“Thanks, Pat. Could I have a glass of water? I have a tickle in my throat.” “Sure thing.” Patrick poured a glass of cool water and handed it to her across the bar. He’d been trying to work up the courage to ask her out for several weeks, but something had always prevented him from making the request. Tonight, he vowed he’d extend an invitation to the Christmas dance next weekend. “Listen, Sunday, I—” A loud ruckus near the door of the pub distracted them. They turned to see who had entered. “Conall,” Patrick muttered. “Conall?” Sunday asked. “Who is he?” Patrick wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or jealousy that suggested Sunday’s question was piqued by more than mere curiosity. She was definitely checking out the man who’d been Patrick’s nemesis throughout his younger years. When they were growing up, no matter what Patrick did, Conall found a way to best him—be it in grades, hurling, or by stealing the girls Patrick fancied. Conall’s family was the most prosperous in Killarney, owning and operating most of the town’s businesses.
What do You think about Wild Irish Christmas (Wild Irish, Book Eight)?
