The butterflies in my belly have now evolved into Riverdancing leprechauns, clicking and tapping so vigorously I’m concerned my navel might burst open and release a swarm of angry Irish fairies.
“I have work, Vicky will freak, Grace . . . Mom,” I shout random protests at him because I’m incapable of forming coherent sentences.
“Vicky approved the time off. Grace gave me a shopping list for presents.” His eyes glint with humor. “Your mom’s thrilled for you.”
“I don’t have any clothes. Underwear. I thought we were going for dinner, not going overseas!”
“Grace packed your bag. I told her Ireland could get chilly even at this time of year. Relax. If anything’s missing, we’ll sort it out when we get there. I can make a call on the flight.”
I gape at him, feeling like I’ve stumbled onto the set of some elaborate prank show. Clearly, everyone’s in on this except for me. I knew Grace was acting funny the last few days, watching me with that sly smirk. That little sneak.
“That means everybody knows about us.” I’m not entirely sure what “us” even means. Are we friends with benefits still? Lovers?
“Not that it’s anybody’s fucking business, but Vicky thinks you’re on a surprise family holiday. Your buddy Kayla helped me out.”
The mere thought of my mom’s reaction sends me into a preemptive cringe. “Mom’s going to have a blast with this,” I mutter. She’ll be picking out wedding venues before we land in Ireland.
Only now do I really look at the flowers he’s given me. Blue and brown blooms. And there’s a note, withForest of Lexiwritten in a fancy script. Are these freakingcustom flowers?
He gives me a playful wink. “Matches your eyes.”
“Pinch me,” I breathe, half expecting to wake up any second now in my bed in Maison du Leak.
Connor, sensing I’m about two seconds away from a full freak-out, gently smooths down my wind-wild hair. “Don’t look so scared, Lexi. It’s only four days. And the jet’s very comfortable, so you won’t miss any sleep. It’ll feel like a long weekend away.”
Going to Ireland on a whim obviously isn’t as big a deal to him as it is me, in fact it doesn’t sound to be a big deal at all.
The bombshell that he’s orchestrated all this without my knowledge brings forth a mix of emotions. “You planned all this behind my back?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t have to do that much.” A hint of vulnerability peeks through his confident facade. “I know, I know—it’s a gamble. If you’re overwhelmed just say the word. I’m not forcing you, and don’t feel bad if you want to pull the pin. I’ll understand. But you’d get to see that view from my painting in the flesh.”
Pressing palms to my flushed cheeks, I find myself whispering, “Guess I’m off to Ireland, then.”
???
We touch down after the best sleep of my life, thanks to the plush private bedroom and three flight attendants fawning over me. And I officially joined the mile-high club somewhere over the Atlantic. Twice. Bow chicka wow wow.
Now, we’re cozied up in a quaint Irish bar, or should I say “pub,” that feels like it’s been plucked straight from a postcard, complete with a traditional band serenading us from the corner.
It’s like nobody even knows who he is here, or if they do, they’re doing an impressive job of playing it cool. Even the women who are discreetly eyeing him are playing it low-key.
Pinch me, I’m in Ireland. I still can’t believe it. Just yesterday I was debating whether I could put off doing laundry for one more day, and now here I am., in Ireland.
Snuggling into him, I’m hit with a wave of . . . everything. “Honestly this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I confess, voice wobbling traitorously.
Connor stiffens and clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nothing, Lexi. I needed a holiday too.”
I probably wouldn’t have been so open if I hadn’t tried all the whiskeys.
He’s trying to backpedal his romantic gesture, but I’m not buying it. Emotionally constipated or not, this man went out of his way to plan this surprise.
“I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun,” I sigh. That’s when the harsh reality hits me. “It’s made me realize how much of my life I’ve been putting on hold.”
A couple decides to share our space, plopping down on the bench next to us.
Almost on instinct, Connor smoothly shifts me onto his lap, his muscular arms cradling me against his chest. “I see how much people lean on you, and that’s admirable.” He lifts my chin, his ocean-blue eyes locking with mine. “But you’ve gotta take care of yourself too. Prioritize your own happiness once in a while. Consider this trip permission to be a little selfish and do what feels good.”
His words hit me hard, triggering a tsunami of fresh emotions. Maybe it’s the Guinness talking, or the lilting tunes in the background, or perhaps it’s the sheer reality of sitting here, in Ireland, on the lap of this absurdly handsome Irish American guy. Without warning, a snort-sob hybrid escapes me. Real attractive.
