Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
A isling woke up with a hangover that could strip paint. Her head pounded like the renovation crew had installed a jackhammer directly into her skull, and the high-pitched whine of a saw made her question all her life choices—starting with that third whiskey and ending with kissing Ronan Gallagher like she hadn’t spent the last week fantasizing about punching him in the face.
She stumbled into the kitchen, fumbled for a mug, and blessed the Holy Spirit when she found tea already steeping. She shuffled out to the porch like a Victorian ghost with a death wish.
Céilí, the chaos goat, was already braying and nosing toward the gate like she had romantic intentions and a schedule to keep.
“Please don’t,” Aisling muttered. “My head feels like someone’s marching band held rehearsal in it.”
Céilí bleated like a defiant teenager.
“And if you want to live to see the next full moon, don’t even look at Ronan’s roses.”
More braying. She narrowed her eyes at the goat.
“Also… keep your legs together. For the love of all things holy.”
A man walked up the drive. A tall, dangerously charming man in a perfectly pressed shirt and the kind of smile that had probably gotten him out of at least two traffic tickets and one divorce.
“Morning,” he said, stepping into her hangover bubble like he owned it. “Mind if I join you?”
She stared at him for a second. Handsome. Clean-cut. Confident. Definitely trying to sell her something.
“If you’re selling windows or eternal salvation, I’m not in the mood,” she said, pointing to the chair across from her. “But sure.”
He grinned like she’d just handed him a compliment.
“Declan Flynn,” he said, sitting. “I’m a realtor. Thought I’d come by, introduce myself, and see if you’ve thought about putting this place on the market.”
Of course. Handsome and potentially evil.
“Aisling O’Byrne,” she said, sipping her tea like it could save her. “And no, I haven’t decided. I might stay. I might sell. I might burn it all down and take up goat herding.”
A loud yell echoed from inside the house. Followed by a sharp crash and a string of creative swearing.
“Which is why I’m out here and they’re in there,” she added flatly.
Céilí chose that moment to approach, clearly displeased at being left out of the conversation. She made a beeline for Declan’s expensive-looking jacket.
“Céilí, no,” Aisling warned, standing too fast and instantly regretting it.
The goat brayed at her like she was sassing her.
“Don’t give me any crap this morning. Get to the barn,” she said, knowing the animal would do what it wanted.
The goat paused, gave her a look of betrayal, and trotted off—dramatically like a goat in a telenovela.
Declan laughed. “Does the goat come with the house?”
“If she’s still living when and if I decide to sell.”
“Noted.”
He stood and glanced toward the house. “Would you mind showing me around? I’ve always loved this property. Your grandmother was a legend. I tried to buy this place years ago—she wouldn’t even let me finish my sentence.”
That sounded like Noreen. Stubborn as bedrock. But who could blame her? The house had been in the family for generations.
“Come inside,” Aisling said, because why not? She wasn’t committing to anything. Besides, she was curious what someone like Declan thought of the renovations.
They stepped into the main hall where two workers argued over how not to electrocute themselves with a nail gun.
“How long do you think it will take to finish it?”
“At least a month,” she said hoping that it was less than that. “But I’m making some major changes in the family room and the master bedroom.”
If she stayed, she would move into the master bedroom and enjoy the new en suite and the cozy sitting area.
“Kitchen’s next up,” she said. “Once the demolition is done, I’m putting in a big farm sink, new cabinets, new appliances. Basically, everything short of exorcising the ghosts of outdated design.”
And those ghosts had been around long before she was born.
He chuckled. “Open concept?”
“Eventually. That wall’s going. Beam going in.”
He nodded, approving. “Buyers love that.”
That word—buyers—landed like a punch to the gut. This was her grandmother’s home. Her family’s legacy. Did she really want to let it go?
They passed through the dusty but still regal library. “This one just needs paint.”
“And a whiskey cart,” Declan offered. “For ambiance.”
“Obviously.”
Upstairs, she showed him the master suite and the plans for the en suite. He nodded appreciatively.
“Wow,” he said, gazing around. “Are you going to get new drapes?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, thinking that would be a huge expense, and she wasn’t certain what she wanted to do.
He paused and smiled at her. “You’ve got good vision. This will be a showstopper.”
“Thanks,” she said, warming slightly to the compliment. Declan was charming. Smooth. Maybe too smooth.
Every internal alarm she had was blaring—Casanova, twelve o’clock, armed with charm and probably a mirror in his pocket to admire himself.
Then he turned, smiled, and said, “You know, I’d love to introduce you to a friend of mine. Interior designer. Brilliant taste. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
That came out of nowhere.
“I—uh—maybe?”
“She could help with finishing touches. Soft goods. Drapery. And we could talk a little more about the house. No pressure.”
Aisling hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude, but something in her gut said to keep a foot on the brake. And yet, it would be nice to meet more people.
“Sure. I’ll meet you there. Text me the details.”
She gave him her number as they headed back downstairs just as Bríd arrived at the front porch with a tin of something that smelled like hope and butter. Something deliciously baked and ready to apply to her hips.
Her eyes narrowed the second she saw Declan.
“Declan Flynn,” she said, her tone full of unspoken ugh .
“Bríd! Always a pleasure.”
He kissed her cheek and retreated with all the grace of a man who knew when not to linger.
As soon as he was gone, Bríd turned to Aisling. “I should’ve known that snake would slither in eventually.”
Aisling blinked. “You don’t like him?”
“Declan is good at sharing himself…with everyone,” she said. “And you, my dear, would be like icing on a cake for him.”
“Oh,” Aisling said, trying not to feel weird about the flutter that had briefly sparked in her chest.
“And I came here to ask about last night,” Bríd added with a wicked smile. “Your reading stole the show. But what really has the village buzzing is the kiss.”
Aisling groaned. “Of course.”
“Well?”
“He kissed me to shut me up.”
Bríd raised both eyebrows.
“And I might have kissed him back because I’m a weak woman with unresolved sexual tension and questionable whiskey limits.”
“And then?”
“I threatened to cut his balls off.”
Bríd laughed so hard, she had to sit down. “Noreen is dancing in heaven right now.”
“I still don’t like him,” Aisling said. “We fight like it’s our love language. I want a quiet life. Harmony. Zero property-line arguments.”
“Sometimes,” Bríd said, catching her breath, “fire brings the house down—but sometimes it cooks the stew.”
Aisling stared at her. “That might be the most Irish thing I’ve ever heard.”
Bríd shrugged. “Just be careful of both of them. Declan’s a flirt with a real estate license, and Ronan’s a soft-hearted grump who hides behind roses and goats. But neither of them will be easy to shake.”
Aisling sighed and sipped her lukewarm tea. Less than a month ago, she’d been engaged. She wasn’t ready for an Irish groom or even an Irish boyfriend. She’d had enough of men for a while.
She was just starting to rebuild her life. The last thing she needed was a love triangle, a goat in heat, and two men who looked like trouble.
But then again, when had her life ever been boring?