“Take care of her friend first. Then you’ll win her heart. That’s what my granddad always told me. Come on. You’ll break my heart if ye don’t dance with me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for something as grave as all that.” I give him my hand and follow him to the dance floor. The next set is The Haymaker’s Jig, a dance I know well. We get in line and I realise that Micheál has been holding my hand all this time. My heart is going like the clappers. I try to focus on the person in front of me, but I can’t help stealing glances at his profile. He’s tall and broad and has that rugged outdoor look and smell about him. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something the guy opposite us says to him. It’s ridiculous, but I feel proud to be on his arm.

The music starts up and we jig in and out. The steps come back easily; I had to perform them a squillion times when I was at school. Micheál dances well, and when it comes to the spin, he gives it all he’s got. All I can see is his face smiling at me and my own smile is locked in by the g-force of our spin. This guy is quite literally sweeping me off my feet, and I like it. We finish the set laughing. Never, ever, ever, has a guy turned me on the way this guy does, and he really isn’t my type.

A young girl stands and begins to sing, but I can barely hear her. I steal glances at this Adonis and have to resist the urge to reach up and stroke his face. The song ends and the crowd applauds. I almost fall over as I’m jerked back into the moment — the moment that includes all these people and not just me and this beautiful man. I clap too and turn around to smile up at him. Jesus, he’s gorgeous! Stay cool, Erin. Stay cool…

We head back to the table to find Ridlee but she’s nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll just check the ladies.”

“Maybe she went home…,” suggests Micheál.

“I’ll just check the loos to make sure.” I go into the bathroom calling her name. There are only two toilets and Ridlee is in neither. Odd… I head back out to Micheál, doing a quick tour of the pub first in case she’s sitting at one of the other tables.

“No sign of her anywhere.” I tell him.

“Does she often disappear?”

“The odd time, but this is my first time traveling abroad with her, so…” I’m feeling kinda anxious and I stand there with my fingers in my jeans pockets, scanning the crowd. Half of Ireland seems to be in here.

Micheál puts his arm around me. “Jack the barman is a friend of mine. I’ll go ask him if he’s seen her, okay?”

“Thanks.” I watch as he tunnels his way through the crowd and up to the bar. It’s not like Rid and I are joined at the hip or anything but I’m starting to wonder why she would just take off like that.

Micheál is coming back my way smiling. “Jack says that she left a few minutes ago and said to have fun and she will no doubt ‘crawl into you again’. Does that make sense? Sounds kinda kinky.”

I smile, completely relieved. “Yep. Perfect sense.”

“Happy?”

“Happy,” I assure him.

He looks around the crowded, noisy pub. “Listen, it’s crazy in here. Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.” My pulse rate climbs.

“So, ye’re a proper Yank now, are ye? No guilty conscience about rats and sinking ships?” He chuckles at his own joke.

I stop and turn to face him as we get outside the pub. “Listen you, I left before the arse fell out of the economy here. My mum’s American and I always wanted to go there and make my fortune—you know, realise the American dream an’ all.” I smile at him cheekily.

“And?”

“And, what?”

“Have ye made your fortune?”

We turn off the main street and walk down a small side street. He puts his arm around my shoulder and I feel my heart quicken. His eyes are a beautiful shade of green.

“What are you, some kind of gold-digger?” I’m going for nonchalant but I sound skittish.

“Not at all. I’ll never leave the auld sod. I’m married to her. There’s nowhere as beautiful as this place, and ye can’t beat the people.” He smiles proudly.

“Jaysus, are you on the Tourist Board payroll or something?” I laugh loudly and the sound comes back to me in a strange kind of echo as we walk down a narrow lane that leads toward the harbour.

Neither one of us speaks, so all we hear is the sound of our own footsteps and the faint tinkle of sailing lines banging against their masts as we get nearer the water. Halliards! The word for the sailing rope comes back to me from a course I did many years before.

“So, what do you do?” I’m eager to get off the subject of our lovely island.

“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that.”

Great, another drifter who can’t settle down and make something of himself. “Right.”

Even though, I can feel him eyeing me, it’s hard to mask my disappointment. I know that this is just a little fun fling, but it reminds me yet again of how hard it is to meet men with any direction in their lives.

“I own a shop,” he says.

“Really?” I ask way too brightly.

He laughs. “Phew, eh? Bet you thought you’d hooked up with yet another loser.”

“Nooohhh.” I let myself lean into his shoulder a little more. “What kind of shop?”

“Sports. Extreme, really. Well, what some people would call extreme — surfing, kite-surfing, skateboarding, mountain biking — that sort of thing.”

“Cool. What’s it called?”

“Surf ’n’ Turf. How bout you? What do you do?”

“I have a bar, back in Boston. The Pot O’Gold.”

“Oooh, impressive!” he laughs. “Nothing like cashing in on a little of the hi-diddle-diddly, eh?” He adds elbowing me playfully.

“Actually, it was my grandmother’s bar. She named it, and I inherited it. Well, more or less.” The last part I mutter more to myself than out loud. I’m reminded of why we’re here.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” I’m confused for a minute. Did I tell him about the bar and inheriting only half?

“About your grandmother.”

I stare blankly at him.

“Dying,” he proffers, helpfully.

“Yeah, well she was old.”

“They often are.”

“Who?”

“Grandparents.”

Is he taking the piss out of me? “We weren’t all that close, toward the end. She was ninety-odd, so…” The ‘so’ hangs heavily in the air between us until he breaks the silence.

“My own grandfather died a couple of years ago. He pretty much brought me up. He was a cool guy.”

“Yeah? That’s nice… I mean, that he was cool an’ all—not that he died.” Please don’t think me a cold bitch, please don’t think me a cold bitch… God, I’m sooo smitten. Cop on, Girl! Why do you even care what this guy thinks of you? This is a one-night-stand. A chance to get laaaiidd, that’s all!

“I knew what you meant,” he says kindly. “You have a kind heart. I can tell.”

Jaysus, did he actually just say that aloud? This guy takes the whole metrosexual, comfortable with his femininity to a level I’m not used to.

When we reach the harbour a moment later, he stops and turns me round to face him. He’s a good head taller than me. Gently, he reaches up and touches my dimple in the middle of my chin with his thumb. “Cute.”

I smile, and he leans in and kisses me. I close my eyes. His lips are so soft as he explores mine. Then his tongue slides between them and firecrackers of happiness begin exploding inside me. My knees actually start to buckle, and I have to pull away. Blushing, I take a step back and try to act normally. I have never had a reaction like that to a simple kiss.

“Very nice,” he says, his tongue hovering on his lip appreciatively. I turn and look at the boats moored in the harbour, desperate to get my shit together. Nobody has ever had this affect on me before.

The harbour is bathed in moonlight. “Perfect for a night-time sail,” I say desperate to deflect attention from my knocking knees.