I want her to kiss me. Right there in the bar, I want her to turn around and fucking kiss me of her own free will. When she doesn’t, I force down my disappointment and lead her down the stairs and out of the building, telling myself that at least she’ll never think of Guinness without remembering this trip. And me.

When we drive past the famous Saint James’s Gate as we leave the Liberties, Keira reaches over and grabs my arm.

“There it is! That’s it.”

It’s the shiny black-lacquered gate with the golden harp and Guinness name beneath it that I’ve seen in many an ad for the company, but Keira doesn’t care. She’s practically bouncing in her seat at experiencing it for herself, and her excitement is contagious.

I’ve been to Dublin before. It wasn’t pleasant business, but it had to be done. I couldn’t tell you a thing about the city after I left except it was gray and rainy, and the river looked an unhealthy shade of green.

But now I’m seeing it all through Keira’s eyes, and it’s a completely different perspective. She’s successfully changed my opinion of Dublin, solely by experiencing it with her at my side.

When she asks Padraig to drop us off at a true Irish pub near Temple Bar, I don’t argue. I let her pull me out of the car when he stops in front of a restaurant that fits the bill, and lead me inside.

The food is greasy, but filling, which apparently is exactly what we need, because Keira gets it in her head that she wants to see as many of the pubs in Temple Bar as possible. If I were to compare it to New Orleans, I’d describe Temple Bar as the French Quarter of Dublin, which is probably why we both feel so at home here. The buildings are all connected, and we wander the uneven cobblestone streets with no particular destination in mind but wherever Keira’s fancy takes us.

In between pubs, she drags me into brightly colored shops and buys the most random things. My favorite? An inexpensive but creative necklace.

“I think it suits me. Don’t you?” She’s tipsy from drinking all day—whiskey, beer, and cider, the combination of which has stripped her of her normal stiffness around me.

I offer up the euros to pay for the necklace and lift it out of her palm. It’s a hand flipping the bird, and the knuckles are tattooed with two words: Work Hard. My lips twitch with the urge to smile as I fasten it around her neck.

“It definitely suits you.”

“But not tonight. Tonight is for fun only. Nothing else.” As though punctuating her slightly slurred words, she pulls the tie that has kept her hair in a low ponytail all day and shakes out her red mane. “I let my hair down. Now it’s your turn.”

The proprietor looks thankful when we step out of the shop, because he’s on the verge of closing. The sun has gone down, and Irish pub music spills out into the streets.

Keira leans into me. “So?”

I’m not clear on how tipsy she is, but she’s missing an important piece of the puzzle. “I can’t let my hair down.” I shove a hand through it. “It’s not long enough.”

“Then you have to do something else.”

“What?” Again, the corners of my mouth tug upward.

“That.” She points to my face. “Smile. You hardly ever smile. You always look so . . . stern.”

When she makes an attempt to mimic my normal expression, a laugh breaks free from my throat.

“Yes!” Her face lights up in satisfaction.

“Is that all you want from me?”

She shakes her head as we reach the door to another pub. “No. Tonight, let’s pretend you’re not Mount and I’m not your payment on a debt. Let’s just be Lachlan and Keira. Can we do that?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she’s a hell of a lot more than that, but I hold it back. Instead, I make a request of my own.

“On one condition.”

We step into the bar, and the musician onstage has the entire place packed.

“What?” Keira has to yell over the crowd for me to hear her, so I wrap both arms around her waist and lift her off her feet so my mouth is level with her ear.

“Say my name again.”

“Come on, lads and lasses. Let’s get ta dancin’,” the man onstage cries out, urging people toward the dance floor.

Keira bites her lip, and the craving to kiss her hits me hard again. She places both hands on my shoulders and leans in.

My breath stops for an instant, expecting her lips to hit mine, but they bypass my mouth for my ear.

“Dance with me, Lachlan. Dance with me in Dublin.”