“Mom, I get it. You miss me. But I’m not done.”

“Jackson, honey, you’ve been gone almost a year and a half.”

I roll my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her that I don’t want to be home. That I want to be out exploring the world and living. Fuck, doesn’t she get that I don’t want to be trapped in one place? I can’t handle that. I can’t feel stuck or held in place. I need to be free. Maybe it works for her, but I haven’t been happy in one place since I was old enough to know there were other places to explore. I’ve had a list since I was thirteen, and damn it, I’m going to get to the end of that list.

“Mom, I told you this was happening.”

“You said you’d be gone a year, maybe. But that’s not the case now. Do you have any plans of coming home?”

“No,” I answer honestly, which I know pisses her off. I hear my stepdad, Tom, in the background, yelling about something, probably the fact that my mom is so upset. But I don’t care. I have been a damn good kid my whole life. I wasn’t like my younger brothers who got mixed up in drugs and alcohol. I worked my ass off and wanted something more than our little town outside of Calgary. By the grace of God, here I am. Doing something more. And I refuse to let anyone hold me back. “Please don’t be upset, Mom. I miss you, you know I do, but I’ve got things I want to do.”

“Can you at least come home for a weekend?”

I let my head fall back as I groan loudly. “Mom—”

“No, this is ridiculous. You’re my firstborn, but you’ll always be my baby, and you know darn well I favor you over everyone. I miss you.”

“Wow, thanks, Paige.”

I laugh at Tom’s comment as I glance at the clock. I’m surprised my regulars haven’t started coming in. It’s well past the start of their usual drinking time. “You can come visit me.”

“And sleep in whatever hole you’re sleeping in?”

I laugh at that. She’s so dramatic. “I’m actually in an apartment here.”

“Oh, goodness, wonderful! At least you’re not sleeping in a tent.”

“I love my tent,” I say simply, and I can hear the frustration in her voice.

“Which I don’t understand when you—”

“It’s what I want. It’s how I always pictured this. Living on the land, exploring, and just getting by.”

“You don’t—”

“But I want to, Mom. We have this argument every single time we talk. Don’t you want to hear about my adventures?”

“No! I want you to come home.”

“That’s very selfish,” I accuse, and she laughs.

“So only you get to be selfish? Manchester misses you! She cries for you, daily.”

I smile. I do miss my horse more than most of my family—not my mom, of course—but between her and Manchester, I’d say they were the reason I got homesick when I did. It sure as hell wasn’t the frozen tundra of my hometown. Or even the amount of work I had to do climbing trees. No, it’s my girls that make me homesick. “My sweet girl is fine. Brady sends me pictures all the time, and I even FaceTimed with her.”

“You FaceTimed a damn horse?”

As I shake my head, the bell over the door of the little pub where I work rings, and I glance toward it, ready to greet whomever.

But I’m stunned.

As my mom prattles on about whatever the hell she is bitching about, I drink in the beauty who looks around the bar as if she is searching for someone. Probably looking for a boyfriend or something. Has to be, a girl that gorgeous. While I haven’t been here long, only three months, I know stunning girls like her don’t stay single long. Doesn’t matter if they are the biggest bitches in the world. A girl like her, long, wavy blond hair that reaches her ass, with almost crystal-blue eyes, yeah… She is way too magnificent. When she fully turns, glancing down the hall that leads to the bathroom, I get to take in an ass I have to say is pretty round for such a skinny girl. Her waist is small and she doesn’t have much of a rack, but then, I’m not much of a boob man. As long as there is enough ass for me to dig my fingers into as I bury myself in her, I don’t care about much else.

And now I wish my fingers were deep in her ass.

“Do you hear me, Jackson!”

“Yeah, Mom, let me call you back.”

I hang up before she can protest, tucking my phone into my pocket as I call out, “Need some help?”

She glances over at me, a tendril of hair falling into her eyes as she meets my gaze. I don’t know why, I don’t even know what is happening, but her lips part, and her eyes darken as she slowly tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’m surprised it’s empty. Guess I’m early.”

Holy shit, that accent. It’s like she’s punched me in the gut. I’ve met many women on my adventures, but I haven’t made it to Ireland yet, and her accent is giving me the preview I’ve been craving. Swallowing hard, ignoring how my cock is trying to stand at attention, I shrug, hoping I come off aloof. “It’s a little after one. Usual time for the afternooners.”

She doesn’t seem to like the nickname I’ve pinned on my regulars as she walks toward the bar in front of me. Her hair moves with her body, and I notice that it’s wet. She must have just gotten out of the shower, which for some reason, turns me on. Before she sits, she throws her hair up in a messy knot of a thing before sitting down on the barstool. “I’ve never seen ya before.”

