Free Hot Property (Irish romantic comedy) by Susanne O'Leary

feeling didn’t last long. Once the fire had taken, the smoke didn’t rise into the chimney anymore, but began to fill the room.
    What was the problem? Megan peered through the smoke up the chimney and saw nothing but a mass of twigs. Crows. They must have blocked the chimney trying to nest. “Why didn’t I think of that,” Megan sobbed as she tried to put out the fire with an old blanket. But the blanket caught fire and the smell of burning wool made everything worse. She finally filled one of the jam jars with water from the stream and threw it on the smouldering mess and went back out for more. Several trips later, the fire finally turned into a black pile, emitting an acrid stench.
    Gasping for air, her eyes streaming, Megan stumbled outside and collapsed on the back step. She put her head on her arms and gave herself up to frustration and despair. The tears came slowly at first, welling up from deep inside, her sense of failure with the fire adding to all the pent-up emotions she had suppressed for months, years even.
    Her father’s death. Stephen’s betrayal. Losing her job. The house and the problems it presented. A desperate sense of loneliness. It all mingled into one big, unbearable pain. Her sobs echoed into the stillness of the summer night, drowning the sound of the stream and even the waves crashing onto the beach.
    A hand on her shoulder. She screamed.
    “Stop screaming. It’s me.”
    She turned around and peered at the face, barely visible in the gloom. “Dan?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
    “I came to give you something. But never mind.” He joined her on the step and put his arm around her. “What’s the matter?”
    Megan sighed and snivelled. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m all snotty.”
    “Here.” He handed her a handkerchief. “It’s clean. Blow your nose. Wipe your tears, and tell Uncle Dan why you’re sitting here crying your eyes out.”
    Megan dried her face and blew her nose. “Thanks.” She sighed.
    “That sigh came from somewhere very deep,” Dan remarked.
    “Yes.”
    “Want to talk about it?”
    “No.”
    “Okay.”
    She leaned against him. “You smell of the sea.”
    He put his nose in her hair. “You stink of smoke.”
    “I know. I lit a fire to get rid of the smell of slurry, but I was stupid enough not to have checked the chimney first so—” She started to cry again. “I’m so useless. I can’t even light a fire. And this place smells of shit, and I can’t even get up enough energy to make my bed. And the plumbing is crap and needs to be replaced. And I must get the house rewired. God knows what else. It’s going to cost a fortune. The farmers hate me, and I have nowhere else to go.”
    He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. “There,” he murmured, “go on, cry. Let it all out.”
    “I’ll have to sell the house,” Megan wept into his shirt. “I love it so much, and I wanted to stay here, but now I can’t.”
    He hugged her tighter. “That’s awful. But maybe for the best. An old house like this is a lot for a woman to cope with. For anyone, come to think of it.”
    “It sure is.” Megan pulled back and wiped her face. “It’s okay. I feel better now. Thanks.”
    “Sure?”
    “Yes. Everything just felt so hopeless. Sorry about this. Must pull myself together.” But she didn’t want to lose the warmth and comfort of his arms. She snuggled closer . I don’t know him. I have only met him twice. He’s smug and superior. But why do I suddenly feel so attracted to him? Why does it feel so good to be in his arms, even though he’s only trying to be nice? She looked into his face, trying to see the look in his eyes. But it was too dark.
    “Megan,” he whispered, his mouth on her cheek. “You’re so sweet and so sad.” His mouth found hers.
    She pulled back, but gave up the struggle. Their lips met in a long kiss. What am I doing? Who cares , she answered back, it’s fabulous . His lips