Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
A isling 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 who definitely cared managed 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.
“Ohhh, Mr. Gallagher,” the hostess all but purred. “So nice to see you… and with company.”
Aisling raised a brow. The woman was beaming like she’d just walked in on a scandal.
“Irish stew is the special tonight,” the hostess added, barely keeping a giggle in check. “And I’ll bring you two a slice of chocolate Guinness cake for dessert. On the house, of course.”
“Thank you,” Ronan said smoothly. “We’ll need to be out by eight. Is that doable?”
The hostess nodded, grin widening. “Oh, absolutely. Are you going to?—”
“Secret,” Ronan cut her off with a charming smile. “But thanks for the cake.”
As the woman flounced away like she'd just been handed tabloid material, Aisling turned to him, arms crossed.
“Secrets again?” she said. “Don’t you think I’ve hit my limit today?”
“Nope,” he said like he had no intention of explaining anything.
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “You’re enjoying this.”
He leaned in slightly. “That obvious?”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “Why do I get the feeling this is our ‘coming out’ night? The one where the whole town suddenly knows there’s something going on between us?”
Ronan gave her a slow, sideways glance, all smug amusement. “There’s something going on?”
She stared him down. “Yes. There’s something going on. You might not live to see the sunrise.”
He bit back a grin. “Then I’ll die a happy man. Everyone knows you’re here with me. Together. I’d hate to see you end up in the Gaol.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Depends. What’s in it for me? One night of happiness?”
Her breath caught in her throat for half a second before she recovered. “Only if you beg.”
She hadn’t even tasted the cake yet, and this night was already sinful.
Their stew arrived just in time to keep things from combusting. But as the waitress set the bowls down, Aisling could still feel Ronan’s gaze brushing against her skin—hot, deliberate, and entirely too dangerous.
Aisling took a bite, eyes closing for a second. “Okay. I’ll give it to you. This stew’s borderline magical.”
Ronan grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t make it.”
“I brought you here. Same thing.”
She snorted. “Please. You dragged me here under mysterious pretenses and let a gossipy hostess plan our dessert.”
“Which you’re going to love, by the way,” he said, slicing through his bread with a little too much smugness. “Best cake in Clare. Possibly the whole of Ireland.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt the cake,” she replied, sipping her water. “I doubt your intentions.”
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “That hurts. I have nothing but pure, noble intentions.”
Aisling raised a brow. “Ronan, your goat mounted my goat three days ago. Your entire farm is a walking sexual metaphor.”
He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Céilí gave full consent. She made the first move. My billies just took advantage of her heated condition.”
“Of course, they did,” Aisling said, dipping another piece of bread in the stew. “She’s clearly the more emotionally stable one between the two of us.”
He tilted his head. “Are you calling me unstable?”
“I’m saying you hide behind your flowers and goats and big arms and smirks and your fake mystery dates.”
“That’s a new one. No one has ever accused me of a fake mystery date. You’re here willingly. Stew in hand. Legs crossed under the table. Looking like temptation incarnate and pretending you’re not enjoying yourself.”
But she was enjoying herself. Way more than she should be.
She rolled her eyes, though her pulse definitely kicked up a gear. If she didn’t jump his bones before this night ended, she’d be shocked. “You have a very high opinion of yourself.”
He shrugged. “I have a very high opinion of you.”
That stopped her for a second. Not because it was cheesy—it wasn’t. He said it too softly for that, like he meant it, which was the exact kind of thing that could ruin a perfectly good no-strings situation.
Only she knew the truth—this wasn’t just banter or casual heat anymore. Ronan Gallagher was quietly, stubbornly, slipping past her defenses, threading himself into places she’d long locked down. And that terrified her more than she cared to admit.
She cleared her throat and stabbed a potato in her bowl. “What time is this surprise?”
“Starts at eight. We’re on schedule.”
“And are you going to tell me what it is before we get there? Or do I need to start mentally preparing for a goat-themed strip show?”
His eyes sparkled. “That’s a unique idea. Do you think Céilí would be interested? Now I’m wondering if that would impress you.”
“It wouldn’t. But I’d take pictures.”
They finished their meal between more teasing and a few quieter stretches where they didn’t speak much at all. But even in silence, Aisling felt the shift. Something had changed between them.
This wasn’t just banter anymore. This wasn’t just flirtation.
He looked at her like she mattered.
And damn it, she wasn’t sure she hated it.
In fact, she wanted more.
When the cake arrived—a rich, decadent slice of Guinness-soaked chocolate—it did not disappoint. She groaned softly at the first bite, closing her eyes.
“Oh no,” Ronan said, watching her with open admiration. “You can’t make that noise and not expect me to react.”
Her eyes snapped open. “Excuse me?”
“You moaned. In public. For cake.”
“It’s cake,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “The only thing better than cake is cake you didn’t have to bake.”
“I’m going to remember that,” he said, voice low. “Next time, I’ll bring dessert to your house. Just so I can hear you moan like that again in private.”
Heat flooded her, and she gave a chuckle.
“There won’t be a next time if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re imagining licking icing off my?—”
“Miss O’Byrne!” he said, mock scandalized.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Behave, Gallagher.”
“No promises. Especially when you moan. The sound does things to me.”
By the time they finished dessert, Aisling’s stomach was full, her cheeks were warm, and her resolve was hanging on by a thread. She tried to blame the whiskey in the cake, or the flirty lighting, or the fact that Ronan kept brushing his knee against hers under the table like it was an accident.
But it wasn’t.
He did everything deliberately with calculated precision.
She was beginning to understand that about him. He didn’t say much unless it mattered. And when he did something, whether it was arguing, teasing, or kissing her like he was trying to rewrite her entire DNA, he meant it.
And she was absolutely, dangerously beginning to like that.
When the bill came, Ronan reached for it without hesitation.
“I told you I’d buy dinner,” she said.
“And I told you no,” he replied, handing off his card with that maddening confidence.
She leaned in as he signed the receipt. “You know, I could’ve tackled you for that.”
“And I would have let you.” He leaned back toward her, close enough that his breath warmed her cheek. “You’d have to straddle me then.”
She blinked. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You like that about me.”
Unfortunately, she really did.
“It could have been fun and the gossips…this poor town would have combusted with the knowledge.”
It was true.
When they stepped out into the night air, it was crisp, starry, and perfect—the kind of weather that made you want to walk slowly, lean into someone’s side, and pretend you had all the time in the world.
They didn’t speak much on the way to his truck. And yet, somehow, the silence buzzed louder than words.
Finally, as they pulled back onto the road, she tilted her head toward him.
“All right,” she said. “I’m full. I’m warm. I’ve been sufficiently wined and dined. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
Ronan smiled but kept his eyes on the road. “Nope.”
She groaned. “You’re a menace.”
“True. But I’m your menace.”
And for the first time since she’d arrived in Mountshannon, since she’d found out she was the accidental heir to a feud-laced castle, since her goat humped a blanket, and Ronan insulted her prose, Aisling realized she didn’t want this night to end.
Even if it came with secrets.
Even if it came with surprises.
Even if it came with Ronan Gallagher, smiling like he knew exactly how to set her on fire, because, damn it, he did.