“Miss Ember! Yes, I have you right here.” A woman with silver hair and a bright smile waves me over. “Will you be using the same payment method you booked with?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She taps something on her keyboard then reaches across the desk and hands me a key. “This is for you. You’re in room twenty-seven. We have a complimentary breakfast each morning, and the Wi-Fi password is written here on your pamphlet.” She hands the pamphlet over along with the room key. “If you need anything else, all you have to do is ask.” She smiles widely at me then gives Sullivan an appreciative glance.
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Elevators are right over there.”
I smile and step away, moving off to the side with Sullivan following. Pulling out my wallet, I do my best to hide all the converted cash inside. After pulling some out, I offer it to him. “I’m sorry. I’m not entirely sure how much to give you.”
He glances down at the wad of bills in my hand then shakes his head. “You can do me the honor of letting me show you some of the finest pubs Dublin has to offer tonight instead.”
Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover my reaction. “I’m sorry, what?”
He blushes. “I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. I know of a great pub that serves the best fish and chips in the entire city.”
“Oh.” I start to turn him down, start to explain that when I eat things, they tend to come back up, leaving me exhausted and sick for two days. But the grin on his face, the hopeful way he’s watching me, it’s a new kind of thrill. And one I haven’t experienced since my twenty-first birthday when my entire body decided to revolt against me. “That would be great, thanks.”
His answering grin is blinding. “Lovely. I’ll fetch you about eight, then?”
I nod. “I look forward to it.”
“Me, too.” He stares at me a moment longer then offers me a wave before turning away and heading out the front door.
My smile carries me all the way to the elevator and up to my room.
A date.
I’m actually going on a date. It’s beenyearssince I had one. Five years, to be exact.
When I reach room twenty-seven, I slip the key into the lock and open it. The room is small, boasting only a twin bed, a flat-screen TV, and a small desk where I leave my messenger bag. Since I know I’ll be here at least a week—possibly more—I drop my carry-on onto the bed and unpack the few items I brought with me.
Tomorrow, I’ll venture into the city and hit up the shops with the money I have for clothes and other essentials to get me by until… I trail off.No.This trip is not about death or dying.
It’s about life. Shutting the dark thoughts out, I happily unpack then study the outfits I did bring so I can decide what I want to wear tonight.
What does one wear to an Irish pub with a handsome stranger?
* * *
“You’re goingto get yourself murdered,” I whisper to myself as I stand in front of the mirror and stare at the summer dress I’ve chosen for the evening. The fabric is not form-fitting but, instead, falls down my body in a cascade of floral print.
In the last two hours, I’ve talked myself out of tonight at least half a dozen times. Even after calling Amber and Heather and having them tell me to stop overthinking it, I came within inches of calling down to the front desk and requesting they ask him to leave when he shows up. I mean, I just met this guy. In another country. Hell, what if he were only asking me out to screw with me. Could be he’s planning on not showing up at all.
Wouldn’t that just be perfect?
The darker voice inside of me—though, the morbid one—reminds me that even if he does kill me, it’s not like I have a full life ahead of me, anyway. I could die within a month—or two—so what do I really have to lose?
And with that dark thought, I shrug a light, white, knit sweater onto my shoulders and grab my purse.
It would be dumb of him to kill me, right? The front desk people saw us together; they could tell the police all about it.
“Stop being a psycho,” I whisper to myself, after doing one last turn in the mirror. I rarely wear makeup, but tonight, I applied a little bit of concealer over my red splotched skin and some dark liner beneath my eyes. I may be sick, but at least now I look mildly healthy. “You got this, Em.” With a roll of my shoulders and a check of the time, I force myself to head out into the hall and downstairs.
Habitually early to everything, I’m not expecting to see Sullivan sitting downstairs in one of the maroon armchairs. He doesn’t see me first, so I take a moment to appreciate the way his dark hair curls just above his ears and the way he sits up straight, shoulders back, completely confident in himself.
He glances up from the magazine that he’s reading, and his brown eyes meet mine. “Ember Hall, you look absolutely stunning.” Setting his magazine aside, he stands, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s dressed casually.