Chapter Seven

The next morning, Gwen shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes still a bit puffy and her nose a little red.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. He pushed a coffee mug toward her.

She gratefully accepted it, then took a step in the direction of the refrigerator. She pulled up short when she realized that it already had cream in it, and took a long sip. It was sugared up to the point where she could barely taste the coffee.

Perfect.

“That’s really good, Ry, thanks. Where did you go last night?” She looked anywhere but him. “I heard you come in.”

She didn’t have to worry about making any eye contact with him, as he didn’t even look up from his paper. “Just an errand,” he replied nonchalantly, though he did wince a little as he shifted in his chair.

“Are you okay?”

“Aye, just slept wrong. Don’t worry yourself over it.” He turned the page.

“I’m—I’m sorry for last night.”

He looked up in surprise. “Whatever for?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “For crying all over you?”

“You’ve done it before, and I hope you know you can do it again. Think nothing of it, lass.” He went back to the paper, engrossed in the day’s news.

Her head began to throb. She sat down, silently contemplative. Last night, when she awoke in the middle of the night, it was easy to rationalize her choice. Anthony was stable, and didn’t she just decide recently that she would be happy? She needed to fix things with Anthony.

In the light of day, though, the question actually became, could she be happy without Reilly in her life?

“So what do you care to do today?” he asked, interrupting her turmoil.

Gwen paused, the cup halfway to her lips again. “Do? But don’t you have to work?”

“The school is on break until next month,” he informed her, turning the page. She craned her neck to see what he was so engrossed in, then rolled her eyes. Rugby scores.

“The comics are way better than rugby scores,” she felt compelled to point out. “Also, no one actually reads a newspaper anymore. The internet has all that.”

“Rubbish,” he retorted, his eyes tracking the small print. His face lit up with a smile. “Tickets go on sale in a couple weeks. Looks like we play Poland to start the season.”

“Thrilling.”

“’Tis if you’ve ever seen our boys play…Eh. So, back to the topic at hand. What do you wish to do? Do you want to get off island, head to the Continent?”

Gwen wouldn’t mind taking a day trip to Paris for the day. She loved that city, with all its sparkling lights. And, though she could be as rough and tumble as the next tomboy, there was something about the Tiffany’s store on the Champs-Élysées that brought her to an unnaturally happy mental place.

She wasn’t shy about the fact that she’d grown up wealthy, and Gwen wasn’t one to turn her back on the finer things in life. She just made sure to balance it with giving back as much as she could.

“Paris?”

“Mmm…nay,” he murmured.

Daydreams of drowning herself in window shopping fled quickly. “Okay. How about we head to Temple Street?” she asked, referring to one of her favorite streets in Dublin. It was always bustling and great for people-watching. They also had some of the best coffee shops and bars in the city.

He shrugged. “If that’s what you’d like.”

She folded her arms and sat back. “Do you have something better in mind?”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from the paper. “Not particularly, nay.”

Frustrated, she blew out a breath. “I want you to understand that we could be sitting on the couch together, staring at paint dry, and I’d still have a good time. But I have to wonder, Ry. When’s the last time you let your hair down? Had some fun?”

He did glance up then. “I’ve my school.”

“That’s work. I mean fun. You know, something that you do only for amusement?” she teased. “In all our years, I swear I’ve never seen you dance, or sing, or really let loose.”

“I prefer to redirect my energy in other ways.”

“Such as…?” she prompted him.

“Woodwork. Sword play. Flying metal beasts in the sky. Knife practice. Training legions of O’Rourke Protectors.”

She snorted. “Oh, yeah. That last one sounds like loads of fun.”

He frowned and canted his head at her. “So you think I’m starchy?”

“Starchy?” she giggled. “Maybe a little. Or maybe you’re just a homebody. Either way, I’d love for you to try my brand of fun.”

He headed to the counter and began to make some toast. “Your brand?” he echoed. “Are you talking about how you like to stay out until the wee hours of the morning at dance clubs? Or that you like to eat at various restaurants, but the fancy ones are your favorite?”

