I smiled at his reassurance and felt the flush of colour fading from my cheeks. Ireland was having a very strange effect on me. So far I’d slept in, which I hadn’t done for fifteen years, I’d eaten a massive cooked breakfast, which again was a rarity, and now I was having inappropriate thoughts about a man who, although admittedly good-looking, was completely wrong for me and had only ever shown interest in me when it gave him an opportunity to wind me up. Had it not been against my own rules to date anyone I’d met through the business, Lorcan O’Malley was not someone I’d consider anyway. He was gorgeous – but trouble. Peyton’s comment about the trail of broken hearts scattered behind him was enough to keep me warned off. The sooner I got back to the safety of my own house, the better, even if it did leak like a sieve. At least there my mind didn’t drift off into hot daydreams about Lorcan O’ bloody Malley!

‘OK, do you want me to meet up with you in a bit?’ I asked as we left the restaurant. ‘We have some time before the cake-tasting, thank goodness,’ I said, patting my tummy, ‘so if you want to go off and do something, that’s fine.’

‘What’s next on your list?’ he asked.

‘A few things but that’s OK. I thought I could ask Brighid for some tips on places around here. You’ve done more than enough already.’

‘And how are you going to get to them if Brighid recommends somewhere?’

‘I’m sure there’s a taxi firm.’

‘There is. But, let’s just say, he tends to work to his own timetable.’

‘Which means?’

‘Which means whether you get one is hit and miss.’

‘Well, then, I’ll use a different one.’

A curl of amusement slid onto Lorcan’s face. ‘This isn’t Surrey, Maddie. Pete’s is the only taxi service for a distance around here.’

‘I’ll walk, then.’

He looked down at my shoes as we strode back the short way to the pub, stopping at the hire car we’d collected yesterday. The heels were only two inches high as opposed to the four-inch ones I wore as a rule, but admittedly perhaps not ideal for tramping about a village like this in.

‘So,’ he said languidly, leaning on the roof of the car, arms crossed, ‘I’ll ask again. What’s next on that list of yours?’

‘A florist.’

‘Right. In you get, then.’

One part of me really wanted to sort this out for myself but he’d inarguably come up trumps with the catering and he certainly had local knowledge. Practicality – and my sad bank balance – won out.

‘As you asked so nicely…’ I said, opening the door, not missing the flicker of amusement on the handsome face before I disappeared inside.