Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
T hat night by the time they reached The Last Drop , the firelight glowed golden through the windows, casting a halo over the weather-worn pub like a promise. Laughter spilled into the night air, mingling with the scent of peat smoke and spilled beer, and Aisling felt, almost, like herself again.
Inside, Paddy spotted them immediately and waved them in with both arms like they were grand marshals in a parade. “There’s our favorite couple!”
Aisling flushed. Ronan looked smug enough to be knighted on the spot.
“You planned this,” she muttered, elbowing him as they ducked under a low beam and headed to their usual table in the back.
“Of course, I did,” he said without an ounce of shame. “We caused enough gossip last night to wake the dead. Tonight? We keep the legend alive. By tomorrow, they’ll be taking bets on our wedding date and naming their goats after us.”
She arched a brow. “You think pairing up with me in front of everyone will solidify our local power couple status?”
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Darlin’, we’re the O’Byrne-Gallagher fever dream. Forbidden. Feral. Infuriating.”
She huffed a laugh. “Infuriating, for sure.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m delightful.”
He leaned in close, voice low. “I just want to see you throw a dart and prove that terrifying rumor about you is true.”
“What rumor?”
“That you once nailed your ex’s manhood to your engagement ring.”
She choked on a laugh. “You know I did.”
“I worry about my safety.”
“As you should,” she said smiling. “I’m not a woman to be trifled with.”
“Don’t I know it.”
They slid into their seats, and he didn’t hesitate to brush his fingers against hers under the table. The touch was fleeting, but it lit a fuse low in her belly. That spark between them hadn’t dimmed—it just simmered like banked coals waiting for the right gust of wind to roar to life.
“So,” Ronan said, eyes glinting, “tell me more about this engagement ring revenge. I want to picture it as someone who’s getting dangerously attached to the woman who pulled it off.”
She blinked. He hadn’t said love , but that word, attached, made something flutter deep inside her chest.
“On the most important day for the small publishing house we both worked for, I came home to find Michael and my boss Samantha in bed together, drunk out of their minds. They’d been doing tequila shots and then somehow his penis slipped between her legs and they passed out naked in his bed. I simply handcuffed them to the headboard, attached my engagement ring with a padlock to his cock ring, and left. Then I went into the office to meet Patrick Wright, a famous author, and unbeknownst to me at the time, my father.”
Then she spent the next five minutes telling him about when she got to the office and what she did. When she finished, he ordered them another round of drinks.
By the time she finished, Ronan had ordered a third round and was staring at her like she’d just admitted to setting fire to a church, barefoot, and walking away unscathed.
“That is…” he started, then gave a low whistle. “Hot. In a terrifying way.”
She smirked. “You’re not the first man to say that.”
He took a sip of his whiskey. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Depends.” She laughed.
“When we sleep together, no handcuffs.”
“No worries. What about locks?”
“I don’t have one of those rings, so there is nothing to worry about there.”
“Oh, maybe you should get one,” she said.
“Only when hell freezes over,” he said, leaning in close to her. “Do you have any piercings?”
The only piercings she had on her body were her ear piercings, and those she’d fought hard for. “That is private information.”
“We could play seek and find,” he said. “I could search you and see what I find.”
“I swear, Gallagher, I will pour this drink in your lap.”
He raised a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s spilled something on me. Usually comes after I make them moan.”
She nearly choked on her drink. “You are so full of yourself.”
“Confidence is sexy.”
“Overconfidence is delusional.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He ordered them a fourth drink, and she gazed at him. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No trying. I think you already are,” he said.
Leaning back, she laughed. “No, I’m not. And I don’t drink excessively. There is something about not being in control.”
“Don’t worry, you’re always a little out of control. Getting drunk will just make it more fun.”
Just then, the speakers overhead crackled to life, and the opening fiddle of “Tell Me Ma” burst through the pub.
The crowd erupted. Stools scraped. Pints were hoisted. And suddenly, Paddy was shouting from behind the bar, “Dance, ye gobshites! Or surrender your drinks!”
