Page 28 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

“I actually feel bad for the eel. One day he’s swimming the Irish sea and the next he’s being smoked like a fag.”

Right. A fag was a cigarette in this country. Not a slur. “Isn’t this a nonsmoking restaurant? How confusing of them. What abouttexturesof beetroot? What does that even mean?”

His rich chuckle was like eating a warm slice of apple pie, she decided, but perhaps she was influenced by the dessert menu printed beneath the entrée selections. “It’s the sheep’s milk ice cream with nutty flavors that worries me,” Jamie said with a grin. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a sheep eat a nut. Not once.”

She gave him an answering grin. “False marketing. Unconscionable. Cabbage leaves bathed in a Guinness mustard sauce?”

“Minus the bathing part, it has solid possibilities.”

He leaned a little closer, their heads practically touching. At this rate, the raindrops on her were going to fall onto him, a thought that sent a rush of heat through her.

“You’re famous for your smoked salmon,” she said, “so I’ll give that a go, but I’m not sure about the trout caviar. Ever tried any?”

“New to me.” He shook his head seriously. “But I’m going to have to pass. I wouldn’t want to tell the kids when they arrive at school that I ate twenty unborn fish that could have swum in the River Moy.”

She swatted him playfully. “That’s terrible. Shall we look at the main course selections?”

And so they flirted and teased their way through the selections, from sweetbreads—Jamie shared a traumatic childhood memory of steamed Christmas brains—to the lamb rump, which Sophie thought an unfortunate name.

“I think our server is scared of us,” she said finally, wiping tears and leaning against his shoulder. “Let’s close the menu and see if she comes over. We haven’t even ordered wine yet.”

“Or gotten water.” He touched his shirt. “Maybe she expects us to wring out our clothes and drink rainwater.”

“That’s so gross.” She let her fingers drift over the muscles in his arms. How did a teacher have arms like that? Then she remembered the sheep. “Did you catch the escapees this morning?”

His face went blank. “What?”

“The sheep that escaped from your brother.”

He leaned closer, the firelight falling nicely over the planes of his face. “Oh, it’s a sad tale, that. They escaped my brother only to end up as the lamp rump special tonight.”

Laughter bubbled out of her. “Oh, Jamie, I’m having such a wonderful time.”

He covered her hand with his own. “Me too. Let me see if I can get our server’s attention. You’re probably starving.”

Her tummy had given a few rumbles, mortifying first date sounds that she hoped he hadn’t heard. “You’re so much bigger than me. You must be ravenous.”

“The thought of sweetbreads checked my hunger pangs. For the moment.”

She turned her hand in his and caressed his palm. “Let me know if you need another distraction.”

“You’re doing plenty fine,” he said with a grin. “Here she is at last.”

They ordered and drank a fairly mediocre red wine. She would totally have to order one of her favorite bottles and have it shipped from France to share with him. She would cook for him, she decided. In his house. On another date. Because they were so doing this again.

While they feasted on their starter courses and then entrées, she talked about whatever came to mind—how she’d fallen in love with glassmaking as a kid on a tour of a trendy open artist studio, how excited she was to add the pregnant goddess to her Tree of Life design, how she’d ended up living in her grandparents’ home in Provence after her divorce, and how Greta was the light of her life.

Jamie’s entire presence seemed to absorb what she was saying, almost like his clothes had absorbed the rain. She felt listened to—deeply—on a level no other person had given her, save Sandrine.

When the server arrived and asked if they’d like dessert, Sophie decided to go for it. She didn’t want their evening to end yet, even though there was only one other couple still in the restaurant. Sophie would bet they were on a date too, given how the man was leaning forward as though hanging on the woman’s every word.

Rather like Jamie was with her.

Feeling hopeful and bubbly, she selected the champagne and raspberry posset while Jamie chose the bread and butter whiskey pudding.

After the server left, she picked up her wine and took a sip. “I’ve talked your ear off, Jamie. Now, tell me more about you.”

“I’m usually the quiet one,” he said with a shrug. “What do you want to know?”

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