“It mustn’t have rained. You would’ve noticed the smell.”
“Florence smells?”
“All cities with ancient sewerage systems stink,” I reply, outing myself as a bit of an engineering geek.
She wrinkles her nose, and it’s fucking adorable. “I felt like shit in Florence. Does that count?”
“Don’t tell me. You went to recover from a broken heart?”
“You know how it goes.” She shoots me a quick look and a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.
“A bit.”
I’m such a fucking liar. I’ve never had my heart broken, though I’ve had it bruised a few times. Or maybe that was just my pride, and the pain came from overuse—from putting myself out there too many times. The truth is, I’m a serial monogamist who’s never truly been in love.
“Again, I truly appreciate your help. And again, I will pay you for your time.”
“Help. Sure, let’s go with that.” I shoot her a look. “I would’ve gone withcoercionmyself.” The rest I ignore. I’ve no intention of taking money from her. I’ll have my payment in amusement, I reckon.
“You just said you wouldn’t run away.”
“That’s not to say I haven’t considered it. Along with putting you in a sack.”
“Is that an Irish thing?” she asks, amused.
“Yep. It’s what we do to women in pubs who won’t take no for an answer.”
“What about men who won’t take no for an answer?”
“You might just find out when we get to this wedding. Anyway,” I add before she can interject. Or argue again. “If we’re not staying long, you can take me out for a feed as payment.”
“A feed. Are you a horse?”
“It’ll ease your conscience, I reckon. For hijacking my evening.”
“My conscience?” she trills. “Now who’s being bold?”
“I’m taking a leaf out of your book.” How is it she’s gotten prettier since we left the pub?
“I’d say your book gets enough action of its own.”
Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve never had an evening like this.
Chapter 5
Ryan
In the empty marble entryway, music resounds, glasses clink, the sounds of conviviality and happiness pouring from the room beyond. I blow out a breath, slow and steady, as I try to ignore my sweaty palms and rotating intestines. Despite what I’ve said, despite all the trouble I’ve gone to, I donotwant to be here. But as with a dose of bad-tasting medicine, I just have to take it.
I pause at a glittering sign nestled in an ostentatious floral display, announcing the marriage of the happy couple.Curse their lineage.But not really. I’ve got nothing against the bride. I kind of feel for her, not that it makes any sense, considering all she has. But I guess she also has a cheating asshole of a husband now, so curse his ass because he deserves none of this.
“All good?”
I nod, resisting the urge to look at the man to my left. He is a whole lot of man. I’ll admit I was a little shocked when I first set eyes on him. I almost swallowed my tongue. I thought Carl from the Cuddle Collective must’ve used some very unflattering photos on his business profile, because the man in front of me was plain gorgeous. I could even see that making sense in my head, the reasons for underplaying his attractiveness.Don’t want the ladiesbooking a platonic cuddle appointment thinking they’d get down (literally) to more than that.
In short, Matt is a snack! He’s fire. He’s so freakin’ hot that, in other, less dire circumstances, I’m not sure I could be so blasé about being on his arm. His hair is so dark it’s almost black, and his eyes a deep forest green shot through with summer gold. He has the kind of chin that belongs to a comic book superhero, and I bet I could slice ham on those cheekbones. His shoulders are broad, and his thighs are thick. The man is country strong, yet he looks like he was born to wear a tuxedo.Like a modern-day Cary Grant—thanks for introducing me to the archetype, TCM—so debonair, with oodles of charisma and kindness.It’s a reluctant brand of kindness, but it’s there. Or else he wouldn’t be here.
He’s a good man. Maybe the last one in Manhattan.