She laughed because there was no heat or accusation to his words. “I call it embracing my youth. We won’t have it forever, you know. Though I don’t stay out all night anymore. It got old.” He didn’t answer her, just grabbed the bread when it popped up and began to butter it. She soldiered on, “But when you stay in all the time, it makes it a bit hard for others to get to know how wonderful you are.”

“I don’t need others.”

She rolled her eyes at his stubborn tone. “Oh, let’s not go there. Everyone needs others. Sometimes, don’t you wish you could just let go of all your responsibilities, and be a little bit carefree?”

He stayed silent for so long, Gwen began to worry that he was irritated with her. But then he turned and met her eyes. “Aye. But I’ve never done it.”

His bleak expression stopped her in her tracks. Selfishly, she wanted to be the one to make that look go away. She racked her brain for a moment until the lightbulb clicked on.

“Up for a little game?”

He brought the plate back to the table and sat down. “I’m listening.”

“Pretend that we only have until Ellie’s wedding together before we can never see each other again.”

“This is a terrible game.”

“Well, you said the school is off for a month,” she rushed on, her cheeks heating. “So just go with it.”

He set his jaw. “I don’t care to tempt the Fates with such talk.”

“That’s the first rule of our game. Rule one: Forget about the damn Fates. Don’t let them have this time. This is all yours, Reilly. You hear that, Fates? Leave him alone for three weeks!” she called out.

Alarmed, he put out his hand. “Gwen, truly, please don’t.”

She pursed her lips. “If they are as all-knowing as they’d like you to believe, they knew this was coming. You and I both need a vacation, and I’m just the person to plan such a thing.”

“That sounds ominous,” he deadpanned, but his mouth quirked. “I’m certain this is a bad idea.”

“You are certain of no such thing,” she retorted, reaching across the small table and snagging his plate. The toast was still warm, and she popped it into her mouth.

“No, please, go right ahead. I’m no longer hungry,” Reilly grumbled, though she saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She grinned and spoke around the food. “How fortuitous, as I’m starving.”

She swallowed and realized with a start that the toast had strawberry jam on it. She loved strawberry jam.

Reilly didn’t eat jam.

She looked at her empty coffee cup, which was made exactly as she liked it, and looked back at the toast.

Reilly drank his coffee black, if he even had coffee, and he only had butter on his toast.

She was probably making too big a deal of it, but…he had made her breakfast. He’d never really made her breakfast before. She’d stolen his food, and he hers, but it was more that they co-existed in the kitchen in the mornings. She studied him as he re-opened the paper to the business section.

It’s just me overanalyzing everything. He is trying to make me feel better after last night’s sobfest. That was it. She watched him find nothing of interest, then fold the paper and stack the sections in front of him. He sat back in his chair, his torso eclipsing any view of the perfectly crafted woodwork that made up the chair back. The nip in the air outside had him wearing a flannel over his dark tee shirt, and his facial scruff only added to the lumberjack look he was wearing.

Gwen had never before had a thing for the lumberjack look, but she couldn’t help being attracted to it when it sat directly opposite her over a breakfast made especially for her.

Totally inappropriate train of thought, she chastised herself. But still, she was a female, and there was a fine specimen of a male sitting directly in front of her, on a chair that he built, in a cottage that he restored with his own two hands.

He could also pull off the leather jacket and jeans look, she admitted. And a suit. Oh, Reilly in a suit was a sight to behold. Typically, she shied away from men in suits; her parents’ circle was full of well-dressed, stuffy men who wouldn’t know a Phillips head from a flat head. But dressing up Reilly in a suit and tie did something to her insides every time.

And don’t even start her when he wore his medieval garb.

What was wrong with her? She needed to get herself back under control. For years, she had been so good about corralling her thoughts. She’d had them on lockdown, and the only time they came to the forefront was at night; she had long ago accepted that she couldn’t (and didn’t want to) control her dreams.

Reilly chortled, noticing her sudden blush. “Oh, the coin I’d pay to know those thoughts.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. “In your dreams, O’Malley.”

His eyes darkened, and Gwen felt a corresponding pull. She sucked in a breath, but before she could overanalyze that reaction, he said quickly, “Describe what sort of things you’d like to do with me.”

The thoughts that command inspired made her go thermonuclear red.

“Are you flirting with me, O’Malley?” she managed, trying to lighten her tone.

