He looks sheepish at that, which is to say, he looks positively adorable. Who knew that term could apply to a big burly tank of a man?
“I don’t have one,” he admits. “Everything was closed yesterday and it’s not like I keep spare engagement rings at home.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you but it’s a very important part of the engagement.”
“Right. Well, actually, I was thinking, I could ask my father if I could use my mother’s.”
My heart lurches to a stop. “What?” I ask, wide-eyed. “No. No, that’s not right. You can’t do that.”
“It would mean something to my family,” he says.
“But this isn’t real … my god, don’t you think that’s almost insulting your mother, to your parents’ love, to use their ring for a fake engagement?”
He grows silent at that, dark arched brows knitting together as he drives. Okay, so I’ve made him mad. Maybe I was a bit harsh. I’m often blunt, but the harshness isn’t like me.
“Padraig,” I say, loving how his name sounds. I need to say it more often. “What I mean is, I just feel like that might do more harm than good. At least it could invite bad juju.”
He raises his brow. “You mean curse me for any marriage in the future? Don’t worry, I won’t be getting married.”
I don’t know why that surprises me. Earlier we had talked a bit about relationships and I told him all about Cole and some losers before then, and I learned he was an eternal bachelor, though he wouldn’t quite pinpoint why. Still, I didn’t think he had an aversion to it.
Way to pick guys who are only about the engagement, faux or not, I think to myself.
Then I stop myself. I’m not picking him. We aren’t dating. This isn’t an extended fling. This is just me helping out a stranger because…
I’m saying yes to new adventures.
That’s the only reason why.
Or because I do like him and I want to pick him, and I have this terrible, harmful idea that’s been growing in my stomach like a seed threatening to bloom, a seed watered with naivety and hope, that wants to turn all these possibilities of “us” into something real.
That scenario isn’t good. If that seed blooms, it’s only going to lead to future heartache, and I’ve already been through enough.
I clear my throat to break the silence and to defuse my inner awkwardness.
“So, what’s our sleeping situation when we get there? I mean, where do I go?”
He gives me a curious look. “You’re assuming that we sleep in separate beds?”
I nod. “I have an Irish grandmother too, you know, and I know she doesn’t look too kindly on couples sleeping together before marriage. Though she wasn’t a fan of using wooden spoons.”
“I’d like to hear more about your Irish grandmother.”
“I’m saving it for dinner conversation. I’ve created a whole database of conversation starters for the next few days, and I’m proud to say that none of them include the weather.”
“But don’t you know that’s all they talk about in Shambles? Such is the curse of a seaside town. The wind blows in and the wind blows out and that’s about the most that happens.”
“Back to your grandmother…”
“We’ll be in separate rooms,” he says with some finality. “I’d be surprised if she’d even let us stay on the same floor. She’s … old-fashioned.”
“I could already tell from that spoon comment. I don’t want to get on her bad side. I better abide by the rules.”
And, well, honestly, this is a bit of a relief. What Angie had said the other day about the fact that I get emotionally compromised when I sleep with someone is totally true. I hate to think that our one-night stand will remain a one-night stand, but on the other hand, if I can keep a clear head, then all the better.
Plus, the last thing I want to do is explain to Padraig why I’d want to keep my distance in the bedroom. The fact that I don’t even have to tell him is a bonus.
I’m staring at Padraig (because that’s what I’ve been doing a lot on this drive) when he suddenly starts gripping the wheel tighter and tighter, his knuckles turning white on his large hands.
“Are you okay?” I ask him just as his eyes pinch shut in pain. I look to the road and the fact that we’re on the wrong side is confusing me, thinking we’re going to die. I’m not used to the