Lucky Leap Day by Ann Marie Walker
It was official: whiskey was the devil. Not in a blue dress but an amber bottle. It didn’t matter whether it was mixed with a fruity punch or poured straight into a shot glass. Although, to be fair, the shot glasses were definitely a bad idea. So, so bad. The thought alone had Cara squeezing her eyes shut tighter. Not that it was any use. The bright morning sun still felt like fire even with her eyes closed. What had she been thinking? She was a lightweight when it came to drinking alcohol. Why in the world had she thought she could handle Irish whiskey? Was it because her grandmother had been known to end each day with a “wee nip”? Or because a bartender with a brogue so thick, it was hard to believe he was still speaking English had charmed her into trying his famous whiskey punch? Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she’d spent most of her time in Dublin—a whopping three days—thinking about how she was supposed to be in Ireland with her now ex-boyfriend?