She’s mumbling. “It just seems so cold.”

“It’s not cold, it’s business. There is no temperature for business, it’s neither hot nor cold. It’s just the way things are.” I wiggle a little, trying to bury myself in the seat more. There’s so much butt room in this chair, I’m in heaven. I could fit two of me on this thing.

“I don’t like that kind of business. I prefer the kind where you’re friends with the people you deal with.”

Now I open my eyes more fully, staring her down. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. I’m not, actually.”

A recent memory floats to the front of my mind. “Soooo, you’re saying your best buds with the guy who delivers your soda syrups?”

“I was.” She sticks her chin out in defiance. “Until he tried to rip me off by a half-dozen boxes.”

“And then what happened?” I nod, waiting for it.

Erin realizes too late she’s been schooled. “Nothing. Much.”

“Right. That’s funny, because I recall a shouting match, a threat of bodily harm with a baseball bat, and then a letter, written by yours truly at your behest, reminding his boss of all the legal ramifications of his employees short-changing clients on their orders.”

“It had to be done. That guy was a criminal.” She looks away.

“Of course it had to be done, no one’s arguing that. But the problem with making your vendors your best buddies is they tend to think they can rip you off when times gets tough.”

She looks at me sharply. “When did you get so bitter about the world, hey?”

I close my eyes again, refusing to be goaded into a fight. This is typical Erin; she’s sad so she picks fights with the ones she loves. Her misery definitely loves company, but I’m not in the mood today. Ireland was good to me. I’m going to keep enjoying that feeling as long as I can.

I answer when I know my tone can be controlled, even, and calm. “I’m not bitter, I’m a realist. I see it over and over at work. If you’re naive, you get taken advantage of. The world is a scary place, so you have to be tough. No one is your friend. They’re all just business associates.” I sigh to slow myself down and open my eyes, tilting my head to look at Erin. “I’m not saying it never works, because obviously there’s you and me; we’re friends and we do business together. I’m just saying it’s probably not worth the risk in most cases. And with Michaél? It’s completely risky. You totally fell for him in like, what? Two days? He could destroy your business in a month if you let him.”

“Ha. As if I’d let any man even come near my business.”

I reach over with my eyes closed again and pat her arm. Or her leg. I can’t tell which it is. “That’s my girl. Why don’t you just sit back and relax? We’re here in business class instead of in coach with the rabble. Live it up, girl, because it’s all nose to the grindstone once we land.” I open my eyes so I can hand her my headphones. “Take these and tune into that radio channel that has the sound of waves and stuff.”

She holds the headphones limply in her hand. “But waves remind me of surfing, and surfing reminds me of Michaél.”

“Fine,” I grind out. “Listen to the rainfall one. Or the white noise static channel. Whatever. Just stop mooning over a guy you’re never going to see again.”

“I’m not mooning,” she says, plugging the headphones into her armrest as she pouts.

“What do you call it?”

“I call it…,” she selects a radio station and leans her chair back, “…reflecting.” She looks at her phone again.

I reach over and take it from her gently, holding down the power button to turn it off. “No phones during the flight. We’re about to take off.” Leaning forward, I put it in the pocket in front of her.

She stares at the lump it makes and looks about as lonely as I’ve ever seen her.

I pat her on the hand. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Her eyes shine with tears. “But what if I made a mistake? What if he was The One?”

“If he was The One, then if I were you I’d be planning a long conversation with The Big Man Upstairs, because it wouldn’t be very fair would it? To hook your soul up to a guy who lives in Ireland and loves it there, who can’t run a business to save his life, and who’s never going to amount to anything more than a guy who lives in an apartment above a lawyer’s office? Talk about bad planning. You guys are opposites.”

“It’s a solicitor, not a lawyer, as I’ve told you a thousand times over, and who’s to say he’s not completely successful? Living life on his terms, surfing in the middle of the day when people like you and me have to slave over clients and orders and lists of chores that have to be done. Who’s to say we’re even successful when all we do every day is complain about how hard we work?”

I look at her for a long time, wondering where this person came from. Erin is still on vacation in Ireland, I think. “When did you get so philosophical about the workday, anyway?”

She shrugs, looking down at her lap. “I don’t know. Ireland always gets in my head and fucks around with it.”

I go back to my lounging and finding inner peace. I have a ton of work waiting for me back in Boston, and I’m not one bit regretful about that. I’m working on becoming a successful businesswoman so that one day I can surf in the middle of the day if I feel like it. Not that I’ll ever feel like doing that, but whatever. I slave over a desk now so I can relax later. Erin’s lover plays now and never gets around to the working stuff. Whether she wants to admit it or not, that kind of guy would never suit her for long.

“Don’t worry, little muppet,” I say, trying for a reassuring tone. “You’ll be back in Boston soon and your head will clear itself. I predict that as soon as you walk into the Pot O’ Gold, you’ll look around and see that it’s finally all yours, and you’ll remember the vision you’ve laid out for yourself in pristine clarity. I can’t wait to see what you do to the place first.”

She sighs, only this time, she sounds a touch happier. “You’re probably right. I do have some awesome plans.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.”

A flight attendant comes by and offers us each a hot towel. I use mine to wipe the city grime from my face. Erin uses her as a gas mask. She inhales and exhales like Darth Vader.

“What are you doing?” I’m trying not to laugh.

“Moistening my airways. Do you know how dried-out an airplane can make your sinuses? I can’t afford to get sick on this flight. I have too much work to do back at the bar.”

“That’s the spirit.” I give my washcloth a few inhales for good measure. Who knows? Maybe she’s right. I can’t afford to get sick either.

“Did you hear from Donal before you left?” Erin asks. I can’t tell if it’s an innocent question or one designed to get me riled up.

I shrug like it makes no difference. “No, but I didn’t expect to.”

“I thought you guys hit it off.”

“We did, but not in that way.”

“Are you suuuuure?” She smiles and nudges me. “Seemed pretty hot when you were out there at his farm. Sparks flyin’ an’ all that. His Big Dick.”

“Please. He’s a hick farmboy and I’m a city girl attorney. Where’s the match in that?”

“Mister O’Henry sure thought it could work.”

I snort. “Yeah, right. And he matched you up with Michaél. Talk about mismatched. I think it’s time Mister O’Henry consider retirement, leaving the match-making to eHarmony.”

The light dies from Erin’s face and she sits back in her seat, staring at the magazine pocket in front of her. “Yeah. Mismatched. Right.”

The flight attendant takes our washcloths with a set of tongs, like she’s afraid she’s going to catch a disease from us or something. Erin frowns at her, but brightens up a minute later when another flight attendant, a cute guy, offers us tiny bowls of warm nuts and a glass of champagne each.

Erin crunches away and smiles. “Warm nuts. Yum. I could serve these at the Pot O’ Gold, couldn’t I?”