Chapter 6
Before Molly could even form an apology, the guy was in motion.
He strode toward the scattered fruit with purpose, scooping up apples with quick, efficient movements.
Rain darkened the leather jacket across his broad shoulders as he knelt to retrieve three gleaming apples from a puddle, his large hands gentle despite their obvious strength.
She stood frozen, mortification washing over her in waves hotter than her rain-chilled skin.
‘Oh gosh! I’m so sorry,’ she finally managed, her voice thin against the drum of rain. He didn’t respond, already moving to capture another apple that was making a slow escape toward a drain. His silence amplified her embarrassment. ‘I didn’t see the— I was just trying to …’
‘Set them free?’ he called, his voice rich with mirth and an accent that turned the simple question into something musical. He lunged sideways, hand shooting out to catch an apple mid-bounce off a cobblestone. In one fluid motion, he straightened and tossed it to her.
The apple arced through the rain and Molly caught it reflexively, the fruit cool and smooth against her palm. ‘Nice catch. You’d make a great camogie player.’
She laughed, the sound surprising her. ‘I have no idea what that this,’ she replied, her smile feeling a bit rusty, but real. ‘But if it’s a compliment, I’ll take it.’
Something shifted in the man’s expression – a slight softening around his eyes, a quirk at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile but suggested the possibility of one. ‘Just in from the airport?’
She nodded, suddenly acutely aware of water trickling down her neck, of her drenched pants clinging uncomfortably to her legs, of her hair hanging in rattails around her face. ‘Shannon.’
‘Long journey to make in this weather,’ he observed.
‘I didn’t exactly plan the weather part,’ she replied, another smile tugging at her lips despite her discomfort.
His expression lightened, the severe lines of his face rearranging into something altogether more appealing.
‘Nobody plans the weather,’ he grunted. ‘It does what it pleases, when it pleases.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘This should pass soon enough, though. These autumn squalls never last long.’
As if in direct contradiction, thunder rumbled overhead and the rain, if possible, intensified on cue. Molly couldn’t help it – a laugh bubbled up. ‘You were saying?’ she teased, gesturing at the deluge.
He shook his head, those almost-smile lines deepening around his dark eyes. ‘My own fault. Never try to predict anything in Golden Valley,’ he said. ‘This place has a mind of its own.’
Molly moved closer, gathering two more apples. They were smaller than the ones she was used to seeing in markets back home – more delicate somehow, their skin a watercolor blend of yellow and blushing pink.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she commented, turning one in her hand before placing it back in the cart. ‘But I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this small.’
‘Well, no one’s ever told me that before.
’ He winked and Molly reddened automatically at the blatant double-entendre.
Then he chuckled, reaching beneath a parked bicycle for another fugitive.
‘Katy variety. Early season. They don’t travel well, so you wouldn’t find them in your American supermarkets. ’
She raised an eyebrow, pausing in her retrieval. ‘That obvious?’
Now his mouth did curve into an actual smile, revealing a dimple in his right cheek that did unreasonable things to Molly’s pulse rate. He gestured vaguely at her entire person. ‘You’re wearing “lost tourist” like a sign around your neck.’
Instead of feeling insulted, she found herself smiling back. ‘Oh really?’
‘Let’s just say first-time visitors to Ireland are easy enough to spot.
’ He moved toward the fountain at the center of the square, where more apples had come to rest against the ancient stonework.
‘Like cats caught in the rain – offended by the very existence of weather,’ he added, eyes twinkling mischievously.
‘I’ll have you know I was fully prepared for the rain,’ Molly protested, following him. ‘Just not for … amphibious transportation across medieval cobblestones.’
He guffawed, the sound warm against the cold morning. ‘They’ve been here since 1772, actually. Not quite medieval.’
‘My mistake. Merely antique, then,’ Molly quipped, thoroughly enjoying the exchange.
They worked in tandem, moving around the square in a widening circle. She found herself matching his rhythm – bend, retrieve, return to the cart – falling into a dance with a stranger whose name she didn’t even know.
Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same apple, his fingers warm against her rain-chilled skin. Molly felt the contact like a current, surprisingly intense for such a brief touch. She glanced up, finding his eyes – brown with flecks of gold– already on hers.
‘Sorry,’ they said simultaneously, then both smiled awkwardly.
