And then he kissed her.
Not the hungry, showy kiss from the pub. This one was deliberate. Deep. Possessive in that quiet way that said: I see you. I want you. And I’m not in a hurry.
She melted into it, tasting whiskey, warmth, and something far more dangerous. Something she could get addicted to.
When she pulled back, slightly breathless, she looked up at him and smirked.
“That was… unnecessarily good,” she whispered.
He brushed his thumb across her jaw. “Just wait till I get to show off.”
She opened the door behind her and slipped inside. “Not tonight, Mr. Gallagher. Go home.”
“I could stand here a little longer—just in case you change your mind.”
She gave him one of her no-nonsense looks. “And I could set Céilí loose on your flowerbeds again.”
He grinned, tipping his head in mock defeat. “Fair enough.”
“Goodnight, Ronan.”
“Sweet dreams, Aisling.”
As she shut the door, she leaned against it, a hand pressed to her racing heart.
This was getting dangerous.
Dangerous to her heart.
CHAPTER20
The morning sun peeked over the stone wall when Aisling heard the back gate creak. Céilí, who had taken up her new favorite spot near the herb garden, let out a suspicious bray that sounded more like an accusation than a greeting.
“Easy, girl,” Aisling muttered as she stepped out onto the porch, teacup in hand. “She’s not here to steal your thunder.”
The workers were inside, pounding away and putting up new walls in the kitchen. It was coming together, and she already knew she was going to love what they were doing.
Sure enough, Bríd appeared in a bright floral cardigan, her silver braid bouncing against her shoulder as she strode up the path like she had urgent news—and possibly baked goods.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Aisling said, settling into a rocker and sipping her tea. Part of her had been expecting this visit this morning. “You look like someone with scandal tucked in her pocket.”
Bríd didn’t bother to sit. She leaned against the railing, eyes wide, lips twitching. “So,” she said, dragging out the word. “I stopped by the butcher’s this morning. Meats and gossip, side by side, you know how it is.”
Aisling raised a brow. “Do I want to know?”
Bríd grinned. “Is it true?”
“That’s... vague.”
Bríd stepped forward like she couldn’t help herself. “You and Ronan. Together. At a restaurant. Sitting so close, people could barely see daylight between you. And then you went to the Battle of the Clans? With matching pints and smiling like two lovesick eejits?”
Aisling blinked. “Wow. Did you also get a photograph? Or perhaps a charcoal sketch?”
Bríd cackled and finally sat beside her. “I don’t need art, dear. I have imagination. And the entire town is talking. Apparently, the pub hasn’t had that much to whisper about since Nora Devlin ran off with the mailman in ’89.”
With a groan, Aisling covered her face. “We literally sat at a table and drank Guinness and played trivia.”
Aisling had known that last night was going to cause quite the ruckus, but for it to be discussed at the butcher’s was unreal.