He gave her a satisfied smile. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know. Pull your head out of the gutter, lass, and tell me what you’d like to do with me on this vacation of yours.”

“Well, it’ll be a staycation, unless you want to travel.”

“Staycation is fine with me. What do you plan to start with?”

She thought for a moment. Clubbing would be fun, maybe, if he wouldn’t glower at everyone who wanted to dance. And dinner out was always a good time. But she needed something unexpected, something that he would never do on his own.

Her eyes drifted over the kitchen before landing on the ancient stove, and the idea took root in her mind. “Baking!”

He stared at her for a full minute. “Have you gone mad? You’ve never baked a damn thing in your life!”

She shrugged, deciding it was actually a very good idea. “No time like the present to try something new, right?”

He gaped at her, but after a moment, he shrugged good-naturedly. “If it’s baking you want, it’s baking we’ll do. But I’ll be the first to tell you, your idea of fun doesn’t quite match up with mine.”

“What would you do, then?” she challenged.

His eyes darkened again, and immediately, Gwen’s body temperature rose a few degrees.

When it came right down to it, she was helpless not to play this game with Reilly. If she lost, she knew she’d never recover. But if she won…

Her heartbeat tripled.

First things first: She needed to determine if this game had only one player, or two.

• • •

Three hours later, Reilly looked at the assortment of “baking needs” on his counter, a dubious expression on his face. Aside from the expected flour, eggs, and butter, there was now a hand mixer, a baking sheet, and flimsy plastic mats that the saleswoman promised would “evenly distribute the heat,” whatever that meant.

Gwen had bought everything the saleswoman recommended, determined to make these cookies. Reilly had told her once that Colin’s mom made the best chocolate chip cookies in the world. Evelyn O’Rourke didn’t follow a recipe; she just knew how much of what went in where. Gwen desperately wanted to be like that, but alas, she didn’t understand the difference between baking soda and baking powder, so she resolved herself to baby steps.

Cookies seemed simple enough. The online recipe she found called it “easy” and the one on the back of the chocolate chip package looked to be exactly the same one, so rationally, it seemed easy as well.

“So how do we turn all of this into cookies?” he asked.

She held up the crinkly package. “It says we need to mix the dry ingredients in one bowl, and the wet ingredients in another.”

“Sounds like a waste of a bowl to me,” Reilly grunted.

Gwen shrugged. “Me too. It’s all going to end up mixed together, so why don’t we just add it all in now?”

“That sounds reasonable.” As Reilly dutifully measured “dry ingredients” as instructed, Gwen dumped in the sticks of butter, eggs, and vanilla flavoring on top of his large pile of flour and some other ingredients that she already forgotten about. She plugged in the hand mixer, turned it on, and stuck it into the bowl.

It took a few seconds for the cloud of white to settle around them.

“Was there too much flour, you think?” she asked in a small voice.

Amused, he glanced down at his previously clean shirt. “Perhaps.”

“Oh, you have egg all over you!” she gasped. She choked back a laugh. “Oh, Ry, your hair! It’s white!”

He reached out and snagged her ponytail, which was liberally streaked with flour. “You didn’t escape it either, I’m afraid.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Hmm. Maybe I should put the mixer into the bowl first, then turn it on.”

Wisely, he took a step back. “Perhaps. Or we could head to Letty’s Bakery—”

“No way! We’ve already come this far. Let’s finish it out.” Determined, she put the mixer back into what was left in the bowl and turned the power on to low. Nothing flew out of the bowl this time, so Reilly cautiously looked in.

“It doesn’t look like cookie dough,” he noted, watching the stick of butter clunk around the bowl.

Gwen set her jaw. “Well that’s because it hasn’t mixed up yet. Give it a minute. Wait a second, why is the butter stick not mixing in? It’s all hard.”

Reilly leaned forward to see, sending a jolt of pure lust zinging through her veins. She accidentally hit the speed on the hand mixer.

Flour-covered butter pieces splattered onto his cheek, and the rest joined the egg on his shirt. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to contain both her mirth and her horror.

Reilly heaved an enormous, weary sigh, then reached down and, in one fluid motion, whipped the flannel over his head. He was left in just a tight-fitting black tee shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide his biceps.

