She wanted to talk to the people she encountered in the marketplace.
He suggested they dine at a well-known, Michelin-rated restaurant.
She insisted they find a pub and order local fare—catch of the day and a Guinness.
At that, he balked.
“Rachel,” he said as calmly as possible, “I’m not going to take you to a public tavern for your one dinner here.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Too good to rub elbows with the common man, Isaac?”
“No, but there are so many better choices we could make,” he answered, trying not to acknowledge the pleading in his voice. He didn’t want fish and chips. He wanted a six-course meal that involved both beef and lamb, maybe a main course of fish, a fine tart for dessert. Good coffee. Better beer. But none of what he had in mind would be served in a basket on a bed of fries, and, if they went to the tavern Rachel was currently navigating toward, that’s exactly what was in store.
Her hand settled on his forearm. “Isaac?”
He had begun to crave the intimacy of her voice. So much so, in fact, that he found himself circling the reality of his feelings like a wounded animal. “I don’t care for crowds.” That was all he could manage.
“Why not?” She rubbed his arm with slow, gentle strokes. “It’s not much different than addressing employees in the workplace.”
He couldn’t help but shake his head. “Not in that number or that proximity.”
Her hand stalled, resting lightly near his wrist. “You don’t talk to your employees in company meetings?”
“Never en masse, no.”
“Huh. Who does, then?”
“Whoever is most appropriate for the topic at hand. It’s usually not me.” He took her hand and tried to pull her in the direction of a restaurant he favored. “Let’s go—”
“There,” she said, pointing to someplace over his shoulder...and in the opposite direction than he’d intended to go.
He glanced back and had to fight to keep from groaning. “O’Sullivan’s Public House? No, Rachel. Please, no. Let me take you somewhere there aren’t grease stains on the menu.”
She tilted her face up to his and beamed. “C’mon, Isaac. Please? Pretty please? We can go somewhere nice for brunch tomorrow. You can pick anywhere you want and I’ll go, no questions asked. But this may be my only chance to experience an Irish pub on a Saturday night. I don’t want to miss it. I am absolutelycravingsomething fresh off the local fisherman’s boat and an expertly built Guinness. Maybe three.” She batted her eyes playfully, trying to win him over.
What she didn’t know?
She already had.
All she had to do was make her wishes known, throw in a little flirting and he would move mountains just to lay the world at her feet. If all she wanted was dinner in a pub? He’d buy the damn pub if need be.
“Damn it,” he grumbled for the sheer sake of appearing to balk. “This is ridiculous.”
“Please?” she asked again, her enthusiasm as contagious as the viral flu.
Grabbing her hand, he ducked his head against the increasingly heavy downpour and pulled her along toward the pub’s entrance.
They were thoroughly soakedby the time they crossed the threshold. Both laughing and cursing under his breath at not having thought to buy an umbrella, he shook like a dog exiting a lake before pushing his hair off his forehead, taking a fortifying breath and entering the melee, Rachel in tow.
People were crammed into O’Sullivan’s tighter than sardines in a can. He scanned the pub and quickly found what he was after.
The bar.
Working his way through the crowd proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. It had been so long since he’d been in such tight quarters, surrounded and unable to move freely. His chest tightened as if a vise had been twisted around it, forcing him to breathe through his mouth just to get air. He shouldered past a man and received a shove back. Isaac didn’t care. He just needed to get to Rachel and the bar, sit down and order a drink. Then this feeling would subside.
It had to.
The bar seemed to get farther away instead of closer as he worked his way through the crowd. He was stronger than this, could get her there safely. It wasn’t like she was in imminent danger.