I had her up in my room earlier, playin’ a few songs I’d been messin’ about with on the guitar. Nothin’ serious, just the kind of half-finished tunes I never let the lads hear, but for some mad reason I wanted her to. She sat there on the edge of me bed, all quiet and watchin’, and I swear every chord sounded different with her sittin’ there listenin’. Softer, sweeter somehow. Christ, I had to keep me head down just so I wouldn’t lose me nerve.

Later, we were out by the fields, the smell of hay and the sound of the horses carryin’ through the evening air. She’d been eyein’ them all afternoon, hands shoved into her dress pockets, pretendin’ she wasn’t interested. But I caught the glances. Finally, after what felt like hours of coaxin’ and her refusin’ like a stubborn mule, she agreed to get up on one.

Not without makin’ a holy show of the namin’ part first. Jesus wept—she stood there starin’ at the poor creature, tappin’ her chin like she was christenin’ a newborn. Ten minutes went by, then twenty, and she still hadn’t settled on one. “Daisy? No, too plain. Clover? No, too cliché.” On and on she went, and I’m standin’ there bitin’ me tongue, half mad but half wantin’ to laugh me arse off. In the end, I found it feckin’ adorable—her takin’ it so serious, like the horse was goin’ to answer to her anyway.

When she finally picked some daft name—something like Petal—I boosted her up. That’s when I noticed. She tossed her leg over the saddle without thinkin’, skirts flyin’ every which way, and me stomach near dropped through me boots. She hadn’t thought about the fact she was in a dress. Christ Almighty. Before I even knew what I was at, I whipped me hat off and swung it into place, blockin’ the view till she settled herself proper.

She looked down at me then, all wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, probably realizin’ why I’d done it. And me? I just tipped the brim of the hat like nothin’ had happened, like I wasn’t one second away from burstin’ with the sight of her sittin’ up there, lookin’ more like she belonged than I ever had.

“Grand job, Petal,” I muttered, meanin’ the horse but lookin’ at her all the same.

“Easy there, love,” I murmur, grin twitchin’ at me mouth. “The whole parish doesn’t need a free show.”

She laughs then, that soft, bell-like sound that makes me chest go tight, and I know I’d hold the hat there all bloody day if it meant hearin’ that again.

“Chivalry’s not dead, so,” she teases, eyes dancin’.

I tip the hat in me hand, cockin’ a brow. “Not while Patrick Feely’s breathin’, sweetheart.”

And Christ, I mean it.