Her mouth suddenly dry, Gwen snapped her gaze on the bowl in front of her. Reilly in tight-fitting clothes always had the same effect on her as it did every other woman in a twenty-five-mile vicinity. She felt hot, off-balance, and more than a little light-headed.

“Sorry again. Um, so…” She fumbled for the bag, desperate to focus on anything other than Reilly’s arms, which were the largest she’d ever seen. Or his trim waist. Or his flat stomach, or…“Once this is all mixed together, we have to preheat the oven to 190 degrees. Oh, wait, that’s Celsius. Is your oven set for Celsius or Fahrenheit?”

“Celsius?”

“Oh my God, we are so bad at this,” she laughed. She shoved him out of the way and glanced at the dials. “This oven is really old. It works, right?”

The appliance looked like something out of a bygone era. It was a cream-colored wall oven with a panel of colored circles that seemed to have no purpose other than decoration. The knob on the left had numbers on it, though they were faded almost to the point of unreadability.

“Aye, it works.” He reached around her and turned the knob to, hopefully, 190. “It’ll take a few minutes to heat up. In the meantime, we can start cleaning, aye?”

She looked around them and wrinkled her nose. Flour dusted everything, there was a square of butter on the ceiling, and the egg also hit the refrigerator.

“I didn’t think of cleanup,” she admitted.

He laughed. “Nor did I.” He handed her a sponge. “Letty’s would’ve been an easier bet.”

“But not as much fun?”

He rolled his eyes. “You and your ideas of fun.” But he was smiling when he said it.

• • •

As Gwen profoundly thanked the firemen once more, Reilly was struck anew with how absurd her idea of “fun” might be.

The firemen hopped in their truck and drove off, giving a friendly honk of their horn on their way down the driveway.

“Well, that was an adventure!” she sighed.

He glanced back at his cottage, which luckily had very little damage from their grease fire. Which, as one of the firemen pointed out, seemed strange, as they were baking, and cookies rarely used any form of grease.

“Oh, aye. A blast,” he muttered.

“Blast. I get it. Funny. Ha ha. Stop, I’m dying from the laughter,” she replied dryly as they reentered the house, the smell of smoke still prevalent. They headed to the kitchen to scope out the damage. Reilly’s stove was completely out of commission. The charred wall directly behind the stove would need a cleanup and a fresh coat of paint, and his cabinets could use a bit of love, too.

“I’m glad it didn’t reach the second floor,” Gwen added, staring at the ceiling.

His eyes traveled up, and he sighed at its blackened condition. “Looks like I’ll have to do that kitchen remodel sooner than I’d planned.”

She brightened. “When were you planning to do that?”

“Never.”

She looked suddenly crestfallen. “Oh, Ry, I’m so sorry. I truly am. I’ll help pay for it. I’ll pay for all of it, if you want. I didn’t mean to light your house on fire.”

She looked so earnest, with flour dusting her forehead and shirt. Her hair was loosely held back, curls escaping and caressing her cheeks. He bumped her shoulder with his arm.

“Don’t worry yourself over it, lass. I’m teasing. Colin’s been after me for years to do something with this room. His kitchen is something out of a movie, with all its gadgets. I’ll remodel it to look exactly the same as it was. It’ll make him insane.”

She smiled a little, but it was a half-hearted effort. He needed to make her happy again, but how? Seeing her without a smile was crushing him. She looked close to tears, and as he’d already had enough of those the night prior, he readily admitted to doing anything to avoid them again.

“Let’s stay somewhere else tonight. Let the house air out a bit,” he suggested. “Go pack an overnight bag and we’ll drive.”

“Where?”

He herded her toward the staircase, pushing her up a couple of steps. “Does it matter?”

She turned around, still not eye level with him, but closer to it. Her eyes were filled with regret. “This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry, Reilly.”

He gently cradled her face in his hand, and for a moment, she buried her cheek into it. He momentarily lost his breath, mesmerized by the sight and feel of her. “’Twas not a stupid idea, Gwendolyn. I had fun, mostly. And I very much look forward to the next adventure.”

She smiled tremulously. “Really?”