Man, the lilt of her voice and that brogue have me tight as fuck in my jeans as I nod. “I work the day shift. You just missed the lunch crowd.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God, me head couldn’t handle it for sure.” Inhaling sharply, she looks up at me. “Cathmor on the rocks, please.”

“You want to drink with a headache?” I ask. Though, if she were one of my regulars, I’d say it as a joke. But she doesn’t look like a regular.

She sets me with a look. “I’ve done popped the pills, I need them to work faster. Cathmor, please.”

“All right, then,” I mutter before reaching for the top-shelf whiskey that is our best seller and pouring it over some ice. “This is some strong stuff for someone your size.”

“My size will be the least of yer worries when I kick yer ass.” I look up, and she’s sending me a little kittenish grin. “Yer just big.”

I grin back at her. “I am a big dude.”

“Massive. What? Six nine?”

I pass the glass across the bar to her. “Six six.”

“Ah, I knew ya were bigger than my brother for sure. Yer built like my brother’s best friend. Beefy.”

I chuckle. “I haven’t been called beefy before.”

She feigns shock. “No? Yer huge for sure. Jaysus.”

Oh. I like her.

As she takes a long sip, I tease, “Intimidated?”

She outright laughs at that, setting the glass on the bar. “I’ve stood up to men bigger than you, mate. I’m not intimidated by anyone.”

I don’t doubt her, but something in her eyes tells me there is someone out there who scares her. But then, isn’t there always that one person who can send terror into your soul?

Mine died, but I’m still scared of his ghost.

Which is completely insane.

“Duly noted.”

Her lips curve as she moves her finger along the rim of the glass. “I heard ya on the phone with yer ma. Not from here, yeah?”

“No, I’m not, and by your accent, I can tell you’re not either.”

She leans on her hand, her eyes such a beautiful blue as they hold mine. “What? I’m British.”

“Bullshit.”

She giggles as she takes another sip. “Fine, I’m a foreigner.”

I send her a smirk. “Obviously, I am too.”

We share a small smile before she asks, “Where from?”

“Calgary.”

Her face scrunches up, and then she points to me. “Canada.”

“I should be offended it took you so long.”

She scoffs. “I’m smashed and drinking at, what, one? Give me a bit, yeah?”

I watch as she takes a drink, and I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stop myself. “Why is that? Do you usually drink so early?”

She shakes her head, leaning on the bar as she shakes the glass, the ice clinking against the sides of the glass. “No, actually. But I couldn’t sleep, and I needed something to do.”

“So you came to a bar?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“And drinking is the answer.”

She looks up at me, clinking her ice some more. “I got into it with my brother, so yeah, a drink takes the edge off.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Her brows pull together. “I don’t even know ya.”

“So? They say bartenders are the best therapists.”

She scoffs at that. “Last thing I need is a feckin’ therapist.”

I smile then because it’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about whatever brought her here. That’s fine, and while I know I have a lot of work to do, I just want to sit and talk with her. “So why don’t you go explore London?”

She waves me off, placing her drink down in a dramatic fashion. “Ah, off with ya. I’ve been here so much, it’s boring now.”

I absolutely dig her accent, way more than I should. With a laugh, I wave her off instead. “What? I love it here. It might be one of my favorite places thus far.”

Her face scrunches up. “Thus far?”

“I’m on a, um, I think you guys call it a holiday? I’m backpacking through Europe.”

She smiles. “I did that when I was sixteen with my brother. Where have ya been?”

I go through the list, and she nods along, commenting that she has been to some of the same places. But when she slaps her hand to the bar out of nowhere, I actually jump. “Ya go to Germany, Rome, Paris, and London, and all in between, but ya haven’t made it to Ireland? That’s mad! None of those places, not even here, compares to me home.”

I could listen to her talk for hours. “Oh, yeah?”

Her eyes widen as they brighten a bit, and she nods. “Listen, mate, ya step off the plane in Ireland, and you just feel complete. The air, so feckin’ fresh and crisp. The wind kisses yer face. It’s so green ya swear all the shades of green you thought ya knew can’t compare. There is a lake out by my home, ya see, and when you’re on the lake, nothing matters. It takes yer breath away. Then when the sun comes out, peeking through the clouds, ya just stop. Gazing up and thinking how ya got so blessed to feel that warmth. The birds are happy and sing the most gorgeous songs.” She smiles big, leaning on the bar closer to me. “When I was nine, I used to go out and sing like some Disney princess. It was insane, but even as I got older, I still wanted to do it. It’s just magical there. Perfect, even.”

My heart actually skips a beat, and I’m blown away by her description. She’s a natural storyteller, and I swear I can feel the breeze she talks about and hear those birds. “Wow.”

