Wait," she whispered breathlessly. "I want us to come together." "What's wrong with you comin' twice, luv?

I wish the Irish had never invented whiskey," Pat said. Mr. O'Malley smirked, "The Irish didn't invent it. God did. It was his way of keepin' the Irish from takin' over the world.

Finn stood abruptly. "We need to follow 'em." "But aren't they followin' us? If we go after them, the five of us will be goin' around in circles.

He brightened. "Are you Irish then?" "My last name is McNally. I'm as Irish as Paddy's pig.

She tipped back her glass and finished it. "Ah, lass. You drink like you're Irish already." She smirked. "I am Irish already. Always have been.

Tis the unexpected that makes life interesting.

If you want to mimic spoons in a drawer, I promise I won't think anythin' of it." She realized that curling the same way they'd fit much better. She sighed. "Okay, but I get to be the big spoon. I don't want to accidentally bump into your..." "Knife?" he supplied.