Chapter Thirteen

Norah

In front of the main bay of windows at Paddy's, there's a small patio with bistro-style tables and chairs. Finding one directly beneath a light post, we sit, facing each other. I just stare at Eamon, for a moment, unable to put my thoughts into words.

He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together before saying "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

I laugh softly. "It doesn't take much to do that, but no apology is necessary. That was…amazing, Eamon. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Stop thinking about you," he blurts out.

Both of our eyes go wide as if neither of us can believe he just said that.

"Wow…That just came out, didn't it?" he asks, reclining in his chair and rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. The way his bicep flexes with the movement is more distracting than it ought to be. He takes a deep breath and adds, "It's true though. I'm sorry if that's too forward of me, but I just wanted you to know."

Rendered speechless by his confession, I'm unsure of how to respond. I'm simultaneously thrilled and confused.

Because this doesn't feel real, I blurt out, "How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"What?" he asks, looking perplexed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just making sure that the alcohol isn't influencing you right now. People say and do things they'll regret later when they're under the influence. I would know…" I say, pointing a finger at my chest.

He gives me a sardonic look and says, "Lass, I'm perfectly sober. And I'm perfectly serious. I'd like for us to get to know each other better. If you're okay with that, of course."

I look down at my hands which are tracing the condensation on the pint glass in front of me as I contemplate his request. My mind wars back and forth between what my heart wants to do and what my past trauma is trying to convince me I should do. I've spent the last several years letting my fears dictate my life, and for the first time, that voice isn't the loudest noise in my head. "Yeah, I'm definitely okay with that."

Eamon beams at me, and I can't help but return a smile of my own.

"So how does this work?" I ask nervously.

He tilts his head to the side questioningly, "Surely you've dated before…"

"Um…" I look back down at my hands. "I've gone out a time or two, but it was just for a drink and nothing more."

He's staring at me in disbelief. "You're joking. How is that possible for someone as lovely as you?"

I hesitate, knowing this is where things get tricky. How do I tell him that I've shied away from men because I was raped as a teenager? That's not exactly something you work into casual conversation .

"I, uh, it's kind of a long story…"

"It's okay, Norah," he says gently. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. But to answer your question, why don't we start out just talking and spending more time together? Preferably not while washing dishes for Paddy."

He winks, and I let out a snort of amusement. "Alright. I think I can manage that."

We spend the next hour or so talking about anything and everything. We start simple with favorite colors and bands, followed by birthdays and hometowns. I'm getting ready to ask him about his family when the doors to the pub are thrown open and Myra and Mac come stumbling out, laughing loudly, arms wrapped around each other. They're drunk off their asses but stop short when they see Eamon and I sitting together.

"Oh, there you are, Norie!" Myra shouts. "We thought maybe the two of you disappeared somewhere more…private." She gives me an exaggerated wink.

"Yes, because after all these years of knowing me, that's totally my style," I tell her, rolling my eyes.

"I can't keep up with you anymore! You also swore off men after the last incident , remember?"

I gape at her in disbelief. Obviously, she's letting the alcohol do the talking for her, but Myra knows how hard it is for me to trust men.

Before I can stop myself, I snap, "Well, better no men than every man within a thirty-mile radius. I'm actually surprised I've found someone you haven't slept with."

Myra rears back like I've struck her, then narrows her eyes at me. "No need to be a bitch, Norah. Come on, Mac. Let's get out of here."

Turning their bodies, they stumble down the sidewalk. I hang my head in my hands and groan out, "I should have kept my mouth shut."

Eamon is silent for a beat, then says, "I don't know what incident she's talking about, but it clearly isn't her story to tell. I'd say she deserved that. Besides, anyone that hooks up with Mac can't have much moral fiber."

I lift my head and smile at him. "Good point. I don't even know him, but it's easy to see they have a lot in common. I just can't believe she said that. She's one of my best friends. We've had disagreements before, but we've never purposefully hurt each other."

"You know I'm curious now," he tells me. "But, like I said, you don't have to share anything you don't want to."

