“I’m a firefighter,” he said, laughing. “At least I’m trying to become one. What about you?”
“Take a guess,” she said. “We’re almost cliché.”
“Yes. That was too easy. Maybe I should reconsider.”
They both laughed. “I don’t know,” Mike said, giving her a sidelong glance as they walked along the surf. “I might regret asking you to come out here with me.”
“And why is that?”
She stopped to pick up something that had reflected the moonlight. Squatting down to get it, she turned to look up at him, handing him a small piece of metal.
“Because you’re even prettier in the moonlight,” he said, taking the object from her. “I’m determined not to let a pretty face keep me from my goals. Do guys really talk this way?”
“They do tonight,” she replied, grinning up at him. “Can you see what it is?”
“It’s a religious medal of some kind.”
They stared at it as he held it up. “It’s a saint. There are letters on it.” She spelled out the letters. “St. D-w-y-n-w-e-n.”
“Never heard of him,” Mike said. “And I’ve been a good Catholic all my life, too.”
“Is that right?” Aisling asked, laughing again.
“It’s true. You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you. It’s just that I’m a good Catholic too, so what am I doing on a dark beach with you in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t even know your name,” Mike said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Aisling Murphy,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Mike.”
She held out her hand and he took it, little charges of electricity and desire tickling his palm, and he bit his tongue to keep from giggling.
“So who is this Saint Dwynwen?”
Aisling looked up at him, her eyes glistening in the moonlight, taking Mike’s breath away. “She’s the saint of lovers,” Aisling whispered.