Unfortunately, a mix-up with the bookings means both solitude seekers have reserved the same one-bedroom hideaway on exactly the same dates. With his life in Boston deteriorating in ways he can’t bring himself to acknowledge, his soul searching has brought him to the same Irish island in search of his roots and some clarity.

Mac is also looking forward to some time to himself. The remote Irish island she’s booked is a far cry from London, but at least it’s a chance to hunker down in a luxury cabin and indulge in some quiet, solitary self-care while she figures out her next steps in her love life and her career. He knows it, I know it, and it's so achingly melancholy-sexy that I feel tears threaten again.Spending her thirtieth birthday alone is the last thing that dating columnist Cleo wanted, but she is going on a self-coupling quasi-sabbatical–at the insistence of her boss–in the name of re-energizing herself and adding a new perspective to her column. This is the only time we will ever kiss each other. He holds my face as if I'm precious and then pushes his fingers into my hair, cupping my head in his hands when I tip it back. His breathing is as shallow as mine, and it's so much more than I've ever imagined, and trust me, I used to let my imagination run riot where Jack O'Mara was concerned. I feel the relief of him in every follicle of my hair, and in every cell of my body, and in the blood in my veins. Jack O'Mara dips his head and kisses me in the snow, his lips trembling and then hot and sure, and I'm crying and kissing him back, opening my mouth to let his tongue slide over mine as he makes this low, injured animal noise in his throat. 'You're beautiful and kind, and you make me laugh, and when you look at me like that with your summer hedgerow eyes.only a fucking saint wouldn't kiss you.' Then he leans me against the wall with the weight of his body, and because he isn't a fucking saint, he kisses me. You're one of the loveliest people I've ever met in my whole life.' He looks away, down the length of the deserted street and then back at me again. 'I wanted to kiss you back there in the pub, Laurie, and I want to kiss you even more right now. Whatever he's about to say, I think it's something I'm going to remember forever. 'If I tell you something, do you promise to never tell another living soul, not even a goldfish?' I swallow, eye to eye with him as I nod, and he takes my face between both of his hands. 'I don't like myself for it.' He strokes my hair, cups my chin, looks me in the eyes. It's not as if he isn't aware what I wanted back there to be coy would be pointless. “I wanted you to kiss me, Jack,' I say, bereft.

Josie silver