Last Call at the Local (Love, Lists & Fancy Ships, #3)

by Sarah Grunder Ruiz

“Aithníonn ciaróg, ciaróg eile,” he says. “It’s an Irish proverb. Roughly translated, it means, One beetle recognizes another.”

I rest my free hand on her shoulder and lean closer. “You’re stuck in your head, ciaróg.” Raine looks up from the guitar. She turns her head and tilts her face up to mine. “Did you just call me a beetle?”