Gettin' Lucky

Chapter Two

“…And if I hadn’t been there to catch that typo it’d have gone out to our entire client list. In forty point font.”

Abby chuckled though my Accord’s speakers. “‘Public’ can be a tricky one to get right the first go. Lucky for the board you were there.”

“Lucky for me. Even though I wasn’t the one to type up our new ‘Pubic Option’ for the stockholders, it’d have been on my head.” I sighed, turning down the out-of-the-way road to a small neighborhood originally built for military families. The base was torn down decades back, but the cement and brick houses remained. 

“So you’re saying that tree through your window was a good thing,” Abby cooed. She’d found it all hilarious and spent the day texting me gifs of Ents.

I scoffed. “Thanks for reminding me of the mess I have to clean up.” A groan rattled in my throat as I thought upon not only the shattered glass and gaping hole into my bedroom but the man who caused it. “What do you think the chances are on Conall actually paying to fix it?”

“Who?” Abby sounded distracted while dodging her own traffic. For me it was quiet sailing towards the driveway of the house with a hole punched in it.

“Conall. The red-haired, green-eyed…” so damn handsome, “Irishman who sent the tree  careening through my window.”

“Did he give you his insurance info?”

I pursed my lips. It wasn’t until I burst through the doors of work two minutes early that I realized how truly up the creek I was. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to get anything substantial off him. He could be some lunatic who goes around breaking sleeping women’s windows with shrubbery. “Just his business card, which — get this — claims he’s a cobbler.”

A prolonged silence tumbled out of the speakers, my eyes darting from the empty road to check my phone. Just before I could see if the battery once again ran dead, Abby spoke up. “Wait, wait. Are you telling me there’s a redheaded, Irish cobbler wandering around in your backyard? You got yourself as wee little leprechaun there, Jess.”

“Ha ha,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes at the preposterous thought.

“How tall was he?”

“I’m…” I wasn’t sure. All I saw of him was his head and a bit of the neck. The bedroom was ground floor, what with the house having only one, but he could have been hunched over to make it through the hole. Or standing on a ladder.

“Four feet? Three?” Abby was snorting hard at her joke. Her words garbled as she spat out fast, “Better be quick to get all his lucky charms!”

“I hate you,” I mumbled, coming to a stop in my driveway.

I let my friend finish with the unending cascade of giggles, my head tipped back into the duct-taped headrest. Shutting off the car, I pinned the phone between my shoulder and jaw while exiting. Abby finally shook off her unhelpful laughter and sighed, “Well, if your wee pixie doesn’t show I can stop by to help fix it.”

“What do you know about window repair?” I asked, my hip slamming the car door shut. Exhausted to the marrow, I collapsed against the car rather than face what I knew waited inside.

Abby took her time before blurting out, “There’s gotta be a video tutorial on it.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll…” sighing, I shifted the phone to my other ear and finally rose, “I’ll figure it out. Bye.”

“Bye,” Abby chirped and I killed the call.

What were the chances the man who cut down a tree that shattered a bedroom window would stick to his word? Negative billion came to mind. More than just the glass littering my carpet and snow blowing in through the hole, I knew Tir had to have been on a tear from my closing the bedroom off to him. It didn’t matter if he never spent any of the day in that room, the fact he was suddenly no longer allowed was tantamount to treason and I’d have to pay for it.

“I won’t have a single roll of toilet paper left,” I sighed, turning around the five-foot-tall bushes to the walkway. My mind flitted between who to hire to fix a window and which bottle of wine to open so I’d forget the mess. There was no way in hell I’d ever see that handsome Irishman ever…

“Hello.” Green eyes caught mine from the impenetrable ether they’d been glaring into. I nearly ran backwards on my heels, my heart leaping into my throat at an unexplainable man standing on my porch. 

“What are you—?” my lips tried to spit, but my eyes drank him in. An oaky-green flannel cut tight to his chest. So tight that when he shifted his arm the bicep threatened to split a seam. The color caused his eyes to glow, beckoning me to stare in rapture at the verdant depths. 

He rose from his lean, quickly towering above me. No three-foot leprechaun was he. Stupid! Leprechauns aren’t real. And dear God was his smile pretty. It flashed fast, without impudence, an ease and charm softening his hard jaw. As I kept staring, my mouth dangling open, the brightness in his eyes began to dim. 

“Doing?” I squeaked, wishing I could pinch myself. 

The smile’s warmth increased tenfold, dooming me. “I’d intended to leave you a note, but this is much better,” Conall said, passing me a scrap of folded paper. I accepted it in my fingers, limply flipping it open even while waiting for him to talk.

“As a full apology for the damage I caused, I wanted to invite you to dinner.”

“What?” My head whipped up at him. I wanted to glare. The dashingly charming and besotting man was trying to pay off his crimes with a simple meal? It was enraging for him to think he could get away without proper reparations. 

As the fullness of his meadow eyes fell upon me, my body was more than happy to let him do whatever he wanted. He leaned closer, a finger jabbing at the note. I took in a breath and my nose filled with amber, oakmoss, and a dab of clover. Conall didn’t even blink as I lapped up his scent.

“To discuss the proper procedure for fixing your shattered pane. I don’t know about you, but there’s nothing I despise more than negotiating on an empty stomach.”

God save me, his lips rounded up to a smile and he dipped the tip of his tongue against the edge. My traitorous eyes followed the movement and, in an instant, I ached to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. Shaking off the thought, I focused my attention on the letter. “Oh? So you do intend to fix it?”

He slapped a hand to his chest, reminding me how wide his palms were. “Lass, an Irishman never goes back on his word,” he spoke with a cloak of chivalry, but his eyes sparkled as if we were sharing a private joke. “Tonight, if at all possible. I did my best to block up the hole, but the thought of you having to suffer in a drafty bedroom for overlong wounds me.”

“You…you want to have dinner tonight?” My mind was still struggling with the threat of negotiations. But, then again, before I’d figured he’d pay a big fat goose egg, so anything was better than nothing. “Wh-where?” It was already past 7. Having to get changed and set out for the city, it was unlikely we’d even be seated before 9.

Conall turned to wave a hand at the house right next to mine. “A home-cooked meal is the best panacea for life’s ills. Oh, and I hope you like lamb.”

“Love it,” I threw out as if we were talking favorite movie genres. He didn’t really make lamb? For me?

“Grand.” Conall danced around my frozen body, a thumb raised for emphasis. “Merely ring the bell when you’re ready, Lass.” With a lightness in his steps, he walked towards my next door neighbor’s house. My eyes kept darting from the note in immaculate penmanship, to the house I thought was still the home of an older gentleman and not an Irish angel — who broke windows on the side.

“O…Okay,” I muttered as if he was still there to hear me. When I caught my fingers waving at nothing, I sneered and stomped inside. Stop acting stupid, like he put me under some spell. I had to be focused, tough. Accept nothing less than a full replacement and clean up. And God, do not look at his tight ass again. It’ll give the whole thing away.

Dropping my purse to the couch, I gave into my libido’s pleading and let my mind return to those bountiful buttocks vacuum-sealed in his grey pants. I fluttered his letter in my hands, trying to cool off my burning cheeks, when twelve pounds of fur launched from the bookshelf. The body struck my shoulder while the front paws clawed at the paper toy.

Groaning at the weight, I pet my cat. “Hi to you too, Tiramy.”