Sam

“So where do ya wanna go?” Devon asked once they were buckled in his shiny black Land Rover Defender.

“How should I know? I haven’t been to Ireland in nine years.”

“Well, not much has changed,” Devon replied.

Yeah, right! Did the boy not own a mirror? “That still doesn’t help,” she quipped. “Nothing’s like I remember it.”

He raised his eyebrows like he didn’t believe her.

“What?”

“Come on, don’t tell me you forgot about me? I never forgot you.”

“Oh, spare me. Just take me to get some food, okay?”

Devon laughed. “Yep, that’s the attitude I remember.”

They drove in awkward silence for about ten minutes or so until they came to the small town of Dalkey. It looked sort of familiar to Sam, but then again, everything in Ireland looked sort of the same—cobblestone streets, window boxes full of petunias and ancient looking buildings. Devon parked outside a sleepy pub called Finnegan’s. He came around to open the door for her, but she was already on the street, shooting him a dirty look. “This isn’t a date,” she said.

“Of course not, but I still have manners.”

She snorted. “Then I’d say a lot has changed around here.”

Devon trailed behind Sam as she pushed her way into the pub. She was momentarily overpowered by its woody-ness. Everything inside seemed to be the same shade of polished wood—the bar, the paneling, the barstools, the floor, even most of the tables. Sam grabbed a small table near the window with a green marble top. She hated dark colors. They made her feel boxed in. Her old house in Boston was modern and all the walls were white. God, she missed Boston.

Devon joined her, pulling off his blue sweater before he sat down. The hem of his t-shirt lifted, flashing the bare skin of his perfect abs. Sam bit her lip and stared out the window. Spam, she repeated in her head until Devon’s eight-year-old image returned. Why did he have to be so gorgeous now? It was making it impossible for her to scheme.

Devon finally sat down and handed her a menu. “The cottage pie is amazing. Or if we’re lucky they might have Guinness stew.”

“How about just Guinness?” She smirked.

Devon’s dark eyebrows shot up, followed by a grin. “Two pints it is.” Then he disappeared toward the bar.

Sam wasn’t a big drinker. Especially beer. Appletini’s were her favorite. Or at least they had been—for about three hours until they turned on her and decided her stomach wasn’t inhabitable. That had been the one and only time Sam ever got wasted. She’d been out with Megan at a party last year and they both drank way too much. Megan ended up having sex with a much older boy, while Sam puked her guts up in the bathroom. Which, thinking about it now, was probably the only reason Sam hadn’t given it up to Ryan that night. Saved by the Appletini. Both girls did the walk of shame home the next morning. When they got back to Megan’s house, they decided to never get that drunk again.

But, in order for Sam’s back-to-Boston plan to work she needed to get drunk, or at least make Devon think she was.

Devon

“Who’s the lucky lass?” the bartender asked jutting his chin over Devon’s shoulder.

Pete was tending bar tonight. He was one of Devon’s father’s old fishing buddies. Devon tried to shrug off answering, but Pete was like a bloodhound. Plus, it didn’t help that Devon’s cheeks were probably turning on him. His face always flushed color when he was nervous.

“Oh, come on. She must be somebody,” Pete pressed.

Devon slapped a few euros on the counter and grabbed the pints, but Pete didn’t let go. “If you don’t tell me, I guess I’ll just have ta go over and card ‘er me self.”

Devon paled. “Christ, Pete. If ya must know, it’s Sam Connors.”

“No! Thomas and Elizabeth’s daughter? It’s can’t be!”

“It is. Now don’t make a big deal about this.”

Pete gave a raspy laugh. “Yer still in love wit her like the day ya was born.”

Devon leveled his eyes with Pete and scowled. Pete got the hint. He was still laughing but he took his hands off the pints and backed away with them in the air.

Devon loosed a breath as he weaved his way slowly to the table trying not to spill the pints. It was nearly sundown and the bar was starting to fill up. He didn’t like the idea of his first date with Sam being at Finnegan’s. But it was pretty much the only pub worth visiting in Dalkey—which was half the problem. He didn’t want to run into any of his mates while he was with her just yet. They’d rib him way worse than Ol’ Pete. Devon glanced at the clock—plenty of time. The boys didn’t usually come out until after the dinner crowd left.

