He narrows his eyes. “And who would your client be, then?”

“Uhhhh, a girl?”

“Are ye sure, now?”

I frown. “Of course I’m sure. I’m pretty sure. No, I’m definitely sure.” This Guinness is kicking my ass. I take another swallow of it.

“Ye didn’t sound sure.” He winks at me and lowers his arms.

This guy is way sharper than I gave him credit for earlier. I use my confident voice so he won’t doubt me again. “She’s a woman, actually, boobs and all. I can’t share her name, I hope you understand.” Whoops. There goes that Guinness again.

He pats his book. “Indeed, I do. Confidentiality is the cornerstone of trust.”

I smile because we understand each other perfectly.

He opens the book in front of him and scans a few pages, looking up at me every once in a while.

“So what’s in the book?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.

“Names. Information. Confidential, don’t you know.”

“What do you do with those names?”

“Well, I connect the dots you might say.”

A light bulb goes on in my brain as I recall a conversation I had with Erin earlier, where she was relating one of those nutty Irish tales. “You’re the matchmaker, aren’t you?”

“Indeed, I am.” He smiles again.

I can’t stop grinning. “That is so cool. So you just sit here and match people up?”

“Well, it’s a wee bit more involved than that, but that’s the gist of it, yes.”

Someone bumps into me from behind and I turn around to give whoever it is a piece of my mind. But then I see it’s a flush-faced Erin and let it slide.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” she asks. She seems like she’s out of breath or something.

“Just chatting with Mr.….” I forgot the matchmaker’s name already. Damn you, Guinness, you saucy bitch.

“O’Henry. Henry O’Henry at yer service,” he says, tipping his hat.

I just want to melt whenever an Irishman does that. It doesn’t matter whether he’s a hundred years old or five. It’s beyond charming.

“Oh, the famous matchmaker! You’ve met the man, Ridlee!” Erin’s way more excited than I expected her to be. “He can help you find a date!”

My smile falters. “I don’t need help finding a date.”

Mr. O’Henry tips his head down in apology. “I don’t play the dating game, I’m sorry, Lass. I merely do the work of true love.”

Erin snorts. “True love. Okay, whatever. Anywho, Ridlee, time to go.”

I twist more fully around in my seat. “Time to go? What happened to the drummer?”

“He’s crawling and we’re following.”

“Oh.” Letting that guy out of her sight would be a bad idea if she has plans to wake the neighbors later, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I stand and hold out my hand. “Mr. O’Henry, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

He takes a scrap of paper from the bar and writes something on it before handing it to me. “Ye’ll be wanting this before ye start your crawl in earnest.”

“What’s this?” I ask, looking down at the jagged handwriting.

“The lawyer ye asked about. Call him on Monday. Tell ‘im I sent ye.” He tips his hat one more time and smiles.

“Thank you so much.” I’m being pulled backwards by my jacket, which is probably a good thing since I was feeling an overwhelming urge to bear-hug the poor man. I pause only long enough to set my empty beer glass down on a table before being dragged out the door. I wave to Mr. O’Henry even though I can’t see his face anymore. My spot in front of him was taken as soon as I vacated it.

“What’s the big hurry?” I ask, turning around so I can pull my jacket out of her clutches.

“He’s already there. What if another girl gets her talons in him before I get my chance?”

“Wow. It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?” I scoot out of her way before she can hit me like she wants to.

“You try having any kind of a sex life with your ailing grandmother lurking in the shadows. So, yeah, it’s been a while. Plus, he plays the drums, Ridlee. The bodhrán.”

“Yes, I know. And he plays it well, too.” I’m smirking, trying not to laugh.

“You need to find a date so I don’t have to feel guilty about leaving you in the lurch,” she says, pouting.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Just go find your little drummer boy and have your fun. I have a lawyer’s name, so Monday, we’re in business. We’ll be out of here by Wednesday.”

For the first time ever, Erin doesn’t look all that excited about leaving her home country.

CHAPTER NINE

ERIN

THE CÉILÍ IS IN FULL SWING when we follow Micheál into the third and last pub in Doolin.

“Fuck me, it’s like Riverdance on speed,” shouts Ridlee into my ear.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I answer, only half listening, my eyes locked onto Micheál. I can’t let this boy out of my sight.

Ridlee elbows me in the ribs, hard.

I turn to look at her, ready to give her a piece of my mind. “Jesus, Rid. Stop with the elbowing…”

“No, you stop, Erin! Cool it, will you? You’re following this guy around like a puppy. Chill out. I know you’re sexually frustrated but have a little class.”

“I’m not…”

“Shush!” Ridlee holds up her index finger.

“I…”

“Shush!” She places her finger on my lips making arguments impossible.

“I am your best friend in the whole world and you know in your heart that I’m right.”

I glance in the direction of the bar where Micheál is ordering drinks and make a pleading puppy dog sound. Ridlee’s finger presses harder into my lips, and as I turn longingly in his direction again, her finger becomes lodged in my left nostril.

“Now, play it cool,” she growls. “You stink of desperation.”

“It’s hard to be cool with your finger jammed up my nose.”

“Right.” She removes her finger. “Sorry.”

“Here you go ladies!” Micheál arrives with three more pints.

“Are ye dancin’?” he asks Ridlee.

She looks at him as though he’s a little retarded. “Not at this very moment, no.”

“He means ‘would you like to dance’,” I translate.

“I don’t know the steps.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Micheál assures her. “You lead, I’ll follow. Or, I’ll lead, you follow.” He grins and my heart melts.

“Go on, Rid,” I try to say with enthusiasm, “it’s great fun.” He’s asking her to dance? Why not me?

“Okay, then,” she says shrugging, “when in Rome and all that jazz…”

Micheál takes her hand and pulls her toward the dance floor. For a ridiculous moment I suffer the pangs of jealousy. Please don’t fall for Ridlee. Please don’t fall for Ridlee. I grin broadly, ever the supportive friend and watch them take their places for the next set.

The music starts, and I recognise the dance as The Walls of Limerick, a great reel that’s easy to pick up. Ridlee’s a quick study and gets the steps the first time. Soon she’s spinning round the floor with Micheál, grinning from ear to ear. I gulp my Guinness down too quickly. He’ll probably fall for her—they usually do.

The set ends and I clap and whoop too loudly. I’m not upset. I’m not upset. As they’re coming off the dance floor a guy steps between them and asks Ridlee to dance again. She beams and follows him back out.

“Your turn next.” Micheál holds out his hand.

“No, you’re alright. I won’t.” I say, playing it cool. His face falls into a frown.