The Irish Fall: A Sweet Romantic Comedy Novel

Chapter 2 | Darby

Scurrying away from the women as quickly as I could–while I still could–I stared at the beautiful woman ahead of me with anticipation. There were fireflies lighting up my insides with every step. What was I planning to do? What was–

"Miss, the tour's about to leave. I'd hate to see you left behind. This view is incredible, but it gets pretty cold here at night. Lonely too." The words flew out of my mouth without any conscious recognition, just as my hand landed on her arm in the same unconscious fashion. I looked down in surprise when I saw it there. I yanked it back as if scolding myself for my inappropriate action.

She turned with a startled abruptness that actually made me jump, but I was also caught off guard at how beautiful her hazel eyes and golden brown hair were up close. She had been so still before, as if completely lost in a trance. And not one caused by the mesmeric cliffs, either. I'd seen hundreds of tourists stare at these captivating cliffs, and her reaction was not the typical one I usually saw. There seemed to be something else that had enveloped her mind, putting her in a hypnotic state, one full of darkness. In some futile hope that I could block the darkness, I unfolded my umbrella and held it over her as she continued to stare at me with unsure and uncertain, hollow eyes.

The rain stopped pelting her, and the umbrella offered some reprieve finally, but she seemed to prefer the rain hitting her skin since her brows knitted together. Not exactly the reaction I'd been expecting. Maybe she liked feeling something. Or maybe she didn't have an umbrella over her head for the same reasons as me–she thought she deserved to be standing out in the rain, open to whatever punishment it had to offer.

With a sudden gush, words escaped her mouth as if she hadn't intended to speak either. "I'm not with your group. Sorry to waste your time. Thank you, though." She began to turn back toward the cliffs, stepping even closer to the stony edge.

And to my astonishment, I found myself grabbing her arm again. Personal space, Darby. Remember, that thing you never have to worry about invading. I found myself saying, "Well, all the tour companies know each other. The owner wouldn't be happy if I didn't help another tour's guest. I'll find you a ride to whatever village you're staying in when we get back. I'd be happy to let you finish your tour with us." I looked around. "It's late in the day. I don't think you're going to be seeing many more tours coming through, and probably not one from the area where you're staying." I let my hand fall again, but much more slowly than it had found its way there.

"No, I'm not with any group. Sorry." This time she turned with a definite movement to signal the end of our conversation.

As I continued to let the umbrella hover above her, I decided with the same precision and determination that it was indeed not over.

"Well, I wouldn't forgive myself if I left a gorgeous woman stranded alone in the pouring rain. I'd be a gobdaw for sure." And the last thing I wanted to be in front of her was an idiot. Then I took a very large pause before speaking again. "Are you sure you aren't part of one of the tours?" I asked, cocking my head, trying to put my best beguiling Irish charm on it.

She slowly turned, like she was moving heavily through water. She had to be freezing, I couldn't help but think. Who knew how long she'd been standing out here in the pouring rain.

"Maybe." Indecision seemed to mark every crevice of her beautiful face as happiness started to spread over mine. Something that those deep, darkened places within me weren't accustomed to feeling anymore.

I dared to venture, "Well, I'd feel very lucky if that was the case. And trust me, I don't have much luck. That's just an Irish myth. I think you should definitely join our group." Her eyes started to gain a little more light in them, so I boldly continued. "Well, meet your new tour guide. Lucky for me, they left you behind. I'm Darby, not to be confused with Darcy."

A smile crossed her face–a genuine one. As it spread, there was a heat that simultaneously grew in me at the same rate, feeding off her reactions at the same exponential speed.

"Does that need clarifying?" She laughed, and it was a sweet, sultry sound that made my eyebrows raise.

"Yes, it does. Do you know how close we are to the land of Austen? Doesn't matter how many times I say it on the tour–the tourists are pretty insistent. One customer even complained to my boss, said that I was making fun of them and that Darby wasn't a 'real' name. I finally just stopped correcting them. Apparently, an Irish Darcy is even rarer than catching a lucky leprechaun."

"Ok, I believe you, Darby," she said, pronouncing my name slowly and accurately, finishing with a bite of her lower lip. A nervous habit or something else? She had a little flourish of laughter in her tone as well. For a woman that had looked so lifeless a few moments ago, she sure had a wonderful palette of personality. I was already massively intrigued and completely captivated.

I stood awkwardly, feeling like a fool, holding the umbrella as I waited impatiently for something more from her. At last, she offered, "I'm Eyre." There must have been a confused look on my face because she quickly added, "With an 'E.'"

"Oh." A laugh escaped me. Then it dawned on me as I said, "Seems like someone is playing a cruel joke on us. Some wicked literary forces are at work. Have you made the literary forces mad lately, Eyre?"

Now there was a smile creeping on her face that I loved to see. She also seemed to have warmed up a bit after the respite from the pelting rain.

"Well, Darby isn't Darcy, so I don't think that's the case. Doesn't seem like we have anything to worry about. If I were named Elizabeth, you should probably just walk away." Another hesitant soft, lyrical laugh escaped her. And my lip couldn't help but quirk upward as I listened to the sound of her melodious laughter. How were those eyes even more beautiful up close? And the very last thing I wanted to do was walk away. I hadn't felt this way in a very long time. I felt a little spark of life–of fight–flame inside myself.

"The whole village calls me Darcy, on occasion, just to slag me—tease me," I said, feeling the need to explain. "Can't really stop them. Tourists are always getting my name confused so it's just stuck. They must really think it's funny. Plus, I'm like the least romantic person ever. I'm the antithesis of Darcy. So they think that's hilarious. That 'b' really makes all the difference."

"I don't know, maybe they just haven't gotten to know you well enough yet," she replied.