Aisling nearly choked on her wine.
They talked easily—books, bad dates, her ongoing feud with Céilí, his inability to keep a rose garden intact. At one point, he told her about a writing residency he’d done in Galway.
“I lasted four days,” he said. “One of the writers kept quoting Yeats in the shower.”
“Why were you in the shower with them?”
“We weren’t. He just liked to wander the halls with gel in his hair and despair in his voice.”
Aisling laughed so hard she snorted.
Ronan stared at her for a beat too long.
“What?” she asked, brushing a hand over her cheek.
“Nothing. Just—your laugh. It’s lethal.”
“That’s the wine talking.”
“No, that’s me.”
She flushed but covered it by taking a large bite of her salmon.
By the time dessert arrived—a warm slice of sticky toffee pudding with two spoons—her heart was thudding in a way that had nothing to do with sugar. This version of Ronan could charm a nun out of her habit and sweet-talk his way straight into a woman’s panties. Good thing she’d built up an immunity—and wasn’t afraid to say no.
He leaned back, spoon in hand, eyes lazy with amusement. “So, do you always split dessert with men you plan to critique for the rest of their lives?”
“Only the ones who survive page one. And who said anything about the rest of our lives?”
“Brutal.”
“Flattery will get you a second chapter,” she said, lifting her spoon to meet his.
They clinked like it was a toast.
On the drive home, silence fell again—but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It buzzed, thick with possibility. Their hands didn’t touch, but Aisling felt the space between them like it was alive.
When he pulled into the drive, she didn’t move right away. The porch light cast a soft glow over the steps, and Céilí was nowhere in sight. Mercifully.
Ronan got out and came around to open her door.
“Oh, chivalry,” she said. “I thought it was extinct.”
“I resurrect it for women who correct my semicolons.”
They walked slowly to her front door, the air cool and crisp. When they reached the steps, she turned, heart thudding louder than it should.
“Well,” she said. “That was almost enjoyable.”
He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Only almost?”
She stepped onto the first stair. “Don’t push your luck. We didn’t kill each other. We didn’t even argue. We even laughed.”
Ronan moved closer. Not too close. Just enough to make her forget that breathing was a thing she used to do without effort.
“I had a good time,” he said, voice lower now. “I don’t have a lot of those.”
She nodded, fingers fidgeting with her house key. “Me either.”
