The Irish Matchmaker by Jennifer Deibel

Author:Jennifer Deibel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance;Christian fiction;Romance fiction;Novels;FIC042110;FIC042030;FIC027050
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2023-12-04T00:00:00+00:00

19

“So, how’s about that pint?” Jimmy asked, a funny sort of smile on his face.

A pint had never sounded better. Donal nodded and Jimmy offered him a hearty slap on the back as they entered the pub. “I won’t stay long,” Donal told him. “Sara’s at home.”

Jimmy’s head bobbed knowingly. “’Tis a sacred thing raising a gairl,” he said as Peadar slid two dark pints in front of them.

“Hmm.” Donal nodded.

“Sacred,” Jimmy muttered again before taking a long draw of his drink. He then turned to Donal and added, “And exhausting!”

Donal almost spit out his mouthful of stout as he laughed. “Good gracious me, that’s the truth.”

“Caty!” The crowd in the pub shouted in unison.

Donal twisted on his stool and followed the lifted glasses of the crowd until he saw Catríona descending the stairs in the fanciest dress he’d ever seen someone wear to a dinner. He wondered where she’d gotten it from, as he didn’t imagine there was too much call for such a frock the rest of the year. His glance flitted to Jimmy, who looked just as bemused as Donal, and back to Catríona.

“Alright, alright,” she said to the crowd, patting the air. “Oíche mhaith, gach duine!”

“Oíche mhaith!” the crowd replied before returning to their drinks and conversations.

Catríona waved at her father, then her gaze met Donal’s. She offered a tight smile before turning to go.

Donal watched until she disappeared into the darkness outside before returning to his drink. He felt Jimmy studying him, but when he looked at the man, his attention was fully on his glass—as if the glass was in the middle of the most riveting story he’d ever heard.

“So,” Jimmy said after a long silence. “How’s the matchin’?”

Donal drew in a long inhale.

“That good, eh?” Jimmy said with a wheezy laugh. “Some years’re like that.”

Now it was Donal’s turn to study his glass. He reviewed the past couple weeks in his mind. He’d been on several outings over the course of the festival so far—most of which were unbearable, starting with that horrendous picnic. Deirdre had been nice enough, but she never seemed to stick around and chat very long, forever rushing off to find her mysterious friend. If it was a ploy to see if Donal would chase after her, the joke was on her. That was exactly the kind of game he refused to play. There were far too many more pressing matters in life than to be messing with silly lovers’ games. The truth was only one woman had evoked any sort of real interest or reaction. And the attraction and desires she evoked in him were entirely foreign. He had grown to love Connie over time, and he’d always enjoyed her company. They shared a good life together. But she never inspired passion from—or within—him. Meanwhile this one woman seemed to conjure little else. Passion for life. Passion to be a better man. A better father. Passion to be a husband. And passion for her ridiculously magnetic lips. And it was the one woman he was fairly certain he’d lost before he even had a chance to win her.

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