“I’m just glad you agreed to the early flight. Pat likes to leave late, but since we left Tulsa at three, we should arrive in Dublin by 6 o’clock tonight. Plenty of time to check into our hotel, change, and grab dinner somewhere.” Smiling, Bran asked if she’d thought about some places she’d like to visit while they were in town.
Trying for a serious expression and tone, Raven listed her options. “Since you’re quite a bit older than me,” at this, she placed a hand gently to her chest, “I thought you might be too tired to leave the hotel. You booked us rooms at Fitzwilliam. We could always see if a table is available at Glovers Alley. However, if you feel up to it, we could grab some pub food at the Temple Bar.” She batted her eyelashes at him, all innocence.
“Feeling yourself today, I see.”
“Hey, no shame. I hear thirties can be a tough transition.” Raven couldn’t stop smiling as she sipped her whiskey.
“First, I’m thirty.Justthirty. Barely touching it. And you better fucking believe I’ll be ready for the Temple Bar.”
Bran threw her for a loop then, probably as payback for teasing him. “Did I mention that I booked the penthouse?” That got her attention.
“Oh? Where... will I be?”
“No worries. It’s over 2,000 square feet. Plenty of beds.” Devilishly, Bran paused, giving her time to think about sharing space with him.
“Glovers Alley is already scheduled to cook for us privately tomorrow night. The penthouse butler emailed me the arrangements this morning.”
Raven let Bran’s announcements settle. She knew very well he was trying to goad some response from her, though she was still unclear what her reactionshouldbe.
Admittedly, this lifestyle was foreign to Raven, but the Byrnes were adaptable, resourceful, and certainly not shy... in business, at least. Taking another sip of Bushmills, Raven eyed Bran over the crystal glass.
“Consider me impressed, O’Faolain.”
Changing the subject from sleeping arrangements. Even though she told her sisters she was prepared... so prepared... to sleep with Bran, it didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous. “I haven’t visited Temple Bar since my family visited Nan a few summers ago. It was my mother’s favorite pub in Dublin. Row was eighteen, and my dad ordered us all a shot at the bar to commemorate her legal-to-drink status.” Raven took a moment to sift through her memories of that night. Bran noticed her pause.
“I’m sorry if this trip is painful for you, Raven.” Putting his lunch to the side, he slid forward in his seat and grabbed her hand. “I would never have asked you to come if, for even a moment, I had considered it might make you sad.” He added in a quiet, thoughtful voice, “Maybe I should have asked your sisters to come too. For moral support.”
Oh Lord, Raven would not cry. Damn it. Swallowing the emotions she hadn’t seen coming, she squeezed Bran’s hand tighter. “Don’t even think it, Bran. When memories are all one has, it’s only right to take them out and relive them. I never want to forget. Anything. My parents deserve to be thought of even if it makes my sisters and I weepy sometimes.”
Releasing a huff of air he’d obviously been holding, Bran scooted her lunch to the side of the table and moved over to sit close to her. “I know you and your sisters would stay with your grandmother when your parents were teaching abroad, but did you all visit often other than that?”
“Oh yeah. Dad and we girls have dual citizenship, which made travel easy, and he always missed Roscommon and his mother. His father, my grandad, died when I was little, so I don’t remember him. He hated spacing visits with Nan too far apart since she lives alone.”
She had to laugh at her dad, thinking Nan needed guidance. “I can’t wait for you to meet her, Bran. Your grandmother reminded me an awful lot of my own.”
“Jesus, save me. Did I remember to tell you what Gran thought of you when we had dinner at her place?”
“You certainly did not.”
“Buy me a drink tonight, and I may be persuaded.”
“Pat’s right! You are a shithead.”
“You have excellent taste in shitheads, then.”
When their laughter settled, Raven leaned into Bran’s shoulder and softly kissed his lips. “I really am so thrilled to be going to Ireland. With you.” Bran kissedherthis time. She ended up half sprawled sideways in her chair and half in his lap.
One of Bran’s hands had just slid its way up her ribs. His fingertips a scant millimeter away from brushing the underside of her left breast when a woman’s voice registered. Oh my God.
“My apologies for the interruption, Mr. O’Faolain,” the flight attendant murmured, awkwardly frozen outside the galley while beginning a slow, backward retreat. “I can collect your lunch dishes and refresh drinks at a more convenient time, sir.”
“No, Brenda, please come on back. My apologies for the PDA, and don’t blame Raven,” he laughed to cover any embarrassment for the women, “I can’t seem to help myself.”
Raven briefly touched her forehead to his before moving back to her seat. “My apologies as well, Brenda. I feel about sixteen right now.” Laughing at themselves seemed to trigger Brenda’s funny bone.
“I’ve witnessed worse,” covering her eyes in horror, “so, so, so much worse.”
“Was it my brother?” Bran asked jokingly. “Okay, Raven. We’ve work to get done before we land.” Looking at Brenda as she cleared the dishes, he added, “Come in the cabin at any time. I promise to behave, and my girlfriend seems to drink copious amounts of whiskey and needs her refills.”