‘Ladies first,’ he said, withdrawing his hand.
Molly picked up the apple – larger than the others, with a deeper red blush across its skin. ‘This one’s different,’ she observed, turning it in her palm.
‘Yep, that’s a Honeycrisp – sweeter, crisper.’ He was beside her now, close enough that she could smell apples and rain and something warmer on him, like cedar. ‘Show-offs, these. Always trying to stand out from the crowd.’
‘You seem to know a lot about apple … personalities,’ she teased.
He took the fruit from her, his fingers lingering against hers a moment longer than necessary. ‘I read apples like some read tea leaves. People too, by the kind of apples they favor,’ he added mischievously.
Molly’s smile reappeared – he was unashamedly flirting now. ‘So what does this one say about me?’ she challenged, nodding at the fruit in her hand.
He studied it with exaggerated seriousness. ‘Well, now, this one tells me that you’re a woman of great character. Even though you’re tired and soaked to the bone, you’re the kind who still helps a stranger when you could’ve just apologized and hurried away.’
‘All that from a piece of fruit,’ Molly said, suddenly aware of how close they were standing, how the rain had plastered her clothes to her skin, how his eyes crinkled so attractively when he smiled. ‘You must be very good at your job.’
He winked. ‘Very good.’
Molly swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to remember that she was drenched, jet-lagged and completely out of her element.
They continued their apple-gathering, but something had shifted. Molly found herself increasingly aware of his physicality – the breadth of his shoulders beneath the battered leather jacket, the graceful economy of his movements, the way raindrops clung to his dark eyelashes.
‘So what brings you to our neck of the woods?’ he asked then. ‘Business or pleasure?’
‘Neither, exactly,’ she replied, focusing on corralling two apples that seemed determined to roll down the slight incline of the street. ‘More … obligation.’
His eyes widened. ‘Bit ominous.’
She laughed. ‘Not really. Just long overdue.’
He nodded, accepting her vague answer without pressing further. ‘These parts have a way of making people keep their promises.’
Something in his tone made her look up then. For an instant, she glimpsed something deeper behind his easy manner – a shadow of something else. Then it was gone, his expression open once more as he straightened up.
‘You’re good at this yourself,’ he said, nodding toward the three meandering apples she’d managed to trap against a wall with her foot. ‘Ever considered a career in fruit wrangling?’
‘I missed my calling,’ Molly replied, scooping them up. ‘Currently stuck in the corporate treadmill, but I’ll add it to my resume for emergencies.’
His laugh was unexpected and genuine, transforming his face completely. The dimple reappeared, deeper this time, and she found herself wishing she could capture the sound somehow, bottle it.
‘Let me guess – big city, corner office with a view?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You psychic too, or just showing off?’
‘Neither. You just have that look.’
‘There’s a look?’
‘Absolutely. Efficient, precise, probably terrifying in a meeting.’ His eyes traveled over her with open appreciation that should have felt inappropriate but somehow didn’t. ‘Though at the moment, more “drowned efficiency” than “corporate terror”. ’
Molly glanced down at herself – soaked, stained blouse, rain-drenched pants and sodden suede boots – with a rueful smile. ‘Not exactly the look I was going for.’
‘Working for you all the same,’ he said, his voice dropping slightly, the words landing with obvious weight.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks despite the chill air.
Molly couldn’t remember the last time she’d openly flirted with a stranger – or indeed when any flirting had felt this natural, this effortless.
Her previous relationships (what few there were) had been brief sparks that usually fizzled out in no time.
This … this was a goddamn bonfire.
They were down to the last few apples now. Molly spotted another nestled against the base of the fountain and moved toward it, aware of him doing the same.
‘I think this is the last one,’ she said, her voice softer than intended.
Neither moved to pick it up though. Rain pattered around them, a sound that seemed to create a private space in the otherwise empty square.
‘You should probably claim it,’ he said, his breath warm against her cheek. ‘Since you started the great escape in the first place.’
‘Seems only fair.’ She picked up the apple, cradling it in her palm.
‘That’s it then,’ he said as she placed the final apple back on the cart. ‘Crisis averted.’
Molly became aware again of her soaked clothes, her exhaustion, the hotel she still needed to find. Yet she found herself reluctant to end this unexpected interlude. ‘Again, I really am sorry about crashing into your cart.’