She turned sharply, her boots crunching on the gravel as she walked away from him, her hands balled into fists.
"Go home, Ronan."
"Aye," he called after her. "But I’m still not giving up.”
“Your grandfather is evicting me. Give up because I’m mad as hell about what he’s doing,” she said. “I’m ending this damn feud.”
“It’s not over. We’re not done.”
She didn’t turn around.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t let him see how those stupid words wrapped around her heart and tugged.
Instead, she kept walking into the dark, the night cool against her flushed skin, her boots echoing off the empty street.
She might have given him one kiss.
But he wasn’t getting her heart.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
CHAPTER27
The next morning, Aisling woke with a hangover so vicious it felt like someone had parked a tractor on her skull and left it idling.
Groaning, she buried her face deeper into the pillow.
Bad idea. The movement made the world tilt dangerously.
Too much whiskey.
Too much Ronan.
Way,waytoo much public kissing.
Her phone buzzed from somewhere on the floor, but she didn’t bother reaching for it. If it was Bríd checking in, she’d get a full report of the gossip later anyway. Everyone in Mountshannon probably knew she’d snogged Ronan Gallagher senseless at the pub.
Aisling dragged herself upright and shuffled toward the kitchen—where she remembered, with a fresh wave of despair, that her stove was still out of commission thanks to the renovation.
"Brilliant," she muttered, slapping a teabag into a mug and pouring water from the electric kettle.
Outside, she heard Céilí bleating like her soul was being torn apart.
Aisling groaned. What now?
Probably breaking into Ronan’s garden again to feast on the last surviving roses out of pure spite.
Still barefoot, she shoved the back door open, blinking into the harsh morning sunlight.
There was Céilí—headbutting a small, terrified gnome statue in her garden like it owed her money. Thank goodness she hadn’t gone wandering over to Ronan’s prized roses, yet.
“Céilí! Leave the poor gnome alone!” Aisling shouted.
The goat turned, gave her a look of pure goat disdain, and then pranced merrily away, straight into a bush full of prize lilies.
