Page 6 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

He thinks for a minute, “Okay. Here’s something. I enjoy making balloon animals, and I’m pretty good at it, if I do say so myself.”

“Balloon animals?” I cannot believe this giant of a man, sitting here drinking whiskey, makes balloon animals. “Like the kind at kids’ birthday parties?”

He laughs at my question, “Yep. I wanted to be a clown when I was a kid, and my dad told me that the first step was to learnhow to make balloon animals.” He looks a bit embarrassed, “So, I did.”

“You just wanted to impress the girls. Admit it.” I tease him.

His deep laugh touches something in my core. “You’re right.”

“Did it work? Did you impress all the girls in your school?”

“Only until high school. They weren’t too impressed with my balloon animal capabilities then.” We both erupt into laughter so loud the rest of the bar stops and turns toward us.

We continue to talk, the conversation flowing easily, with laughter and a few flirtatious remarks. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, a mutual attraction that neither of us is trying to hide. The night stretches on, the hours slipping away unnoticed as we exchange stories, half-truths, and playful banter.

For the first time all day, I feel the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders, replaced by the simple pleasure of connecting with someone new, someone who sees me not as the lawyer or the sister or the woman with too many responsibilities, but just as a person willing to share a drink or five.

For tonight, that’s more than enough.

Chapter 3

Miles

The turbulence was rough flying in from Tuscany, Italy—rougher than usual—and my stomach is still doing somersaults long after the plane lands. I always hated that part of our missions when I was a Navy SEAL, but at least the flights I take nowadays are a hell of a lot better than some of the ones from my SEAL days. Military flights don’t have first class accommodations.

The airline’s customer service attendant gives me the usual pleasantries, but all I can focus on is the fact that my luggage has mysteriously vanished into the abyss of the airline’s system. Not exactly the best start to what was already shaping up to be a dreadful trip.

I sigh and make my way through the airport, still on the phone with the airline’s customer service as they assure me that my bags will be delivered "as soon as possible." I hang up, knowing full well what that really means. I’ll probably never see them again.

I check into my hotel—a high-end beachside hotel that costs an arm and a leg per night, but one chosen for its proximity to the winery I’m supposed to review—but after the flight from hell, it feels more like a prison than a retreat. The staff is politeenough, and the room is larger than I’d expected, so that’s good, at least.

I toss my laptop bag onto the bed and slump into the armchair by the window, running a hand through my hair. I’m supposed to meet someone tomorrow for the tasting, but all I can think about is how unmotivated I feel.

Screw it. I need a drink.

My mind drifts to a local spot next to my hotel—Jumpin' Jacks, a beach bar that I saw on my way in. It sounds exactly like what I need right now. A little alcohol, some waves in the background, and maybe a distraction from the chaos that has been this trip.

The bar is everything I hoped it would be. Low-lit, laid-back, with the smell of saltwater and fried food hanging in the air. The place is buzzing, but not too crowded. Just enough noise to fade into the background and enough space to relax without feeling claustrophobic.

I make my way to the bar, and that’s when I see her.

She’s sitting at the far end, nursing what looks like whiskey. Her posture is a mix of exhaustion and confidence, like someone who’s had a long day but isn’t about to let it get to her. Her red hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and there’s something magnetic about the way she stares into her glass, lost in thought.

I don’t hesitate even though I know I should. I should just sit down at the other end of the bar, have a drink, and focus on writing my reviews. But something about her draws me in and I’m not one to do anything I should do. Never have been.

I stand next to her, trying to appear casual. “Rough day?” I ask, my voice coming out smoother than I feel.

She glances at me, and for a split second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. But then her lips quirk into a small smile, and I know I’m in.

“You could say that” she replies, turning slightly to face me. Damn! She’s even more striking up close—beautiful long, red hair, with a sharp yet playful look in her bright blue eyes.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, gesturing to the stool beside her.

“Be my guest,” she says, her tone a mix of intrigued and amused.

I order a drink as we sit in silence for a moment. It’s not uncomfortable, though. There’s a certain tension in the air, but it’s the good kind. The kind that makes you feel alive.

I steal another glimpse at her as I sip my drink. She’s not like most women I’ve met. There’s a quiet confidence about her, a calmness that somehow makes my whole chaotic day feel more bearable. We talk a little about the business of the bar, but then it gets quiet between us again.

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