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“Well, hello there. I haven’t met you yet. Are you a friend of Iris’s?” she asked.
“Oh, I am. The best kind of friend,” Kane clarified with a laugh.
“That’s good, dear. We all need those kinds of friends.” The woman winked at him and returned to the bookshop across from Iris’s store.
Kane laughed the whole way to the market. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to an evening more.
Chapter 15
“I’m sorry, what now?” John asked, and Iris could hear him turning down the music playing in the background. “There must be a poor connection because I could have sworn you just said that hunky airport guy got you off on a dining room table.”
“Ew, must you be so crude?” Iris closed her eyes.
“Yes, I must. Have you met me?” John demanded. “I need more details.”
“I gave you the gist of it. Or thrust of it, if you must…” Iris groaned at her pun, but John laughed.
“I’m loving this. I am here for this. I am living for this,” John exclaimed, and Iris winced, berating herself for telling him. Because now it was a thing. It didn’t need to be a thing, right?
“I never should have told you,” Iris groaned, flopping back on her bed, where she’d strewn what little clothes she had across the comforter.
“Yes, you should have. Because you need someone to talk you out of running away from Hottie McIrish.”
“You don’t even know what he looks like,” Iris protested. She stared at the ceiling and brought Kane’s face to her mind. Yeah, okay, he was hot.
“I don’t need to. I can picture him perfectly. Now, when do you see him next?”
“Tonight,” Iris whispered, nerves swirling in her stomach.
“Even better. What are you wearing?” John demanded.
“I don’t know. I’ve pulled out every piece of clothing I brought with me.” Iris sighed and wiped a hand over her face. “It’s just a friend’s thing. Not a date. We’re just friends, John.”
“Friends who touch each other’s private parts. Got it,” John said, humming. She could just see him tapping a finger to his lips, dressed crisply in a business suit, at his standing desk in his office.
“Dark jeans,” John said.
“Got ‘em.” Iris ‘blew out a breath, relieved he wasn’t forcing her into a dress. Not that she had one but, knowing John, he’d have her out the door to shops if that was what he wanted for her.
“Just friends, you say, which we both know is a lie, but let’s see. You don’t want to look like you are trying too hard. Where are you going? An Irish pub?”
“Aren’t all pubs in Ireland technically Irish?” Iris wondered.
“Shut it. Did you bring that deep-blue scoop-neck sweater I bought you?”
“Yes, I have it.” Iris pulled it from the pile.
“Wear that with your dark jeans, hair loose, and big earrings. No necklaces. The scoop shows a lot of skin, so it’s sexy but casual. And not your godawful tank bra. Something with some lift.” John sniffed.
“It’s terrifying that you know what underwear I prefer,” Iris muttered.
“And not the purple boots. I know you love them, but they clash with the sweater. Did you bring those black booties? The ones with a bit of heel?”
“I did.” Iris sighed, looking longingly at her purple boots.
“You can deal with them for a night, Iris. You wouldn't have called me if you didn’t care how you looked. Now, I’ll need a full report tomorrow. I have to hop on a call. Byeeeeee.”
Best friends could be annoying, Iris thought, but at the same time–he wasn’t wrong. She did care how she looked. Clothes could be armor, and she would need it when she faced Kane.
