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I must have been silent a little too long because Fergus speaks up. “You’re upset.”
I shake my head, not wanting to show my feelings. Not facing him, I stare down at my food. “I’m just hungry.”
I don’t know when he moved, but suddenly his hand is gripping my chin, and he is lifting my face, staring down at me.
Whatever he sees in my eyes has him cursing. “I’m sorry. You’ve had a rough night, and I’m being an asshole.”
I try to shrug my shoulders without revealing anything. “No, I mean you’ve been looking after me the whole night–”
“That doesn’t give me the right to hurt your feelings.” His words are sharp and filled with regret, his Irish accent thick. “I’m sorry, A ghrá. You’re not an idiot. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
I fidget in my seat, transfixed by that beautiful blue gaze, and taken aback by the compliment. “Uh, thank you.”
He tears his eyes away from me, and I feel my heartbeat return to normal.
“What does A ghrá mean?” I ask, feeling better.
This time it is his turn to have a faint dusting of red on his cheekbones, and he shakes his head. “Nothing. Just a slip of the tongue.”
I managed to ruffle his composed and charming feathers somehow, and all my upset evaporates as I find myself delighted and curious as to what would make him so nervous. “Come on. What does it mean?”
“Nothing,” he insists.
The more he tries to hide it, the more I want to know.
“Just tell me, please,” I push. “I won’t laugh, I promise!”
He narrows his eyes at me, but I hear him sigh. “Fine. You use it to refer to a friend.”
I frown. “Why would you be embarrassed over that?”
He growls at me and spoons up some eggs, shoving them into my mouth to shut me up. “I never said I was. Now, eat.”
I chew, slowly, and decide to accept his answer, although I don’t think he is telling me the complete truth.
However, the taste of the food throws me off, and I blink, swallowing. “What is this?”
“Scrambled eggs,” Fergus tells me as he bites into some crispy bacon.
I stare down at my plate, and then at him. “I’ve never had anything that tasted this good. Are you a part-time cook as well?”
He laughs, a loud, delighted sound that makes my toes curl.
I didn’t know you could like somebody’s laugh that much. The dimple in his cheek stands out, and I feel my heart flutter in my chest like a bird, helpless against these emotions.
I never felt this way about a man before, and I don’t know what to do with all these feelings.
“Of sorts,” he replies, still chuckling.
Then something strikes me. “Was it you who made that burger for me yesterday?”
“What do you think?” he asks with a quick grin that steals my breath.
“I think you’re not a simple bartender,” I say, slowly. “You should become a full-time chef.”
His smile flickers, and then he shakes his head at me with a rueful grin. “One day. That’s the dream.”
We finish the rest of the meal in silence, and I savor each bite. Once I am done, I sigh with contentment. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.”
