I shout her name from across the room, and she spins around towards me. Her eyes light up and a wide smile spreads across her face as she grabs my arm and pulls me through the crowd, the steady thump of the bass reverberating in our chests. We stop at the edge of the dance floor, and she looks at me with a smile. We join the crowd, entranced by the lively tunes being played by the band in front of us. Flutes, fiddles and banjos fill the air, as the beautiful Grace, with the pixie haircut strums her guitar with wild abandon. As the music swells, Kayla and I dance together in perfect harmony. My feet seem to know just where to go, not that anyone would care if I had two left feet. Kayla’s face glows in the soft light. I feel a sense of freedom and joy, as if all my worries melt away and we’re floating in a world of our own making.
After a few songs, my heart is pounding and my feet feel like heavy stone, so I drag myself off the packed dance floor, squeezing through the heaving bodies. Sweat drenches my shirt and I can feel it on my forehead. I stumble towards the bar, desperate for a cool drink to help restore some energy.
I give Kayla a wave and witness her attempt at an Irish riverdance. She moves her feet quickly in time with the music, arms held tightly at her sides. Her head is tilted upwards and her shoulders are thrown back as she does her best to mimic the steps. I can see her curls bouncing with each jump, and I’m grateful that she’s wearing Mary Janes instead of her usual stilettos; otherwise we would have been spending the night in A&E. The people around us clap along to the music and join in on the fun.
I whirl around to the bar to place my order, only to have a wave of icy beer pour over my chest. The cold liquid washes over me, spilling on the floor. My neck strains as I crane my head upwards and take in the form of James O’Connor standing before me, the trio of beers now just two and a half in his hands.He looks at me, his lips in an O shape and his eyes wide, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
My stomach twists as my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. I force myself to look up and speak. ‘I… I’m so sorry,’ I stammer, wishing the ground would swallow me up.
James sets down the glasses clumsily, sending more beer splashing onto the dark mahogany bar. He extends a white cloth napkin towards me; our fingers brush against each other and I feel a shock of electricity.
I accept the napkin from him, pressing it to my chest, trying to appear nonchalant even though my heart is pounding in my throat.
He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I apologise – you’re completely soaked, and it was my fault…’ His Irish accent is a comforting embrace, its velvety tones ever-so-soft and soothing.
Kayla staggers in behind me, her chest heaving and her face slick with sweat. ‘Oh God! I need something to cool me down!’ she blurts out, before she notices the beer staining my clothes. Her gaze steadies on me, and her eyes grow wide. ‘What happened to you?’
James flashes a sheepish grin and lifts his hands in a small gesture of surrender. ‘My apologies, ladies. A round on me. What can I get you?’ He gazes at us with a twinkle in his kind sapphire eyes.
I shake my head in disagreement. ‘No way! It was my fault. Let me buy you a new one!’
He guffaws. ‘Big Sean would have my head if he heard that I let Rose Clarke’s daughter buy drinks here in Innisfree.’ James lifts a finger to the bartender. ‘Make sure these two get what they want,’ he says, winking.
Kayla pulls out her hand. ‘Thank you! I’m Kayla.’
James takes her hand and they shake. ‘I’m James. It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he says warmly, his gaze shifting towardsme for a moment. ‘Enjoy your night. I’ll see you tomorrow morning in the office, Daisy – I’m looking forward to it.’ He makes his way to a corner booth.
‘Me too!’ I blurt out, my voice too loud in the busy bar.
Kayla gives me an elbow nudge, and once he’s out of earshot, she turns her gaze on me with narrowed eyes. ‘Isthatthe lawyer?’
‘Yup,’ I mutter. ‘That’s him.’
Kayla starts shaking her head. ‘Oh my word! How are you going to be able to keep yourself in check with him?’ She giggles and waggles her brows. ‘Ash better watch out and start treating you the way you deserve because that man is—’
‘Kayla! Enough. You’ve got your beer goggles on – it’s time to go.’
I link my arm in hers and we hurriedly weave our way through the crowd and out into the chilly night. Although the air around me has cooled, my cheeks remain hot to the touch.
CHAPTER 23
THE SOLICITOR
I awkwardly knock on the door of O’Connor & Sons Solicitors and glance down at my hands, empty of any documents. Great start. But I’m making the right choice in coming on my own. I can handle this solo; I’m sure of it.
Kayla is kind enough to take time away from her hectic life to join me here, so I don’t want to add any more unnecessary stress to her already full schedule. She had a full day of client meetings when I left her, and from what I could tell, she was scheduled to be tied up until dinner. That girl is a powerhouse. Even with a hangover.
The door creaks as it opens, unveiling an elderly man wearing a dark-green bow tie sitting behind his desk. He lifts his gaze from his work and beams at me. Only now do I catch the resemblance – vivid blue eyes just like James.
‘Come in,’ he says, extending his hand outwards. ‘Jonathan O’Connor – nice to meet you.’ He radiates a kind, yet strong energy.
I return the handshake with a smile on my face. His grip is firm, and his skin feels soft and smooth like suede.
‘I’m Daisy,’ I reply, my voice trembling slightly as I attempt to control my nerves. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m here tosort out some family property matters related to Rose Clarke’s inheritance.’ I force a small smile, hoping he hasn’t noticed the fear that’s overtaken me.
He waves his arm towards an empty chair across from him and gestures for me to take a seat. ‘Ah yes, my son James has filled me in on the details. He should be here soon.’
The room is small and cramped, in stark contrast to the sprawling Irish countryside outside. His desk is overflowing with mountains of frayed documents. Stacks of legal briefs and yellowing title deeds encroach into every nook and cranny on the worn wooden floor and come within inches of the high ceiling. Old leather-bound tomes line the walls, along with framed Latin certificates of prestigious qualifications from top universities. The smell of old leather, stale coffee and ageing parchment fills the air.
