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I rub his knee. Touching him sends a sizzle of energy up my arm. I want to make promises to those eyes, but for now, honesty is what I’ve got. “Being with you, Jack, is a brand of happy I didn’t know existed.” I nearly add,and too damn perfect to be true, but the expression of pure joy on his face shuts me up.
He lays his hand on mine. “Does that happy include having to sneak into kitchens with me for dinner?”
I turn my hand over to twine my fingers through his. “For now.”
There’s a commotion near the doorway to the restaurant. Imelda shoos a delivery guy toward the front door.
“Imelda’s one you don’t want to cross,” says Jack with a wink.
I pick up a stray blob of cheese and pop it into my mouth. “I see that.”
He gestures toward the street. “On that bridge into town, Imelda faced down a Guinness truck.” His smile widens. “It’s a one-at-a-time bridge, so the feller waved her back. Imelda did the same to him. The two of them sat there for five minutes or so before Imelda stopped her car, left it on the road, and came in here for a cup of tea.”
Besides being a kick-ass cook, Imelda is one plucky dame. “What happened?”
He slaps his knee. “The Guinness driver had to wave back the line of cars behind him so he could back off the bridge and let her by.”
After Bobby’s story and now this one, I hope to never meet a Guinness truck in the wild. If I do, I’ll call Imelda for backup.
Jack’s face shifts into a serious expression. “There’s something I need to ask of you.”
Here comes the fist to my gut. Dread squeezes my heart. I know what’s coming, and it will involve words like sneaking, hiding, and deceiving.
“How fast can you finish reading allThe Chieftain’s Sonbooks?”
Surprise makes me choke on my bite of pie.
Jack commandeers a pitcher of water from the counter behind us and pours me a glass. “Are you alright, love?”
I down the water and flap a hand to signal I’m going to survive. After a few gulps, I’m able to speak. “Rereading. I’ve been through the series a few times already. Why?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I need you to help me dig deeper into Donal Cam. The bugger is giving me belly wibbles.”
I bark out a laugh. “Belly wibbles?”
Jack’s ears redden. “It’s what we used to call being afraid with my nieces. Fear can have fangs and hide in the dark. Belly wibbles can be swallowed down quick to make them go away.”
“How can I help your wibbles?”
He leans closer, tracing a line up and down my arm with his finger. “You see the layers in a story, in the characters. I know that from reading your lovely manuscript. I’ve got to keep Donal Cam from turning into a two-dimensional cutout.”
I trap his finger and bring it to my lips. “What? You think ol’ D.C. is more than a Celtic battle stud by day and lovesick puppy by night?”
Jack frees his finger and wags it at me. “Hold on, you know he’s got a bit more than”—he swings an imaginary sword through the air—“and”—his lips graze mine. I taste lemongrass tea and cheese. “Help me find all his layers, keep the man interesting for ten seasons.”
“I’m sure Deidre would love to help you dissect her boy.”
A strong hand cups the side of my face. “I want to share this discovery process with you. I trust you to help me find all the feelings I’ll have to pull up to do Donal Cam justice.”
I close my eyes and let the warmth of his hand flow across my skin.
“It’s a vulnerable place sometimes, being an actor. I need to feel safe with someone when I let them inside my process.”
It’s not a stray bit of pie keeping me from speaking now. Jack is inviting me into his art, the way he inhabits a character. This is what I’ve dreamed of, having a partner to share a creative life. I’d begun to believe it was impossible to find what my parents have but sitting across from me in this tiny Irish town is the man who could bring that hope back into my life.
“Mr. O’Leary, I’d be honored.”
Jack raises my hands to his lips. “I’m afraid to go back to Waterville. What we’ve created on this beautiful weekend feels as fragile as a soap bubble.” Worry lines flare from the corners of his eyes.