Ronan grabbed her hand and pulled her from the booth. “Time to earn our town legend status.”
“I don’t know this dance!”
“Fake it like you fake laughing at my jokes.”
With a shriek-laugh, she let him lead her into the crowd. Hands clapped. Boots stomped. Everyone shouted the chorus in unison like it was gospel:
“She is handsome, she is pretty, she is the belle of Belfast City…”
Aisling spun, stumbled, laughed, caught up in the rhythm, of the pure joy of forgetting everything for a moment. For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t carrying her mother’s grief, her grandmother’s secrets, or her own heartbreak like armor.
She was just a woman dancing with a man who made her forget how to breathe.
When the song ended, breathless and dizzy, they collapsed back into their seats.
“That,” she said, “was fun.”
“You looked like you were about to challenge the entire pub to a dance-off.”
“I would’ve won.”
He leaned in, his grin still wide. “You’re dangerously good at everything.”
Paddy arrived with more drinks. Ronan excused himself to the restroom, and Paddy took the seat across from her like he had something serious to say.
“You’re glowing,” he said.
“It’s the whiskey.”
“It’s him. Look, I know you’re an O’Byrne and he’s a Gallagher. And I know your grandmother and Séamus tried to fix this feud by betrothing you two. But Séamus Gallagher is a mean, old greedy man who would own the whole county if he could wrangle it away from people.”
“I thought he was dead,” she said surprised.
“Nope, he’s living in a nursing home, but he still runs the family coffers from his bedside. Even Ronan’s.”
That was surprising because everyone talked like he had been gone a while. But why was Paddy telling her this now?
Aisling blinked. “What’s your point, Paddy?”
“My point is, don’t lose your head. The Gallaghers have wanted your land for decades. Just because he kisses like a dream doesn’t mean he won’t turn into a nightmare.”
She opened her mouth to defend Ronan…and paused. Paddy wasn’t wrong to worry. She had forgotten about the family drama, the feud, the betrothal, the legacy. Ronan had slipped past her guard on charm alone.
But still…
“I’m not giving him the house, Paddy,” she said. “And I’m not marrying him.”
“Make certain of that,” he said. “Now enjoy the rest of your evening.”
The man got up and walked away.
Ronan returned, freshly smug. “What’d I miss?”
“Paddy’s worried I’m going to marry you and hand over the family estate in a love-struck stupor.”
Ronan sat. “And what did you say?”
“I said that even drunk, I don’t make stupid decisions.”
He chuckled. “I beg to differ. You agreed to this date, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s a date, not a land sale or even an engagement. This is just a fun evening minus all the stress.”
“Good.”
Just then, a slow song slid into the speakers—soft, sweet, laced with yearning.
Ronan stood and held out a hand. “Dance with me, Aisling.”
Her heart tripped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why? Because I’ll say something stupid or because you’ll feel something real?”
Damn him. He always went for the jugular.
Reluctantly, she took his hand. The world softened around them as he pulled her close. His arms settled around her waist. Her palms flattened against his chest, and her body remembered every kiss, every touch.
“You fit against me like you were made to,” he murmured.
“You just want my goat,” she whispered back.
He laughed, low and deep. “Not tonight. Tonight, I just want you. ”
She looked up at him. “And what about tomorrow?”
“I’ll still want you.”
Heat bloomed inside her.
“I like how your hair smells,” he said. “I like how your laugh makes people turn to look. I like the way you curse when you’re mad.”
“And I like it when you stop talking,” she whispered.
He silenced her with a kiss.
Slow. Sweet. Thorough. His lips moved against hers with devastating precision, and her knees nearly buckled. When they pulled apart, the room was still spinning, though that could’ve been the whiskey.
“Come on,” he said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Let’s walk you home while we’re still standing.”
“What about your truck?”
“I’ll come back for it in the morning,” he said. “When I’m sober.”
They left the pub hand-in-hand, giggling like teenagers. The cool night wrapped around them, their steps slow and a little wobbly.
Aisling had not had this much fun in months, maybe even years. Laughing, they skipped like teenagers. Today had been hard, but tonight was fun.