“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, standing. “And this time we’re eating in Mountshannon.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You really want to start a town-wide gossip fire, don’t you?”
He grinned. “I’m not sneaking around like some scandal. Either you’re with me or you’re not.”
His words were low, steady, confident, not a demand, but a declaration. There was no pressure in his tone, but the weight of what he meant settled in the air between them.
Aisling hesitated. Not because she didn’t know her answer. But because she felt it in her chest, heavy and real.
“You in?” he asked again, his gaze never leaving hers.
She let the silence stretch, testing the truth inside her chest. Then, finally.
“I don’t know how Declan’s going to take it,” she said with a crooked smile. “The poor man thinks I’m his next conquest.”
Ronan’s expression darkened. “Fuck Declan,” he muttered. “Let him hear it from me.”
Her brow lifted. “That sounds like you’re marking your territory.”
He stepped closer, close enough for her pulse to stutter. “Not marking,” he said. “Just making things clear.”
Aisling gave him a slow smile that promised mischief. “Clarity suits you.”
He leaned in once more, lips barely grazing hers. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Then he turned and left.
And for one long moment, she stood there with her fingers at her lips, pulse racing.
Clarity, indeed.
CHAPTER18
Aisling stood in front of her mirror, frowning at the reflection. “You’re going to dinner, not an awards gala,” she muttered, and yet…she still changed her earrings for the third time.
It wasn’t nerves. Definitely not. Not really. Just two people with…complicated shared property lines. And goats. Going out to dinner. It was dining in Mountshannon that had her worried. The gossips would be working overtime tonight.
Bríd would come calling to let her know what was being said. And then she could show her the ring and the letter that had been found in the wall. Who had hidden the ring? Her grandmother? From her mother?
The knock on her door was punctual. Of course, it was. Ronan Gallagher was the kind of man who set his watch by the ticking of his own ego.
She opened the door to find him freshly shaved, wearing a dark green button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and jeans that should’ve been illegal. He had that tousled “I don’t care” hair that only men whodefinitely caredmanaged to pull off.
“Well,” she said, grabbing her coat, “look who’s gone all out.”
He gave her a once-over, eyes glinting with that maddening, unfiltered hunger. “And look who’s trying not to make this look like a date.”
Damn, the man was uncanny in the way he could read her.
“Date? Did someone mention taking me to dinner tonight?” She brushed past him, locking the door behind her. “We’re just two adversaries sharing a pint before the next goat-related incident.”
“Keep saying that,” he said as they walked toward his truck. “Eventually, you might believe it.”
The drive to the little restaurant on the edge of town was quiet, but not awkward. It was the kind of silence that buzzed beneath the skin, full of glances that lingered too long and thoughts that had no business forming. That undercurrent between them still simmered like a spark waiting to catch fire. All it would take was one kiss, just one, and she'd either lose all sense of self-preservation or shove him straight out the door. Honestly, both options had their perks.
When they stepped inside, the hostess lit up like someone had just handed her the keys to a juicy new secret.
Mountshannon would be on fire with speculation before the door even swung shut behind them.
