Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SELENE
The pub glowed like a lantern in the damp evening as Clara, Maeve, and I approached the Silver Hart.
The rain-darkened stone at our feet caught the amber spill of light from the windows, and for a moment the building seemed to pulse in the blue-gray atmosphere, warm and defiant against the chill rolling down from the mountains.
Bright music from a fiddle and bodhrán spilled through the open doorway, along with laughter thick enough to warm the street. The scent of malt and fried batter drifted into the cool evening air. Underneath it lingered wood smoke and yeast.
We stepped inside, and the lively atmosphere hit me immediately. Conversations were layered over the energetic music, as people with flushed cheeks alternated between lifting pints and speaking with animated expressions. The smiles on their faces and the carefree laughter charmed me.
Maeve clapped her hands once, excitement glowing in her expression. “It’s alive.” Then she was off, weaving her way between tables.
I glanced over the ceiling beams darkened with age and the uneven stone walls as I slid my fingers around Clara’s elbow. “Come on. We need to eat, and Maeve’s buying.”
Clara gave me a conspiratorial look and lifted her chin in agreement. “I am pretty hungry.”
We stopped at the bar where Maeve insisted on ordering for us. After putting in our food requests, she outed me to the bartender with a cock of her head. “This one has yet to try a proper Guinness.”
The older gentleman with white curling through his faded red beard looked at me as if Maeve had just proclaimed I was still a virgin, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, we’ll take good care of you.”
Clara tried to object when Maeve ordered two more of the stout beers, but Maeve insisted we needed three.
I knew as well as Clara that arguing with Maeve was futile, so instead we made our way toward the back where we found a small vacant table.
The sparse light left it partially in shadow, but we had a clear view of the room.
I could see everything without being fully seen, and I approved.
We’d barely had time to settle when the pints arrived, black body and creamy head domed just so.
The bartender set them down with the reverence of an artisan presenting finished work.
He shifted his gaze to me, waiting for my approval as if I had any authority in the matter.
I wrapped my fingers around the glass and took a careful sip.
It wasn’t as bitter as I’d expected. Though it was dense. Velvety, and the taste lingered on my tongue.
Clara studied me with an interested gaze. “Well?”
I considered her question for a moment. “It tastes…older than I thought it would.”
A chuckle burst from the bartender, who was obviously entertained by my response, and Maeve beamed. “That’s the spirit.”
As the man strode away, Maeve downed a healthy gulp. Clara managed a few sips before pushing hers aside in favor of water. She glanced between us with an apologetic expression. “Sorry. I’m not much of a drinker.”
Maeve waved away her comment. “Ah, here. I’ll drink it. No problem.”
When the server placed steaming bowls of stew before us, accompanied by thick brown bread, I immediately salivated. The chunks of beef, potatoes, and carrots resting in the thick amber broth promised something amazing, and the first bite was rich enough to leave me groaning in appreciation.
Clara joined my vocal approval as Maeve slid butter across the bread and handed us each a slice. She eyed Clara with a teasing look. “We could have cooked, but nothing beats this.”
Our pragmatic friend agreed with a grateful nod. “I may only ever say this once, Maeve, but thanks for encouraging me to come.”
Maeve snorted hard enough to wiggle the foam atop her Guinness just as she was about to take a drink. “Now you’ve said it.”
The three of us dissolved into lighthearted laughter.
After consuming several bites of the delicious stew, I lifted my glass. Before I could drink, an unsettling sensation hit me. It sank low to the base of my spine, quiet but unmistakable. The only way I could describe it was…awareness.
The feeling of being watched.
The music continued. Laughter rose and fell. And yet something inside the room slipped out of alignment.
I glanced up without thinking.
And found him.
The man sat across the room at a narrow table near the wall, a glass of whiskey resting untouched before him. His dark hair matched the shade of his leather jacket, and the stillness he carried didn’t belong in a room this alive.
He studied me. Unblinking.
My pulse kicked once, hard, and then slowed as if waiting for him to make a move. The rest of the room softened at the edges.