"Thank you, Eamon."

He has no idea how much that means to me. I know I'll have to tell him eventually, but not tonight. Checking the time on my phone, I realize it's after eleven and I have a busy day tomorrow. I'd love nothing more than to just sit here and talk to him all night.

"I hate to be a grandma, but I really do need to get home. I'm working on Belle's dress tomorrow and have to get an early start," I tell him regretfully.

"I don't think that makes you a grandma." He chuckles. "Can I drive you home?"

"I was just going to walk since it's so nice. You could walk with me. If you want to, of course."

"Even better," he says with a smile.

Standing, he offers his hand to me. This shouldn't make the butterflies in my stomach flit around so much, but I place my hand in his, and he gently pulls me from the chair. Expecting him to release my hand, I'm surprised when he loops it through the crook of his arm. Swoon.

With my free hand, I quickly send a text to the group message thread that I'm headed home and I will talk to them tomorrow. The speed in which they respond, demanding to know where Eamon and I disappeared to, is astounding. I ignore all of them. Busybodies.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the beautiful night. With autumn just around the corner, the days are still warm and humid from the ocean air, but the evenings are cooler. One of the main things I love about living in North Carolina is the lack of the brutal winters I'm used to back home. The temperature can dip, but very rarely do we get freezing temps or snow. I hate winter. December through February in the Midwest are brutal and feel like they last forever. I always dreamed of living in a warmer climate growing up. I begged Mom for years to move to the coast, but we could never make it work financially, and then she was diagnosed with lung cancer .

As if reading my mind, Eamon says, "So tell me about your family."

"There's not much to tell," I reply. "I never knew my father, so it was just Mom and me. We lived in Missouri until I moved here four years ago. I have extended family, but Mom never wanted me around them, and after her funeral, I understood why.

Eamon squeezes my hand in his arm gently. "Can I ask how she died?"

"She had lung cancer. Smoking was her only downfall. I tried for years to get her to quit, but she kept insisting that she didn't smoke that often and her lungs were fine. I guess, to her at least, smoking two packs a week wasn't that bad. Compared to some, I guess it isn't, but it was enough to kill her," I say sadly.

"I'm sorry, Norah. Truly."

"Thanks. I miss her. She was my best friend and constant encouragement." I pause a moment before saying, "Your turn. Tell me about your family."

I feel him tense up, so I stop walking and turn to face him. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I get it. Families can be extremely difficult."

He nods and looks down at his feet. I can see his brow furrowing and have the urge to smooth it out with my fingers before running them through his dark hair.

"Well, you already know that I lost my Da. He was in a car accident on his way home from work one day. We were all devastated, but none more than my Mam. They were soul mates." Eamon smiles softly before continuing. "He was a good man. Always loved his family and worked hard to provide. We were never without."

"I can't even imagine what that was like for your Mom. Losing a parent is awful, but to lose the love of your life?" I shudder at the thought.

"Aye, even though she was completely wrecked she always made sure my sister and I were taken care of and loved."

We start walking again.

"She sounds amazing," I tell him honestly. A quiet moment passes, then I ask, "What part of Ireland are you from?"

"Kilkenny. Born and raised." A group of drunk college guys pour out of a bar and Eamon pulls me back before they can run me over. " When did you go to Ireland?" he asks when the path clears and we resume meandering down the sidewalk.

"After Mom died. I didn't start college until I came here. The year I would have, she got sick. Two years later, she died. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I sold the house and most of everything in it. I bought a ticket to Ireland, and away I went."

"I can't believe you went by yourself," he tells me, shaking his head.

"Yep. It was a little terrifying at first, but I fell in love with that country. I can't wait to go back," I say dreamily.

Eamon smiles in response but doesn't comment, which surprises me some. The few Irish people I've encountered in the States are always quick to tell me how wonderful it is.

"Tell me about your sister?" I prompt him.

He tenses up again and a grimace appears on his handsome face. "She's a few years younger than me, but we aren't as close as we used to be."

"Oh," I mumble, "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm an only child, so I can't really understand what that would be like."

