Mistletoe and Mr. Right (15 page)

But I
am
in Ireland and when I step out of the car, Grady Callaghan leaps off the sleigh, giving Garth a pat on the rump and performing an awkward, sweeping bow.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my jaw falling open. It's like a Christmas card.

He brushes snow off his coat and I can't help noticing his coveralls. And thinking they're kind of sexy. “Got yourself in a bit of a pickle, right? And what is my latest résumé entry?”

“Showing up when I'm embarrassing myself?” I laugh, unable to stop myself.

“Yes, but we've got to quit meeting like this,” he jokes, bending to inspect the rear tires. “Turn that thing off. You're not going anywhere.”

“No.”

“Jessie, the thing is stuck in the shuck. We'll have to pull it off, and I don't have any straps in the sleigh,” he explains, more patience in his tone than I probably deserve.

“I mean, I know the
car
isn't going anywhere but I need to get to the airport.”

“Yeah, I know. We can drive the sleigh back and get my truck.”

I narrow my gaze at him and put my hands on my hips, realizing he never really answered the question of what he's doing out here. In a
sleigh.
“Where were you going?”

“What do you mean?”

His obvious stalling makes me roll my eyes. “You were just out for a lovely morning ride in your neighbor's sleigh?”

“Oh, that.” He tugs on the hem of his stocking cap and bites his lower lip, looking off toward the ocean before snapping his blue, blue eyes back to my face. They linger, hesitant, and what might be a blush touches his cheeks before he shrugs. “Coming after you.”

It's not the answer I expect but it's the one I wanted. “You were coming after
me?
In a sleigh?”

“You were so excited about getting a sleigh ride the other day and now it's finally snowed enough, so I didn't want you to miss out.” His cheeks redden further. “And I'm coming after you
in a sleigh
because I couldn't let you leave Ireland without telling you something very important.”

I smile, hot all over and with a sudden and uncommon urge to tease. “What, pray tell, is important enough to chase someone down in a snowstorm?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, then seems to make a decision. “All right, then.”

Then Grady Callaghan steps forward, cups my jaw with both of his big, gloved hands, and draws my lips to his.

My fingers and toes are cold but my chest boils, blood swirling fast through my veins. My surprise fades as quickly as snowflakes on warm skin, and I find myself kissing him back as though there was never another option. The lips that were tentative, tasting, maybe even asking turn hungry against mine, devouring like it's his very last meal. My own lips part, tongue eager to allow him in, to drink in the fresh, heady wine that is Grady—a boy who intrigues me but was all wrong.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is the way his mouth feels against mine, how his arms hold me tight so our bodies mold together through layers and layers, and the surprising strength of the need spilling through me.

He pulls away, his hands falling to my shoulders. Desire and curiosity fight for prominence in his bright gaze, neither winning out until I give him what feels like a dazed smile. “Oh, good. You're not going to pop me, then.”

“Not for the kiss, anyway.” My mind swirls, trying to figure out what this means, whether I'm a terrible person for enjoying Grady so much when I've just broken up with Brennan, and what we're supposed to do now.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” I ask, biting my lower lip.

“Worrying about a million things neither of us have any control over. I kissed you because I hate the thought of you walking out of my life. Without at least asking whether you might want to keep in touch with me after you get home.”

My heart thuds at the prospect. At how this little kiss, this chance encounter, feels like something so much more enormous. At the possibility that with Grady's help, I could learn to sit back and see what happens instead freaking out about all the things that could go wrong.

Because he's showing me that sometimes things go right even when you don't ask them to.

“I don't want to not see you again, either.” I give him a playful look. “Not that you need to hear that.”

“I'll always need to hear that, Jessie MacFarlane.” He draws me against his chest, hugging me tight and bending to bury his nose in my hair. “But I am freezing my arse off, so how about we get in the sleigh.”

“I thought you'd never ask,” I squeal, running over and letting him boost me up into the red velvet interior. It smells like a bouquet of musk and man and winter—and yeah, a little bit like a barn. The woolen blanket on the seat scratches my hands but once Grady is under it with me, his thigh pressed against mine, I can't come up with a single complaint. “No hot chocolate?”

“Good Lord, who do you think you're dealing with here?” He reaches into the back and pulls a thermos from under the seat, tossing it my lap before he flicks the reins.

“You brought hot chocolate.”

He looks over, cheeks still red, but maybe it's from the wind. “If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I take my sleigh rides very seriously.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“Okay. Let's get you to the airport.” Grady urges the horses into a trot and the snowy morning rushes past my cheeks, fingers warm around the thermos.

I don't expect the relief over his not pushing the issue or trying to get me to stay. It's refreshing, that Grady understands so much without my having to tell him—that my whole life is rearranging, and dealing with unexpected feelings or a new relationship, no matter how lovely, is going to take time for me to sort out.

It kind of makes me want to jump him, but he's kind of busy. Driving a sleigh.

“Oh, and the airport is in Knock,” I tell him, snuggling into his side.

Grady looks down, blue eyes shining with happiness. “That's a bit beyont a tiny jaunt, you know?”

“I know. You still up for me?” I hold my breath because maybe I'm not just asking about the ride to the airport. I might be changing, might be considering a different path, but I'm not stupid enough to deny I have issues that are going to take a while to dispel—and Grady knows every single one of them. There's no point in pretending I'm perfectly fine.

Acting as though I had it all together didn't get me anywhere with Brennan and this thing with Grady, if it happens, is going to be different.

He gives me a smile, dimples popping, as though he's read every thought in my neurotic head. “Oh, I'm thinking that being
up
for you isn't ever going to be an issue.”

Grady snaps the reins again and the horses break into a gallop, leaving me to burn with hot lust at the images accompanying his sexy-as-hell reply. We fly toward the McCormacks', living a different present than I could possibly have foreseen when agreeing to take this trip almost four thousand miles from home.