He didn’t look away.
Neither did I.
There was no flirtation in his expression. Just attention. It was focused and deliberate, as if I had stepped into his line of sight without realizing it.
“Selene.”
Maeve’s voice snapped the thread. I blinked, dragging my gaze back to the table. The music returned to my awareness, and someone laughed too loudly as the scrape of a chair echoed from nearby.
“What?” I asked, a little too quickly.
She followed the line of my previous stare and gasped softly. “Oh.”
Clara leaned subtly to get a better view. “Well.”
That they’d noticed left me almost as unsettled as his stare had. “Well, what?”
A mischievous smile curved Maeve’s lips. “No one mentioned Killarney had that kind of wildlife.”
My cheeks heated as I feigned ignorance. “Wildlife?”
She acted as if I hadn’t spoken. “He’s looking at you, you know.”
Clara turned back to me, gleeful interest dancing in her eyes. “He absolutely is, and oh my, he’s delicious.”
Maeve continued staring at him. “He’s a bold one, isn’t he?”
I didn’t want to look, but something compelled me to risk another glance.
He hadn’t moved. If anything, he’d grown more still.
His friend, a broad-shouldered, dark-bearded man with an easy posture, spoke to him, but he wasn’t listening. He was watching me.
The unreadable look in his eyes unnerved me, and I turned back to my friends. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I followed my declaration with a longer swallow of Guinness than I’d intended. The cool bitterness steadied me, but not enough.
Maeve leaned forward. “My powerful intuition says that man is interested in you.”
I scoffed, refusing to be drawn in again. “Your powerful intuition also once told me a vintage chair was haunted.”
She shrugged as if there was nothing to question. “It was unsettling.”
Clara dunked her bread into her stew. “It’s pointless anyway. We both know Selene swore off men.”
I sent her a wounded look, though silently thanked her for reminding me of my intentions where romance was concerned. “I didn’t swear off men. I’m just not interested in investing the energy it takes to look for a decent one.”
Maeve tilted her head, her waves tumbling over her shoulder. “What if he’s the one?”
I laughed outright. “There’s no such thing. Some people get lucky and find someone compatible. The rest give up or suffer with their poor choices. Odds are the latter will occur.”
Maeve shook her head, a genuine look of disappointment lingering in her eyes. “You don’t know that.”
I steadied my voice. “I do.”
She sighed dramatically. “So tragic.”
“No. My life is not tragic,” I corrected. “It’s filled with many things I love.”
Neither of them argued at that.
I expected our line of conversation was finished until Clara’s lips twitched only seconds later, and she spoke in a careful tone. “If you’re not interested in long-term, perhaps short-term is acceptable.”
I stared at her in disbelief. I would have expected such a statement to come from Maeve, but not from pragmatic Clara.
“We’re only here for a few days,” she continued, her gray eyes alight with intrigue. “You could have fun and then leave him behind.”
Maeve nodded vigorously. “Exactly. No pressure. A delicious Irish memory.”
I sent them both a stern look. “No.”
But even as I said it, I felt the pull again. It was as though I was being drawn toward something by a thread, one fine as silk and just as persistent.
The music shifted, growing faster and livelier, enough that half the room began clapping along. Maeve shot to her feet. “Fine. If Selene won’t live out our fantasies, we’re dancing.”
Clara’s eyes grew wide with fear, and she lifted her hands as a barrier. “I do not dance.”
I was tempted to say the same, since it was true, but Maeve had given me a chance to escape those dark eyes. I grasped Clara’s fingers. “You do now.”
Maeve wrangled her other hand and dragged us both toward the center of the room before Clara could argue further.
The floor vibrated beneath the rhythm of boots and laughter.
Maeve attempted to demonstrate steps she half-remembered from childhood, while Clara tried to copy them with rigid concentration.
I stumbled, laughed, and nearly collided with a man twice my size.
The entirety of it unraveled the tension inside me.
