Chapter 32
thirty-two
DAGR
Dagr leaned back against his office chair’s soft, black leather, taking in the London skyline. He had finally finished a deal for one of his largest conglomerate clients, who had recently acquired property near a natural water source.
His focus was on ensuring that the clients understood the many conservation regulations and restrictions that owning the land entailed.
He enjoyed the hours of research, especially when he knew his efforts helped conserve the land. He enjoyed his efforts, but he was wiped out. The only reason his ass was still seated behind his desk was because he was too tired to take the lift to his flat.
He tapped a finger on his phone screen, pretending he wasn’t waiting for a message from Bébhinn. They had been communicating daily for two months. He readily admitted that he looked forward to those moments more than anything else.
Theirs was a platonic friendship, yet he knew her better than any woman he’d ever dated. Gone was the melancholy that had plagued him for months before meeting her. He felt satisfied and rejuvenated in his personal and professional life.
His personal life consisted solely of staying in touch with his friends, with the occasional drinks out. He hadn’t asked a woman out on a date since he’d met Bébhinn. His jaw flexed in frustration at himself.
Mentally, he was back to being at the top of his game. Why wasn’t he dating? Why did the idea seem like a waste of time?
He’d made up his mind before that hike to stop dating casually and look for a real-life partner. That couldn’t happen if he never looked.
Knowing what he should be doing, but what he was contemplating doing—what he was going to do, rather—was driving him crazy.
“Fuck it.” He picked up his phone and texted.
Dagr: Want to grab a drink tonight?
Nervous sweat prickled his neck even as wavy dots appeared on his screen.
Bébhinn: Of course, but you never mentioned you were coming to Dublin. Business?
Shit. Shit. Shit. Should he lie?
Dagr: No business. I planned to fly to Wales and thought I’d detour to see one of my favorite people.
Christ, you idiot. What are you, a seventy-year-old doting granddad?
Bébhinn: I’ll even let you buy me an appetizer. Let me know when your flight arrives, and I’ll pick you up.
Dagr: Not necessary. I’ll rent a car. I’m taking the ferry after we meet anyway.
Bébhinn: I’ll pick you up. You can rent a car at one of the places near the ferry when you buy your ticket.
Dagr: Stubborn. Fine. I’ll text you the info soon.
She hearted his last text. He realized he was still sitting in his office grinning five minutes later.
“Shit!” He cursed as he jumped up. His earlier exhaustion evaporated. He had to get home, pack, and make flight arrangements.
He’d barely made it to Heathrow before his flight left, running through the terminal like a madman. Grabbing a commercial flight took less time to book than hiring a private one, so he booked the first available.
He emerged from the stifling, over-peopled maze of the airport onto the equally crowded outdoor ride pickup zone. He’d texted Bébhinn ten minutes ago and knew she had immediately gotten in the car queue.
And sure enough, he saw her Jeep six cars back and immediately hustled toward her. The minute their eyes met, they both grinned and waved. He didn’t even have to wonder about his reaction. He’d missed her. They’d met briefly by chance and had become close friends by an even greater chance.
He tossed his duffel and briefcase in the backseat and shut himself inside the lavender-infused Jeep cab. He knew from their many conversations that she loved lavender.
She pulled out into the passing lane, maneuvering competently between the lanes of traffic, leaving the airport before they spoke.
“So where are you taking me, Miss O’Faolain?”
She grinned at him briefly before returning her eyes to the road. “A quiet pub near my place that has the best loaded fries.”
“Fries? How very American of you,” he teased.
“Hey, both my parents might have Irish surnames, but I am half American for all that. You don’t even want to know what an Oklahoma calf fry is.”
Dagr instantly googled it and regretted it immediately. “Christ. No, thank you.” Bull testicles. He felt bile rise in his throat.
“Tell me you’ve not, Bébhinn.”
Her only answer was a toothy smile.
They chatted easily until she parked her Jeep outside the pub she took him to. No, that wasn’t right. It was easy until they were walking in, and he placed his hand at the base of her back as they walked through the heavy old oak door.
It was a possessive move. A gesture to warn other men she was taken. If he could have kicked his own ass, he would have. She hadn’t pulled away from him, but as soon as he realized that he’d crossed a boundary, he’d let his hand drop. She glanced up and made eye contact but said nothing.
They ordered their drinks and “loaded fries” as conversation returned to normal. If their legs happened to touch on the swiveling barstools, it was not by design.
She was in the middle of telling him an outrageous family story about a stalker that followed her family across the globe when a heavily tattooed man suddenly swooped between them and kissed Bébhinn’s cheek.
“How’s my favorite Bébé?”
He saw her eyes widen in surprise, but no more than the young man’s when he faced Dagr.
“Ciar! What are you doing here?” she gasped. “Let me introduce you to my good friend.” She looked between the two, clearly taken aback.
“Ciar Murphy, this is Dagr Griffiths, a good friend of mine. I’ve told you, Dagr, that Ciar lives with my cousins next door to me.”
Dagr held out his hand to shake. “Or nephews, as the case may be,” he chuckled, trying to put the man at ease.
Ciar shook his hand, a bewildered look on his face. “Fuck me, if I didn’t come over here thinking you were out with one of your brothers, Bé,” he shook Dagr’s hand firmly. “Sorry mate, if I came across as shady, but it was a shock to see you weren’t Bran or Patrick.”
He didn’t want to like the younger man, but it was clear immediately that he was genuine. Chuckling, he replied, “No worries. Bébhinn mistook me for her brother when I ducked into her cave that night. The hair, I guess.” He patted his head and smiled.
“Ahh, so you’re the man the family is talking about.” Ciar clapped Dagr’s back good-naturedly.
Dagr’d wanted to dislike the man who had such easy access to his…friend, but he seemed like the kind of intellectually direct man that he tended to favor. In the meantime, Bébhinn was turning a remarkable shade of red.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice a higher pitch than usual.
“Come on, Bébhinn. You had to know the family would notice you trying to hide dating someone.” He chuckled and elbowed her side.
Her red cheeks went to the deepest crimson he’d only ever witnessed in nature. Giving mercy, Dagr attempted a casualness he wasn’t feeling. “No secret. We’re friends. Hiking buddies,” he tacked on. He looked at Bébhinn, and she looked at him.
They didn’t feel like just hiking buddies.
He would never claim more, and he sure as hell wouldn’t embarrass her by admitting that he considered her…more.
Ciar was sharp if the look he was currently giving them was any indication.
Clearly, Ciar was trying to force a truth on them that neither he nor Bébhinn was willing or ready to admit to.
Dagr looked back steadily, showing the younger man that he had no power over him.
Dagr would not be tricked into admitting anything.
He was way too good a solicitor for that shit.
The young buck holding his gaze would find him harder to push over than the average Joe.
Ciar flicked his gaze to Bébhinn. “I won’t mention seeing you out tonight, Bébhinn, but I suggest you introduce your friend to the family sooner than later.”