I sit up, trying to blink myself back into the land of the sober. “You said someone’s outside for me?”

“Outside? Now what kind of host would I be if I left my visitors out on the front door stoop in the rain?” She leaves without further explanation, muttering to herself, probably about what an asshole I am.

I look around, wondering if I’m just dreaming. The door is open and I can hear the old woman clomping down the stairs. She offers someone a cup of tea. I must not be dreaming, because who the hell would be here to see me? Did I set something up in the bar and completely forget? Is this one of those alcoholic blackouts I’ve read about?

I stand and yawn, checking my breath in the palm of my hand. Woof. Not good. But since I won’t be kissing this stranger, whoever he is, I’m not going to worry about it. I wander down the stairs, checking the corners of my eyes for evidence of my lazy day. My hair feels fine, so the lack of a mirror doesn’t overly stress me out.

I freeze when I enter the living room. I’d been expecting a messenger from the lawyer’s office or some random guy from a bar, not Donal; certainly not a freshly showered and very well-dressed Donal. I think about reversing out of the room and tearing back up the stairs to fix my face, but it’s too late. He sees me and smiles.

“Ridlee. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Here you go, young man. A nice black tea to put some more hair on your chest.” Mrs. O’Grady comes into the room, brushing against me and knocking me sideways in her eagerness to deliver the beverage.

She hands him a cup and saucer and looks at me, unblinking. “Shall I pour you a cup as well?”

“Uhhh, I think I’ll pass on the chest hair, actually.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen should you need anything.” She gives me a look that I think means she intends to act as my chaperone when she passes by. I can’t help but roll my eyes. I look up and catch Donal smiling. He takes a sip of the tea, watching me over the rim.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. Yes, it’s a defensive body language thing, but since I’m feeling pretty defensive, it’s perfect.

He sits down, putting the tea on the table in front of him. I can’t help but notice how his thick thighs strain the material of his jeans. Wowza.

“I came for two reasons, actually. I came first to apologize, and second to ask ye if I could take ye to the pub for dinner.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, searching for the answer that could override my immediate reaction which is to jump into his lap and force him to deal with my hangover breath.

His expression goes awkward. “I can see that ye’re still sore at me for what I said and did last night, and I don’t blame ye. In fact, I don’t expect to be forgiven, but I figured if I didn’t bother to ask, I’d never know for certain.”

He sounds so damn polite, I can’t just keep on giving him the icy bitch treatment. My butt finds a seat as I watch him for clues about what he really wants. Is this all about getting me in bed? He’s pretty smooth about it if it is. On the surface, he really seems to be here to make his earlier transgressions up to me, but does any man just do that without ulterior motives? Not in my experience.

I shrug. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about me forgiving you. It’s not like you’ll ever see me again after this week. But if it makes you feel better, fine. I forgive you.” I look towards the stairs, wondering if I should just make this easier for us and get up and go.

“You’re leaving so soon?” He sounds sad enough that I look back over at him and abandon my plans to disappear up to my bedroom so quickly.

“We’re just waiting to hear back from this lawyer … I mean, solicitor guy. Mr. O’Mooney and then we’ll be outta here.”

He nods. “I know him. You have business dealings with him?”

“That’s why we’re here. Some stuff for Erin. Once it’s done, we’re leaving.”

He gives me a sad smile. “And ye wouldn’t consider staying a wee bit longer for a bit o’ sightseeing?”

“Are you offering to be my guide?” My heart is beating really fast and I feel a flush coming up my neck. This is the guy who blew me off last night and abandoned me on the cliffs. I should be telling him where to get off, but instead, I kind of feel like swooning. Maybe it’s the Guinness talking. I can’t be sure.

“Might be.” He lifts his cup of tea and takes a sip. Somehow he makes what should be an effeminate thing look sexy and rogue-like.

I sigh. It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s just not any kind of possible reality for me. I decide to just let it all hang out, putting my hands on my legs to steady myself. “Listen, Donal, I’m into you. I’m not going to pretend like I’m not. But the fact is that I’m a lawyer with a really good job who lives back in Boston, and I’ll be leaving here by the end of the week to get back to my life there. So I don’t see the point in making my departure any more difficult than it’s already going to be where you’re concerned.”

He puts his teacup down. “I understand. And I’d never want to put any pressure on ye.” He stands. “But if ye’re up for it, I’d still like to take ye to dinner.”

“Will you try to convince me to stay? Because I don’t want you to think that’s possible.”

“I promise I won’t.”

I shrug, kind of sad now that I realize he’s a genuine nice guy. “Then what’s the point? Aren’t we just going to make it harder for me to go?”

“I hope not. I just felt as though I owed ye an explanation for my behavior last night and ye’d make me feel a lot better if ye’d let me take you out for a meal.”

I should say no, but my heart is just not going to let that happen. “Fine. Just let me run upstairs and get changed.” And totally redo my hair and makeup while I’m at it. I don’t say that part, because I don’t want him thinking I’m high maintenance.

“Take yer time. I’ll be here.” He sits back down and picks up a knitting magazine that rests near his chair, folding a leg over as he turns the first page.

I race up the stairs, trying but failing to not sound like a herd of elephants. I burst into the door of our room and start throwing things around, trying to find my makeup case and a pair of boots that don’t suck.

“What the hell, Rid?” says a whiny Erin. “People are trying to sleep around here.”

“Sorry, but I have a date and I have to get ready. Where are my Burberry ankle booties? Have you seen them?”

Erin sits up and stares at me, her hair a complete wreck. “What’d I miss?”

I throw my covers over to the other side of the bed. “Donal is downstairs and he wants to take me to dinner.”

She tilts her head at me. “Did you go down there already?”

“Yes.” I freeze at her troubled expression. “Why?”

 “Take a look in the mirror and then ask me that question.”

My eyes widen in horror as she starts to laugh. I dash into the bathroom and nearly scream out loud at my reflection. Angry at myself for being so stupid, I put my hair up with a band and scrub all the leaky mascara and smudged lipstick off my face. Talk about a horror show. How that man found it within his heart to ask me out when I sat across from him looking like a deranged circus clown, I’ll never know. Maybe he needs glasses. Either that or he’s the nicest man alive and I should probably propose to him before someone else snatches him up.

Erin comes into the bathroom and leans on the inside of the door. “So, you’ve got a hot date, eh?”

“No, not hot. He and I discussed things.” I start applying my makeup with hurried, jerky motions as I explain. “We both know this is going nowhere and he’s just taking me out to apologize for being a putz last night.”

“A putz, huh? You actually failed to mention that for some reason. I wonder why.”

I throw a washcloth at her. “Shut up. Like I wanted to rain on your orgasm parade last night. What kind of friend would I be if I did that?”