I’d been carrying it for months, and it loosened one knot at a time. For a few precious minutes, I was nothing but movement and sound and the simple joy of being anonymous in a crowded room.
I forgot about being cautious and sensible. And I forgot about the man across the room—
But not for long enough.
The second I glanced in his direction, I cursed myself.
He was still fixated on me. Worse, the tiniest bit of approval simmered in his expression, setting something inside me aflame.
I absolutely, one hundred percent, didn’t want to acknowledge the way my body reacted when our gazes met, and I wished I could dive into the nearby sea to cool myself.
I didn’t know how I knew, but I was certain he was the kind of trouble no woman wanted. Even for just one night.
Though I suspected he was also likely a man no woman could forget.
I blamed that turn of thought on the electric atmosphere and the alcohol, and I did my best to bury it beneath rationality. By the time I returned to our table, flushed and breathless, my thirst took hold, and I drained the rest of my second Guinness.
Maeve sank into her chair and immediately focused on me. “You should go ask him to dance. He literally watched you the entire time.”
A tiny voice in my head agreed, promising that if I did, I’d be close enough to him to see the color of his eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re already halfway there,” Clara observed dryly. “I can see it in your expression.”
I narrowed my gaze in denial, but Maeve leaned in, no longer teasing. “When’s the last time you wanted to?”
I didn’t respond. The honest answer was too long ago to say out loud. And she was right. I wanted to.
Before I could overthink it and lose my courage, I stood. “Fine.”
Maeve’s mouth dropped open in delight. “Yes.”
Clara raised a stunned brow. “Wait. Are you really?”
Each step across the Silver Hart pub felt louder than the last and left me reconsidering my idiotic choice to ask the mysterious man to dance.
I’d let my defenses down for one second, and liquid courage had filled the void, telling me life wasn’t worth living if I didn’t take chances. The music seemed to thin around me, or maybe that was just my pulse climbing into my throat.
He noticed me coming.
Of course he did.
His friend stopped speaking when he realized my intent to approach.
Up close, the man was more strikingly handsome than I’d expected. A faint glimmer of surprise lit his mysterious eyes. Eyes that were dark, and yet didn’t appear to be brown.
Layered, almost-black hair left his sides short, while loose strands fell in disarray across his forehead. Full lips softened the sharp planes of his face. But there was something more, something restrained about him, like a blade sheathed too tightly.
Thoughts of speaking to him, perhaps even touching him, sent my pulse thundering through my body. Still, I managed to keep my voice level. “Would you like to dance?”
“I would not.”
He answered without hesitation in a calm, not cruel, voice.
I blinked. Surely I’d misheard.
He held my gaze. “No, thank you,” he repeated, softer this time, but no less firm.
Heat rushed to my face as the truth slapped me hard. “Right,” I said lightly. “Of course.”
I turned as humiliation bubbled up, hot and irrational and far too familiar. I’d known better than to open myself up like that, but I’d done it anyway. When would I learn?
The walk back to the table felt longer than the one toward him.
Maeve leaned forward immediately. “Well?”
I picked up Clara’s abandoned pint and drained what remained, drowning the emotion he’d churned. Then I focused on Maeve with a cool look. “Apparently, your intuition loses its edge after alcohol. He’s not interested in the least.” Which was good, and the world, for now, remained intact.
Maeve’s expression darkened. “Are you serious?”
I lifted my shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “He declined. Without hesitation.”
She scoffed, shaking her head in disappointment. “The man’s an absolute eejit.”
Clara drew her brows, looking as if she’d been the rejected one. “Unbelievable.”
I plastered on a bright smile and stood, unable to sit while they assessed my circumstances. “I’m getting us another round.”
Before either of them could stop me, I crossed to the bar. The bartender’s friendly smile was a sorely needed salve. “Another Guinness?”
I lifted my fingers. “Two more, please.”
As he set about crafting them, I leaned one elbow against the polished wood and forced my shoulders to relax.
His rejection shouldn’t have stung. He was no one. His opinion of me did not matter.
My life was perfectly fine without a man in it. Lovely, even.