And just like that, Grandfather Donnelly's words make sense. Since my trip to Ireland ended with Brennan and I going our separate ways instead of better than ever, it might seem as though my plan missed its mark.

But glancing sideways at Grady next to me in the sleigh, a snow-covered Ireland surrounding us, and an unstoppable grin making my cheeks ache, it's not so hard to believe that maybe I've ended up in, if not the right place, the one I was meant for all along.

The road to Fanore is still narrow, still treacherous, and still impossibly dark, but at least this time it's not raining.

It's snowing.

The streets wind and twist even more than they do in my memory, which is saying a lot, but when I make the turn off toward the Thistle Farmhouse B&B, at least I know to slow down. And watch for goats. I let out a breath once Minicar Extraordinaire slides past the spot where Nanny Goat and I had our altercation last year, then jump when a warm, calloused hand covers mine.

“Oh, look; it's where we first met.”

I shake my head, still not daring to take my eyes off the road. “Where you treated me like an annoying American for the first time. So sweet.”

“Well, you
are
an annoying American,” Grady points out as we slide into the parking lot unharmed. “But now you're
my
annoying American.

Caramel lights melt through the B&B's windows like butter, slipping onto the porch and reaching into the parking lot, but not quite reaching our car. Snowflakes tumble downward, dotting the windshield and melting on the hood as I switch off the ignition, undo my seat belt, and turn toward the passenger seat.

Grady sits there, in the flesh for the first time in over six months. He'd been to visit me once while he'd been in the States applying for a couple of photography internships, but the visit had been too short and involved too many other people.

I'd jumped at the chance to visit Fanore for Christmas again, this time with an actual invitation.

Grady's rough hands brush my jaw, bringing my thoughts back to the present. Then his lips are on mine and we're struggling to get close enough around the stick shift and console and too many clothes, but I can't ever get close enough to Grady.

His tongue sweeps over my bottom lip, opening me up for his pleasure and I tip my head, giving him all the access he wants. My hands drift down, toying with the inch of bare skin between his collar and chin, earning a groan that sends heated tingles all the way to my toes. We're both breathing hard when we pull apart, his forehead pressed against mine while we fight for normal heart rates and proper oxygen.

“You are going to kill me, Jessie.”

“I hope not. We've barely gotten started and you'll have to last the whole summer.”

A silly smile deepens his dimples. “You and me in Greece. All summer. You in a totally inappropriate skimpy swimsuit.”

Grady and I both got internships with an up-and-coming news-reporting website—me doing social media reporting and him covering the photography end. It was pure luck they assigned us to the same location.

“I can't believe we both got internships at the same communications company.” I poke him playfully and he catches my hand, running fingers over my palm. Electricity zaps every nerve ending. “It must be the luck of the Irish.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning in to capture my lips with his again. We get lost in tongues and hands and skin for a little while longer, and when we stop to breathe I notice it's cold. “We should go inside. You know the family is waiting with a midnight snack.”

I can picture it now—not a daydream this time, because it lives in my memory—Molly skipping around, trying to get Katie's attention or sparring with her brother. Mrs. Donnelly setting the table, wetting the tea, checking her desserts. Mr. Donnelly yelling at his kids to settle down and his father, old Granddad, presiding over the mess of wonderful that he helped create.

The holly wreath on the front door beckons us inside. It was so nice of them to invite us both for the holiday. Two little orphans, for all intents and purposes, who managed to find each other in the most unlikely of circumstances.

“Shall we?” Grady asks, getting out of the car and offering his arm as though he's a gentleman.

I know better, and what's more, I prefer it that way. An idea goes off like a lightbulb over my head before we make it three steps and I sneak him a conspiratorial grin that makes him groan, this time for a different reason.

“I know that look, little Jessie. What devious plan is on your mind?”

“I was just thinking we should go check on Nanny.”

“She's fine, I fed her before I came to pick you up,” he insists, taking another step toward the house.

“Yeah, but I mean, maybe you and I should go check on her. Just to be sure. In the barn. Alone. Where it's warm and no one ever goes except you . . .”

The lightbulb goes off for him and the wicked grin he gives me in return makes me think I could love this man with everything I'm worth until the end of my days.

“Ah, yes. Nanny Goat. She
was
looking a bit off, now that I really think about it.” He grabs my hand, tugging me along. “I'll need your help, of course.”

I trot along beside him, happiness shooting out from my smile and my chest and out the ends of my fingers. There's no way my body can contain it all, and if happiness were made of real energy, the whole town of Fanore would experience a power surge.

Grady tugs the barn door shut behind us and grabs me in his arms, twirling me around until my feet lift off the ground and, once again, the complete turnaround my life has taken in a year makes me want to stop and stare. Touch it to make sure it's real.

“I just realized I've never showed you how soft the clean hay in the loft can be,” he muses, setting me on my feet. “We should try it.”

I lean in and kiss him with everything I've got, tasting and teasing and trying to understand every last bit of Grady Callaghan, even though we've got all the time in the world to do just that.

I pull away, his shirt fisted in my hands, and give him my most serious nod. “We should try everything.”

I am so grateful to everyone who helped this novella become a reality in a very short period of time—starting with County Clare, Ireland, itself for the inspiration. The people there (particularly the McCormacks, who hosted us at their B&B, the Donour Lodge) run a close second. Everyone was friendly, quick with a smile, and so proud to share facts and secrets about the land they call home. I'll never forget it.

Second, my agent Kathleen Rushall, who fleshed out more than one little idea with me before we landed on a few that might work. She's fast—her mind, her e-mail responses, her wit—and I stop on a regular basis to appreciate how much she's brought to both my writing and my career. Thank you for taking a chance on us a year and half ago.