“Yeah, perfect, I tell ya.”

“So where is this magical place?”

“Mayo.”

“Mayo?” I haven’t heard of it. “I was thinking of going to Dublin.”

“Ah, ya aren’t done, then?”

My lips quirk at the side. “Something like that.”

She nods, and after taking another sip, she says, “Ah, Dublin is good. I lived there for the past two years. But if ya want to experience Ireland, go to Mayo for a weekend or even a month. Lie in the grass, find a lake, and just sit there. I swear to ya, you’ll come out a new damn man.”

I grin. “I like the man I am.”

Her eyes sparkle. “I mean, ya look like one helluva ride.”

My brows pull together. “Are you hitting on me?”

She giggles, and everything goes tight. “Would that be so bad?”

Our gazes stay locked, and heat rushes over my body in a way I’ve never felt before. I don’t know if it’s her eyes, her hair, or that brogue, but I think I’m under this girl’s spell. “You don’t even know my name.”

She grins. “Yer right, I guess it’s rude to hit on a man when I don’t know his name. Though, that never stops ya wankers anyway.”

I can’t help it, I laugh. She’s so animated. “Wankers? Now, you’re insulting me!”

She laughs hard, leaning on the bar. “No! I mean blokes that holler at me as I walk. They don’t know my name, but yet, they’re always calling at me. Asking for me number and telling me they want to stick their cocks in me. But if I tell ya you’ve got a sweet arse, ya get offended.”

I laugh once more. “I have a sweet ass?”

“I could bounce a quarter off it, I swear.”

She sends me a playful smile, and my heart constricts in my chest. “Who said I’m offended?”

Her grin widens. “I assumed, I guess.” Her eyes narrow some, in an unexpectedly sexy and sinful way. “So, tell me, therapist bartender, what’s yer name?”

She’s fun. “Jackson.”

I hold out my hand, and she takes it. “Lena.”

“Beautiful name to go with one hell of a beautiful girl.”

Her hand lingers in mine as she slowly wets her lips. “So, tell me, Jackson.” Oh, the way she says my name leaves no room in my jeans. “When ya get off?”

I glance at the clock and then back at her as she purses her lips at me. An insane burst of heat explodes inside my chest, and the desire to kiss her is overwhelming. Her lips are full and, fuck, so damn kissable. Swallowing hard, I say, “In about thirty minutes.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Why?” I ask with a grin. “I know you don’t want to explore London with me.”

She scoffs. “No, I don’t want to do that at all.”

“Then, what? Wanna get a drink?”

She shrugs. “We can start there, but I was thinking of exploring me bed with ya.”

It’s like she’s hit me straight in the chest with a bat. Her eyes are dark and very suggestive. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that. I’m pretty sure she’s asking me to fuck. Or, at least, her eyes are. Yeah, we’re vibing, but for some reason, I thought a girl this pretty would make me work for it. I thought she’d make me chase her a bit, which was why I thought this wouldn’t work. I don’t chase anyone, but here she is, chasing me.

I’m stunned.

I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m always down to hook up—isn’t that the point of backpacking through Europe? Hooking up with random girls? But with her, she doesn’t seem like just a random chick. I want more, and I don’t know a damn thing about her. Except that I love her hair and her accent. It’s absurd, yet she has my stomach in knots—something I haven’t had happen since deciding to go on this trip.

A grin pulls at my lips as she holds my gaze. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

Licking her lips once more, she shrugs. “Then I’d say ya like me.”

“I wouldn’t disagree—”

“Jackson, bro, sorry. I was running late. I wanted to come in early for a drink between us since I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. Wow, this place is dead,” Corey, the other bartender, says as he busts in. Looking around the room, he stops his gaze on us, and he holds his hands up. “Oh shit, my bad. I’ll be in the back.”

As he rushes off, I look back to Lena and realize we are close. Pushing myself off the bar, I smile. “So.”

“So,” she answers, moving her hand into her pocket, but I hold up my hand.

“On the house.”

She gives me a look. “I can pay for me drink.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I say, leaning back on the bar. “But didn’t I say I wanted to get you a drink?”

Her lips curve up. “Ya did. So that means skip that step and straight to my room we go?”

I don’t know why I’m not screaming yes. What the hell is wrong with me? “Don’t you want to get to know me?”

Her brows draw in quizzically. “Do you want to know me?”

I can see it in her expressive and awe-inspiring eyes, this is the deal-breaker. She doesn’t want to know me; she doesn’t care. She just wants to forget whatever is bothering her and take me straight to bed.

Who am I to stop her?

Especially when I’ll never see her again.