Layla snorts in amusement. “Are you from Kilkenny?”
“Thomastown, which is in County Kilkenny. I grew up only twenty minutes from Eamon, actually. But we didn’t meet until we got to the States. We probably drank in the same pubs and didn’t even know it.”
Layla starts digging in her purse as soon as we approach the ticket booth, and I’m not about to have that. Especially since she paid for my ticket to the play. I place a hand over hers to stop her.
“I’ve got it.”
Her head snaps up, a look of indignation on her face. “No, you don’t. Iinvited you, so it’s my treat.”
“Wrong. You used that excuse with the play. And you also bought our drinks. So, with all due respect, Lovely, it’s my turn.”
Layla looks at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She isn’t wearing that seductive red lipstick, which is a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than her mouth.
That mouth. The things I want to do with that mouth…
“It’s not up for debate, Layla.”
“Fine.” She sighs heavily. “I concede. This time.”
“That’s a good lass.” I didn’t mean for my voice to go lower the way it just did.
After paying for the tickets, we set off along the path. The day is sunny, but there’s a chill in the air, and I didn’t bring a jacket. This is typical Irish weather, minus the rain. We walk quietly for a few minutes, soaking up the sights of the seasonal gardens and artwork scattered throughout the grounds. I can see why this is a popular place. It’s gorgeous, even in late November.
“Do you come here a lot, then?” I ask as we near the infamous Airlie Oak—the massive tree covered with Spanish moss.
“I’ve been a couple of times. Never in the fall, though,” Layla answers. “My favorite part is the Bottle Chapel, especially on sunny days like today. It’s magical!”
Passing a rather large rose bush full of huge red blooms, Layla stops to gently cup one in her hand before leaning forward to smell it. The lyrics from an Irish love song pop into my head, and without second thought, I start singing softly.
Hmm, take me back again,
Take me back one more time,
Spanish rose.
Layla’s eyes flick to mine, and her cheeks flood with the sweetest blush I’ve ever seen. I don’t get embarrassed easily, but she sure does.
The way you pulled the gate
Behind you when you said, ‘It ain’t too late.
Come on, let’s swing the town and
have a ball tonight.’
Giving her an impish grin, I continue, pressing a hand to my chest as I serenade her.
In slumber you did sleep.
The window I did creep
And touch your raven hair and sang
that song again to you.
“Oh my god, stop!” Layla begs, covering her face with her hands and peeking through her fingers at me.
“But I’m only halfway through the song! You’re not saying I’m a poor singer are you, love?”
