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“What I want is what I’m getting right now—the company of the most entrancing woman I’ve laid eyes on in a long, long time.”
She said nothing for several long moments.
“Fine. I’ll figure out your game sooner or later, but you can at least tell me your real name, because it sure as hell isn’t Tommy.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her continued boldness and the fact that she seemed wholly unimpressed by me.
“I was being sensible. When a strange woman strolls into the back offices of your workplace, spitting out a fresh lie every other word, it’s a good idea to keep a little distance before laying out your Wikipedia entry for her to peruse.”
“Fair enough,” she allowed. “But here we are, so spill it, or this is going to be the shortest lunch I’m sure you’ve ever had.”
“You don’t give up, do you?” I asked.
“Nope.”
I grinned. “My name is Connor. Connor O’Leary.”
Before the conversation could go on any further, Darren returned with the bottle of wine.
“This is a very nice Sav Blanc,” he said, holding the bottle for me to take a glance at. “It came highly recommended from the chef for pairing with the first courses.”
“Say no more. Please.” I gestured toward my glass.
He poured me a sample. It was delicious, of course—a light, refreshing crispness that made it feel like summer had returned for a moment. Grassy, lime notes followed.
“That will do just fine.”
Relief washed over Darren’s face, as if he’d been worried I might in displeasure yank the bottle from his hand and crack it over his head. Wouldn’t have been the first wine bottle I’d used as a weapon.
Darren poured each of us a glass, quietly leaving once he was done. I raised mine, and Claire did the same.
“Slainte,” I said.
She cocked her head to the side, confused.
“You’re kidding me.” I couldn’t help but smirk. “You’re Irish and you don’t know how to toast?”
“How do you know I’m Irish?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
That got another laugh out of me. “Come on. The hair, the eyes, the fair skin, the freckles… you look like you just stepped off the last plane in from Cork.”
“Well, I’m only Irish in the genes. Not all that attuned with the culture.”
“So I see. Slainte is Gaelic for ‘health’. Consider this the first of your lessons in Irish heritage.”
She smiled slightly. “Does that mean there are going to be more?”
“We’ll see if you’re deserving of my tutelage.”
With that, we tapped our glasses together and drank.
Darren returned with a small platter of various cheeses, a pair of plates and a small knife. After explaining to us what the cheeses were and where they were from, he was quickly gone again.
Now and then, Claire would take a small, almost imperceptible sip from her glass. It was understandable that she didn’t want to get too tipsy in front of the strange, possibly dangerous man she’d only just met.
The way she ate, however, was a whole other story. She enjoyed her food with gusto, eating her share of the cheese as if it were the last meal she’d ever have. Oysters followed the cheese, and she ate those with fervor, as well. She slurped them down one after another, closing her eyes and smiling slightly as she savored them.
I couldn’t help but watch, impressed and amused.