“Aye, really. But this one is my turn. I’ll show you my kind of fun.”

“Does it involve weapons?” she asked cautiously.

He laughed. “Nay, not this time. But don’t disparage it until you’ve tried it.”

“I love your laugh,” she whispered. Her eyes widened, and she yanked her head back.

His heart leapt, though he strove to keep his reaction relaxed. “’Tis easy to laugh when I’m with you. Now. Go pack a bag, and I’ll see what I can do to secure us some smoke-free lodgings this evening.”

She nodded once, then bolted up the stairs, leaving him to watch her hasty retreat.

So, she loved his laugh. It was a small thing, Reilly knew. Perhaps a slip of the tongue, or just a compliment to a friend.

But it definitely didn’t feel like she meant it as a friend. Something was shifting between them, and though he initiated it at the dress shop a few days ago, she couldn’t seem to help her response.

That was very, very good for him.

If he fully turned on his charm, would she be able to resist him? Would she want to resist him? He had much to atone for, with his past actions. And she would need much convincing, as well, to believe him to be sincere. And, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t sure of his charm anymore. While he’d never had a problem with women before, this time it was different.

This time, it was Gwendolyn.

This feeling of uncertainty would be the death of him. He headed to his room to throw together his own overnight bag and texted James.

Weird message on Gwen’s phone last night after a fight with the boyfriend.

James texted back almost immediately.

Creepy that you’re looking at her messages. Don’t do that.

He snorted. He wasn’t a complete idiot.

It wasn’t intentional!

Sure. So what was the weird message?

Reilly shoved some things into his backpack and thought about how much he should tell James. He passed his phone from hand to hand, stalling. Finally, he typed:

Said he wouldn’t stop loving her and that maybe someday it’d be enough.

That was the general message, though when he looked at it now, it seemed a bit overdramatic. He couldn’t abide dramatics. Was he now being dramatic by texting James? Thankfully, James’s response popped in, stopping Reilly from further traveling down that road of thought.

Ouch. And this was after a fight? Did they break up and call off the wedding?

Unsure.

Well? Are you going to ask her if she did?

Reilly snorted. As though he would ask such a question the morning after she said she didn’t want to talk about it!

Last night she said she didn’t want to talk about it, so nay.

James responded almost immediately.

That was last night. This is today. You need to know where she stands. Ask her if she’s in love with the guy.

A sense of panic built in Reilly’s chest.

What if she says aye?

She won’t say aye, she’s American. She’d say yes instead.

Reilly smiled at that.

Wise arse

The smile died from his face, though, as he read the next text.

So, what *if* she says aye?

Reilly stared at the screen. That was the question, wasn’t it? He didn’t know. He was in fully uncharted territory. Women had never been particularly difficult to get into his bed, and he’d never had a pressing need to keep them in his heart. Gwen had always been different, though. She was special.

But he couldn’t write that to James, else the teasing would be torturous. He texted back.

That’s why I’m texting you, though I can see it was a mistake.

Get your panties out of a bunch. Seriously, I think the bigger question you’re asking is, what if she says nay?

He let out a frustrated sigh. Aye, that was the question, wasn’t it? It was easier to know what he’d do if Gwen didn’t want a life with him, knowing what he was, what his life was like. If she didn’t, he could ensure she got whatever it was she wanted, and try to be happy that she was happy.

He clenched his jaw at his lack of confidence. The feeling was unsettled and, if he were to be fully honest, he was beginning to annoy himself.

Aye. I’ve never done this before.

Woo a woman???

Reilly grit his teeth. The next time they were in the lists, James would pay dearly for his teasing. But at the moment, he really needed James’s advice, so he texted:

Woo *the* woman.

After a few moments of radio silence, the incoming text notification sounded, and Reilly swallowed hard.

Then it’s time to prepare for battle. Winner takes all.

He shoved his toothbrush into the bag and zipped it before replying.

I’ve yet to lose a battle.

James took his time with his final reply.

Probably true. But you’ve never battled for something this important, so tread carefully, and keep your wits about you. The rules change daily, if not hourly, so don’t even try to figure them out. Good luck, cousin. Let me know if I can help further.

Reilly groaned. If that was James’s definition of help, the man needed a new dictionary.