“Just go back to the car. I’ll walk to town.”

“You can’t walk back, don’t be … Ack!” My ankles can only take so much, and now they’re done for the night. I stepped on a really big stone and my joint has given way, sending me to the ground. My knee is stinging like hell after its impact with the ground, so I know there’s going to be blood involved. Looking down, I see a gaping hole in my jeans at the knee.

“Oh, no, my pants!” I try to sit up into a less embarrassing position, but then the pain in my leg makes itself really clear and I stop worrying about appearances. “Oh, shit … I mean poop. Poop, my ankle…” I have no idea why I’m suddenly concerned that he’ll hate me for using swear words. What do I care what he thinks of my colorful language? He’s probably halfway to Lisdoonvarna by now.

And then out of the darkness his giant form appears. Donal stops next to me and crouches down, his expression unreadable. “Are ye okay?”

It’s then that I notice the heel has broken clean off my boot. These are my favorite pair in the entire world! Now I’m really pissed. This is all his fault. Why did he go running off like a little brat, leaving me all alone on the cliffs? What kind of gentleman does that?

“No, I’m not okay. Clearly I’m not okay, since I’m sitting here on this wet ground and my favorite boots are ruined.” I grab the heel and hold it up so he can see it’s not where it belongs.

He holds his hand out. “Here, let me help you get up.”

I slap his hand away. “No, go away. You’ve already done enough.”

He stands. “Me? I’ve done enough? What have I done?” He sounds genuinely confused, so I decide not to completely unload all my frustration and anger on him.

“You left me standing out here in the middle of the night. It’s dark, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You have a lift back. The car’s right there.” He points to the Bambino.

I get to my feet, putting most of my weight on the boot that still has a heel. I have the errant heel in my hand and I use it to point for emphasis. Sarcasm laces every word.

“Yes. Thank you. The car is over there, and yet you are over there. Walking in the opposite direction of said car. And why is that? Because you’re a brat.”

“A brat.”

“Yes, that’s what I said. You’re a brat.”

“Why? Because I decided to walk home?”

“No, because you got mad at something I said, pretended like you weren’t mad, and then left in a huff.”

His chin backs up into his neck. “I never leave in a huff. I’ve never left anywhere in a huff in all my life.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” I lift my chin. ”Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go sit in the car, in the dark, by myself, and wait for my friend to come back with the keys and bring me and my twisted ankle home.”

I try to leave with flair, but my plan is foiled when my ankle gives out. I barely catch myself, walking towards the car looking like drunken fool. “I’ve only had one beer!” I shout.

He’s next to me after only a few short steps. “I’m not a brat.”

“Says the guy who acted exactly like a brat.” I accept his offer of help, that help being a shoulder to lean on and an arm behind my waist, but I refuse to look at him.

“And I’m pretty sure I saw you drinking two beers at the pub.” He pauses. “When you were matchmaking.”

I sigh really loud because I don’t have time for his stupid games. Does he like me, or doesn’t he? You’d think not, but then he has that jealous tone when he drops the little hint about me matchmaking. I stop at the car and turn to look at him.

“Listen, Donal, I’m leaving here in less than a week. There’s no point in us playing games, okay? It is what it is.”

He stands there and blinks at me a few times.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

He moves a little closer, staring at my mouth.

I’m a little nervous now, but not in a worried kind of way … more like in a he’s totally hot and I can’t tell what he’s thinking way, but that mouth of his makes me have some very naughty thoughts.

I decide to try again, hoping the words will convince us both. “I just said I’m not going to play games with you.”

He stops when he’s just a couple inches away and bends down to kiss me on the lips. Compared to the freezing cold night, his lips are like fire, they’re so warm. My heart leaps and swings around and dances a jig inside me. I hate that I’m so easily bent to his will.

I yank my head back to cut the connection. It’s making my head spin to be touching him like this, and what I said was the truth. I’m leaving here this week and I’ll never be back.

“What was that all about?” I ask, trying to play it cool.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I point my heel at him. “Okay, you stay right there.” I start hobbling around the car, using the top of it as support.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going on the other side of the car from you so I can think straight.”

When I get to the passenger side, I see him across the top of the vehicle and he’s smiling.

“Ye make me happy,” he says.

“And you make me crazy,” I say back.

“I wouldn’t have left ye out here in the dark,” he says, more sober now.

“Sure seemed like that’s what was happening.”

“I just needed … I just needed to get away. From the edge.”

“Do you have a fear of heights?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just a fear of horrible death.”

“You do realize you make no sense at all.”

He nods. “I can see how ye’d think that.”

“And yet you don’t feel the need to explain yourself.” I tilt my head, curious about what makes this man tick. He’s like no one I’ve ever met before, and I’m wondering if it’s an Irish thing or a Donal thing.

“Maybe another time,” he says.

“When?”

He shrugs. “I hear ye’re leaving in less than a week.”

I nod, knowing when I’m beat. “Yep. That’s me. The girl who’s leaving in a week.” I look past Donal and sigh. “Where did those two get to, anyway? I need to get back. I’m tired.” I fake a big yawn to bring home the point.

“Wait here,” Donal says, turning around and walking away, “I’ll go find them.”

I get into the car and clench my teeth together really hard to keep myself from crying. Stupid Guinness. It totally turns me into a blubbering, idiot, fool. I hate that I thought Donal was into me when he clearly isn’t. One-sided crushes suck worse than tequila hangovers.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ERIN

MORNING LIGHT BEGINS TO TUG at my eyelids but I keep them closed, savoring instead those few moments of bliss when I can just daydream about Micheál uninterrupted. I recall how he’d draped his arm casually round my shoulders as we walked along the cliff’s edge and how when I shrugged him off all faux offended he’d pulled me close and said gruffly that he wasn’t going to let me get away. I’d liked how that sounded, though of course I didn’t let him know that. I thought of the way he’d taken off his jacket and put it on me, holding it out for me like a real gentleman, one arm then the other. That had been followed by a ski hat he’d pulled out of his pocket, then gloves, then a huge scarf he’d wrapped around and around my neck and head, until all that could be seen of me was the tip of my nose.