“Hi,” I gave one of those awkward half-shrug, half-wave things when you meet new people and don’t know if you should shake their hand or if that makes them think you’re an accountant. “I’m Maeve.”
“Howiye, Maeve. Flynn O'Hagan, at your service,” the first guy said with a thick Irish accent as he grabbed my hand,swept into a deep bow, and placed his full lips right against my knuckles. Thick red curls fell over his eyes as he looked up at me. “Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Maeve Moore.”
Where his lips pressed against my skin, fire whizzed straight down my arm and flared right in my core. I’d never had a guy greet me quite like that before, especially one who looked like Flynn. Sunlight streaming through the high gothic windows caught his vibrant red hair, making it glow like a golden halo around his head. But unlike an angel, the glint in his blue eyes was pure devil.
And there was something else about those mischievous eyes, those cheekbones like razors. They felt familiar to me, as though I’d seen them somewhere before. On a movie poster perhaps. Flynn was hot enough to be an actor. But somehow I didn’t think that was it.
My mouth moved, but I couldn’t think of any words. What do you say to a hot Irishman kissing your hand?
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I finally managed to choke out. Flynn stood up, but he didn’t drop my hand. Instead, he yanked me around the end of the sofa and pulled me down beside him.
“Come pull up a pew and tell us all about yourself. Your accent isoutrageous.You sound like someone from the telly.”
“What’s a telly?” I asked, and Flynn burst out laughing – a deep belly laugh that coursed through his whole body, causing his leg to vibrate and my whole nervous system to go into overdrive.
“A television,” Corbin explained. “Flynn, the girl’s been in the country less than four hours. You can’t expect her to have re-learned her entire vocabulary in that time.”
“I can and will.” Flynn slid his foot across the table and knocked off a stack of books. “Arthur, where’s the booze? We’re celebrating Miss Maeve’s arrival. This calls for a round.”
“All right, all right, hold your horses,” snapped the largest of the four guys, who I’d deduced must be Arthur. He wiped a long strand of dirty-blond hair out of his eye, and gave me a wink. His eyes were blue, too – a cold, ice blue to Flynn’s deep ocean shade. I was too busy admiring him to respond.
Arthur’s blond mane spilled over his shoulders, flowing down his back nearly to his butt. It too shone in the sunlight, rippling like a shampoo commercial as he moved. I longed to run my hands through it. Andrew from Astronomy Club had the same dull buzzed haircut as all the guys in Arizona. The same haircut you got when you joined the armed services, which was not a coincidence in my town.
But back to Arthur, because no way should I even be thinking about Andrew when I was looking at all my Geralt of Rivia fantasies come to life.Wow. He had this strong, staunch face that said he took no shit from anyone, but his eyes shone with this beautiful kindness that made me want to fall into them and get lost forever. The strength in his features was accentuated by a dark beard, not trimmed like a hipster, but wild and free. An ornate earring dangled from his left earlobe, and I caught the edge of tattoos peeking over his collar and wrists. I saw what Corbin meant by his marauding Viking comment, although to me Arthur looked more like Geralt, or a blond Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.
I always had a thing for Aragorn.
Right now, Arthur was standing behind a large oak bar in the corner of the room, fiddling with some epic glass bottles. He held one up nodded at me. “Mead?”
“What’s mead?”
“It’s wine made with honey,” Arthur explained. “It’s an ancient drink that used to be shared among warriors while they drank in their halls.”
Fuck, he reallyisAragorn.
“Arthur brews it himself,” Corbin said, indicating that he’d also like a glass.
“You brew your own alcohol? Does it strip paint off houses?” The football team quarterback brewed moonshine in his dad’s barn, and it was shared around at high school parties. I’d never imbibed paint stripper, but I imagined they shared a similar taste.
“It’s really sweet. I think you’ll like it.” Flynn said. “Not for me, though. I’ll have a dram of that famed Tullamore Dew whiskey, cheers very much.”
“I’ll make some tea.” The fourth guy – dark-skinned like Corbin and beautiful, if that was possible, with dreadlocks spilling down his back – got up and scurried from the room.
“Rowan’s a mite shy.” Flynn settled in the couch, accepting a glass filled with amber liquid from Arthur. “We keep telling him that girls don’t bite, but he always makes a holy show of himself.”
“Don’t be cruel.” Corbin helped Arthur with the goblets. “You know Rowan can’t help the way he is.”
“Who’s being cruel? Rowan made eccles cakes this morning. He’s a good friend, unlike the rest of you gobshites.”
“This is so cool.” I took the goblet Arthur offered me and sniffed the pale liquid. It smelled rich and syrupy. “I’m fascinated by fermentation. I used to make kombucha, but no one in my family would drink it. I tried to make ginger beer once, but it exploded all over the cupboard. I always wanted to try alcohol, but my parents didn’t want any alcohol in the house.”
“I’ll teach you if you like.” Arthur raised his own earthenware goblet and clinked it against mine. “Corbin said you were into science, and home brewing is basically delicious chemistry. We have our own hives on the property, so there is lots of honey.”
I turned to Corbin. “How do you know I’m into science?”
Corbin looked uncomfortable. “I… well, I saw the chemistry kit on your desk and the space posters in your room, when I?—”
“Right.” I gulped.When he helped carry me home after I nearly died in the same accident that killed my parents, and somehow managed to treat all my wounds and burns so they healed perfectly in just a few days.