He turned his attention back to Sam. She was gazing out the window, the last glow of summer sun casting a golden glow over her. She looked like a painting. And if possible, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her clothes were a bit grungy, but who knew what passed as keen in Boston? That kind of thing never mattered to Devon anyway. It was Sam’s spirit that drew him in. She was always so feisty and sure of herself. None of the girls at Eddington were like that. All they cared about were appearances.

Devon set the pints down on the table. “Guinness for the lady.”

“Thanks.” Sam offered him a big smile and held up her glass. “Cheers.”

“Sláinte,” Devon said, clinking glasses.

He watched her take three big gulps. Shite! He didn’t know it was a chugging contest. He took a few more swigs himself and put the beer down shaking his head.

“What?” Sam scoffed. “Don’t Irish women drink?”

“You are an Irish woman, ya know?”

She laughed. “Just because I was born here doesn’t make me Irish.”

“That’s exactly what it makes you,” Devon argued.

“I barely remember this place.”

“Well, it remembers you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Devon said taking another swig of his pint.

Sam raised her glass and drained it. “How ‘bout another round?”

“Don’t you think you should pace yourself? And maybe order some dinner?”

“Look, Devon, I’m not eight-years-old anymore. You can’t bully me. If I want another drink, I’ll have another drink.”

She was on her feet, swiveling her hips toward the bar. He chased after her, touching her elbow when he caught up. “Sam.”

She jerked her arm away and signaled to Pete. “I’ll have an Irish whiskey, please.”

He chuckled. “You’re in Ireland lass, we only serve Irish whiskey. Which one do ya want?”

Devon watched Sam’s cheeks flush and had the sudden urge to pull her into his arms. Christ! He needed to get ahold of himself.

“Oh. Um, I’ll have Jameson, please,” Sam said, recovering her composure.

“Make that two, Pete,” Devon called over Sam’s shoulder.

She turned and scowled at him.

“Make mine a double,” Sam called. “And I’ll have another pint too.”

Shite! He couldn’t let her drink him under the table. “Me too,” Devon added.

Pete just shook his head and served up the drinks. Sam drained her shot without even glancing at Devon. He reached past her to pay and did his shot by himself while Sam marched back to their table.

Devon followed her back and sat down. He took a deep breath and tried to meet Sam’s icy glare. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his heart in his throat. “Some big bully?”

Sam studied him with her blue-green eyes. Devon felt like an airplane losing cabin pressure when she looked directly at him. Everything he’d tried to keep bottled up just wanted out. “I’m not that guy anymore, Sam. But you’re right. I shouldn’t pretend to know you. It’s been a long time. It’s just . . . I thought we used to be friends. And I could really use a friend right now.”

Sam

Sam caught her heart skipping a beat as she stared at Devon’s beautiful features. His face was crumpling and he seemed genuinely upset that she wasn’t all chummy with him. But what had he expected? She hadn’t seen or heard from him in nine years. Just because he’d turned into the most beautiful man in Ireland didn’t excuse his Neanderthal behavior when he was a kid.

But still, it caught her off guard to see that he cared what she thought about him at all. I mean a guy that looked like this in Boston wouldn’t give a crap what she said to him in a bar. Scratch that. She couldn’t get into any bars in Boston. One point for Ireland—where the drinking age is eighteen and you never get carded if you look at least sixteen!

“We’re friends,” she finally said.

“We are?”

Devon’s face lit up and she had to fight the urge to cup his chiseled cheeks. Spam! He called you Spam and stole your first kiss! Do not feel bad for him. Besides he probably does this with all the girls. You can do this. Devon is your ticket back to Boston! Sam cleared her throat. “Yeah. I mean it’s not like I know anyone else here. I’m willing to put the past behind us.”

“Great!”

“But, we really should remedy the whole not-knowing-each-other thing,” she added coyly.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Have you ever played, never-have-I-ever?”

He laughed. “Of course.”

“Good.” Sam waved to get the bartender’s attention. “Another round.”