Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(52)

I haven’t thought about Katie Byrne or that night in years, but I’m remembering her now, as I watch Amber lock her front door and stroll down the concrete walkway, her hip pushing the gate closed behind her.

I’ve had plenty of birds after that, but not since Katie has one looked at me the way Amber does—like I’m some sort of hero. I don’t want to do anything to f*ck it up. Amber may be leaving soon, but for these next six days, I want to live up to everything she thinks she sees when she looks at me with those adoring eyes.

I slip out in time to come around to her side. “I would have met you at your door.”

“I don’t mind. I was ready.”

“You look nice.”

She stretches the skirt of her flirty little dress out between her fingers. A white one with big, bold green flowers, too short to ever meet Ma’s approval but it certainly meets mine, showing off those thighs. “You didn’t tell me what we were doing. I hope this works.” Her eyes skate over my dark jeans and black collared shirt. An upgrade from what I wear to work but by no means upscale.

“It does.”

She flashes one brilliant white-toothed smile just before ducking into her seat. Her sexy green heels have my blood flowing already.

“How old is this place?” Amber asks, her fingers pressed against the rough stone wall to brace herself, taking each of the uneven steps down with caution.

“Old.”

When we reach the bottom, she peers over my shoulder at the narrow staircase, just wide enough for one person to pass at a time. “That would never pass fire and safety codes in America.”

I laugh. “Who thinks about things like that?”

Even in the poor lighting, I can see the flush of her cheeks, and I realize that I’ve embarrassed her. Reaching out to squeeze the side of her slender waist playfully, I add, “It’s charming.” I slip a hand in hers and lead her farther in, ducking slightly to get through the stone archway.

“Wow. This place is . . . medieval.” Her words drift as her gaze takes in the low, stone-carved ceiling of the intimate cellar.

“Let me guess. This wouldn’t pass code either.”

Her lips twist into a smirk, and I can’t help myself. I lean in and steal a quick kiss, surprising her. The sparkle in her eyes tells me it’s a good surprise.

“Come on. Our seats are ready.” I lead her to the rickety old table in the corner. Rowen’s already there, pint in hand.

“My favorite American bird.” He stands, rounds the table, and pulls out her chair before I can, winking at me.

She eases herself into it with a smile. “You Delaney boys sure are charming.”

Not all of us.

“Where’s your friend?”

“She said she’s running late but will be here soon.” Amber’s not really paying attention to her own words, too busy studying the tapered candles burning from atop empty wine bottles that give this narrow, underground place the majority of its light. “What happens over there? Music?” She points to the corner, to the microphone sitting in a stand.

“Something like that.” Rowen and I share a look. I warned him not to blow the surprise.

“It’s been a while. How ya lads?” Kean, a middle-aged Galway fella and the latest generation to run Nosey Flynn’s, drops four menus onto the table, dipping his head toward Amber in greeting.

“Grand.”

Kean settles curious golden eyes on me. “Ya sure? I hear someone’s wantin’ to box the head off ya brother.”

Christ. It doesn’t surprise me at all that someone wants to beat the hell out of Aengus. Aengus could inspire violence in a priest. But now is really not the time to be rooting around our business, and Kean’s known for doing that. Some say he’s on payroll with the papers, feeding them bits of information from the streets. I shoot him a warning glare, thinly veiled behind a smile, for Amber’s sake. “We’re all grand.”

“How long do we have to order?” Rowen runs his finger down the paper, as if there are a dozen options. There are only four. There have only ever been four: two types of stew, bacon and cabbage, and a vegetarian curry.

I don’t know if it’s a tactic to steer the conversation away from Aengus or if it’s just Rowen’s oversized appetite. Either way, I’m appreciative.

Kean gets the message. “I’ll keep it open for another fifteen for ya. The usual?”

I squeeze Amber’s shoulder. “Guinness?”

“And a water. Please.”

Kean waves toward another table. “Rose’ll be around.”

“He seems nice,” Amber muses, dropping her voice. “But I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.”

“Seriously? It was perfectly clear to me.” I breathe a sigh of relief and curl my arm around the back of her chair. There’s no need to spark conversations about Aengus.

“And here she comes . . .” Rowen belts out in a low, melodious voice, his curious eyes on a spot behind us. “My favorite American is here!”

Amber shakes her head at him, but she’s smiling. Sandalwood and flowers catches my nose a second before Ivy appears, her dark eyes scanning the cave. “I would have happily crawled into this hole earlier today.” She tosses the strap of her clunky purse over the edge of the only chair available, next to Rowen, a wary sideways glance at her “date.” “Hello, Grinning Bartender.”