimate test of patience.
“You’re doing that all day?” he asks, eyebrows shooting upward. “Will you be working on campus?”
“No. I’ll work here at home. I have a sunroom that I use for sewing. On costume weekends, I brew a large pot of coffee, turn on the music, and spend all day putting everything together.” I shrug casually.
“And do you refuse company?” he asks, releasing my arms and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Oh. Usually,” I start to say but then backpedal when I see his shouldersdroop and want nothing more than to bring a smile to his face. “But…I make exceptions for anyone that sings to me in front of a crowd.”
Eamon’s eyes light up, and his lips tip into that devastating smirk I swoon over. I’ve never had a man in my house. Not even in a group setting. I’m momentarily stunned to realize that the idea of having him here all to myself doesn’t scare me like I thought it would.
“Although,” I tell him sternly, “I wouldn’t appreciate anunplanneddrop-in.”
He nods in mock seriousness. “Understood. That would be rude. What if there were company around, say, lunchtime? You have to stop to eat at some point.”
“Oh yes,” I agree. “Food is fuel. Can’t sew on an empty stomach!”
Eamon grips his chin between his thumb and forefinger as if contemplating how the dilemma should be solved. “I suppose I could possibly procure a meal while I’m out and about. We can’t let you starve.”
I snicker in response. “Only if it won’t put you out. I’d hate to be an inconvenience. And let me give you some money.”
“Ach! Don’t offend me, love! I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, placing a hand over his heart.
