“I’ll take her,” I say. Shane’s eyebrows shoot up and I shrug. “I’ve been meaning to check out Howth anyway. I hear it’s a good picture spot.”

Kitty claps her hands together. “Grand.” Again, I get the feeling she’s putting on a brave face. It seems like the trip to Beshoffs has completely removed Martin’s death from her mind, given her something new to focus on.

“Are you sure?” Faith appears to be trying to communicate something to me with her eyes, but I’m not computing. What do these people want from me? It’s eight in the morning, and this heap of bricks doesn’t even have a coffeemaker. “You don’t have to do this, Willa.”

“I’m sure,” I say slowly, trying my best to make light of the situation. Honestly, you’d think somebody had died. “It’ll be my little apology to Martin for never trying his cod and chips.” Wanting to escape Shane and Faith’s scrutiny, I hook my arm through Kitty’s. “Let’s pilgrimage in Martin’s memory, shall we?”

Her face falls. “Martin is dead?”

…

Kitty reaches over and clutches my hand as the bus begins to move. My first reaction is to yank it away, because it feels so unnatural. But damn if she’s not squeezing my fingers so tight, I couldn’t extricate my hand if I tried. Her eyes are wide as silver dollars, staring straight out the front windshield of the double-decker bus. With her other hand, she worries rosary beads in her lap, lips moving in her second Hail Mary.

I’m not alarmed yet, but now that I’ve woken up a little, I’m starting to realize Faith had a good reason for giving me an out back at the pub. Kitty travels about as well as potato salad. She looks terrified. Saying a quick prayer she doesn’t forget who I am or why we’re on a bus, I rack my brain for something to distract her, but small talk isn’t exactly my strong suit.

“My sister just had a baby.”

Kitty looks at me blankly. “What?”

“As of a Monday morning, I’m an aunt.” Trying to hold a casual conversation while holding a near stranger’s hand is harder than it sounds. “Her name is Dolly.”

“After Dolly Parton?”

I laugh in surprise, appreciating how she phrased the question. As if it were a reasonable assumption. “Yes. I need to buy a gift for her while I’m here. Any ideas?”

“Everyone needs a tea service.”

“She might be a little young for tea.”

“You’re never too young for tea.” I notice her fingers have slowed their furious rubbing of the rosary beads. “Shane and Faith both drank it straight from their bottles, they did. Of course, I had to let it cool first.”

“Sure.” Fleetingly, I wonder if it’s the reason Kitty continues to serve cold tea. The bus takes a bumpy turn and she gasps, grasping my hand so hard, I bite my bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll try that—”

“Now my husband liked his tea scalding hot, with only a single drop of milk and no sugar. Piping hot.” Her words are very precise. “I could never figure out how he didn’t burn his tongue. He didn’t even blow on it. Sometimes I would just sit and watch him read the paper, sipping his tea. Made of ice. Just made of ice.”

She seems to have gone off to a faraway place, her eyes slightly glazed. Since her grip on my hand has loosened, I don’t say anything. I should change the subject, too, but I don’t do that either. As much as I try not to be, I’m interested in finding out more about Mr. Claymore. This man Faith accused Shane of becoming.

“He didn’t mean it,” she murmurs. “He never meant it.”

“Meant what?”

She jolts a little in her seat. “When he said he didn’t like my tea, he didn’t mean it.”

“Oh.”

“Or when he made my son leave.” Her fingers begin to work the rosary beads again. “He didn’t mean it. Deep down, he wanted him to stay. I truly believe that.”

I swallow hard, thinking of Shane’s face the night he argued with Faith. “I’m sure he did, too, Kitty.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Okay.” I squeeze her hand, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “Okay.”

We don’t talk the rest of the way to Howth, but Kitty is noticeably less stressed. She’s actually kind of subdued, but after what she revealed about Shane and his father, I am, too. When we arrive in Howth and walk the short distance to Beshoffs, I’m surprised to find a small indoor market, selling not only food, but serving coffee. The smell makes me think I’ve died and gone to Chicago. Keeping a close eye on Kitty as she reads her handwritten list to the fishmonger, I order a large cup and doctor it with cream and sugar.

The first sip is orgasmic. That gem of a thought leads me to memories of Shane and what happened in the stock room last night. Underneath my clothes, goose bumps raise along every inch of my skin. My cheeks feel burning hot. Clearly, my body is sending the signal that it wants more. Before last night, I’d been full of pent-up sexual tension, but somehow the releasing of it hasn’t lessened this twisty hankering for Shane. If anything, it has only grown in intensity. I think of his hand sliding down the front of my underwear, him licking my belly before going lower, the size of him in my hand.

Shit. I’m starting to wish this coffee was ice water so I could dump it over my head. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before me and Shane have sex. Crazy, loud, sweaty, dirty…no-strings-attached sex. That’s all it would be. Just two people scratching an itch. A really itchy itch. No entanglements.

My problem with those rules is they are doing little to comfort me. I don’t know what that means, but it adds a layer of anxiety to the restless need for more. My coffee cup pauses halfway to my mouth when I realize I haven’t thought of Evan once this entire morning. The realization washes over me, more effective than dousing myself in ice water. I came here to get over Evan, to resuscitate myself, but I never expected it to happen so soon. Is it Shane? Is he speeding along this whole unfamiliar process? If so, that’s definitely not going to fly. I didn’t come here to become consumed with another guy, even temporarily.

I’ve never performed this circus act of separating physical attraction from emotional connection. How do I know if I’m doing it right? In two weeks’ time, when I board the plane back to Chicago, I can’t be in worse shape than when I arrived. On top of losing Evan, I can’t be confused over whatever feelings seem to be evolving for Shane. I can’t let it happen.