We go back to walking in companionable silence. My pale yellow house comes into view. I love how close it is to O'Nelly's. If I cut through the park, I can be out the door and at the pub in less than fifteen minutes. We stroll up the street to the sidewalk in front of my house.

"Thanks for walking me home."

"Thank you for letting me," Eamon murmurs.

I smile and point to the blue house next to mine. "That's Layla's."

"Was she at Paddy's with you tonight?"

"Yes," I say. "She's the quiet Hispanic beauty."

"Who else was there?" he asks.

"Charlie, Myra, and Amelia. Myra is the one you saw outside." I scowl at the memory of our altercation.

"Myra and Mac. Has a lovely ring to it, eh?" he teases.

I make a gagging sound that makes him chuckle. As we step onto my small porch and stop in front of my door, I look towards the street, at my feet, anywhere but his handsome face .

"What's wrong, lass?" Eamon asks, sensing my discomfort.

"Erm…" I start nervously. "This is the part in the books and movies where the guy usually kisses the girl goodnight. I don't want to sound presumptuous, but I guess I should tell you that I don't think I'm that kind of girl."

"Ah, I see," Eamon says, cheeks flushing slightly. It's quite possibly one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.

"I'm sorry! I can't believe I just said that" I moan in humiliation, covering my face with my hands. "I'm so awkward and have no idea what I'm doing!"

Laughing, he places his hands on my arms. "Norah, look at me."

He waits for me to lift my head, then says, "Don't be sorry. If more women would be as honest as you from the get-go, it would save a lot of men some embarrassment. I promise you that I'm not going to pressure you into anything you don't want. We agreed to get to know each other better first."

My lips turn up in a small smile. Is it possible that I've actually met a man who isn't thinking of how soon he can get me into his bed?

"You're not Myra, and I'm not Mac," Eamon says firmly, hands still lightly gripping my arms.

"That might just be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," I smirk.

He grins at me fully, taking my breath away.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" he asks.

"Costumes. Specifically Belle's. Her gown will take the longest."

I refrain from giving him all of the details, like how each petal of the rose dress has to be attached at just the right angle or how sewing beads on the bodice is the ultimate test of patience.

"You're doing that all day?" he asks, eyebrows shooting upward. "Will you be working on campus?"

"No. I'll work here at home. I have a sunroom that I use for sewing. On costume weekends, I brew a large pot of coffee, turn on the music, and spend all day putting everything together." I shrug casually.

"And do you refuse company?" he asks, releasing my arms and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Oh. Usually," I start to say but then backpedal when I see his shoulders droop and want nothing more than to bring a smile to his face. "But…I make exceptions for anyone that sings to me in front of a crowd."

Eamon's eyes light up, and his lips tip into that devastating smirk I swoon over. I've never had a man in my house. Not even in a group setting. I'm momentarily stunned to realize that the idea of having him here all to myself doesn't scare me like I thought it would.

"Although," I tell him sternly, "I wouldn't appreciate an unplanned drop-in."

He nods in mock seriousness. "Understood. That would be rude. What if there were company around, say, lunchtime? You have to stop to eat at some point."

"Oh yes," I agree. "Food is fuel. Can't sew on an empty stomach!"

Eamon grips his chin between his thumb and forefinger as if contemplating how the dilemma should be solved. "I suppose I could possibly procure a meal while I'm out and about. We can't let you starve."

I snicker in response. "Only if it won't put you out. I'd hate to be an inconvenience. And let me give you some money."

"Ach! Don't offend me, love! I wouldn't dream of it," he says, placing a hand over his heart.

I know that love is a common term in Ireland and the UK, but hearing it from his lips in reference to me has me all sorts of flustered.

"Now, go to bed. You look completely wrecked after a night of drinking. That won't do at all for a seamstress queen," he says with a wink.

Lord have mercy.

He starts to step off the porch but turns and says, "Goodnight, Norah. Pleasant dreams, lass."

"Goodnight, Eamon," I say quietly before unlocking my door and stepping inside.