Chapter One

Norah

"Get up! Get dressed! We're going out!"

I stare, wide-eyed, at the dark-haired woman in my doorway. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me," Myra says, her big brown eyes full of mischief as she plants her hands on her hips. "We're going out. You haven't gone out with us in forever, and I refuse to let you sit here on a Friday night like some kind of old lady."

"It hasn't been that long." I roll my eyes at her. "And besides, I have costumes to make tomorrow. The play is in two months, and I really need to focus on the gowns for the ballroom scene."

"Oh please," she says, flipping her hair over a shoulder. "You know as well as I do that you have them mostly completed. Do them next Saturday. Please !"

She's not wrong, but she doesn't need to know that.

Myra is the life of the party and the reason our group never lacks amusing stories. She always wants to go out, always enjoys a drink - or five - and always has guys falling all over her. We are polar opposites. I'm the quiet and reserved friend who keeps to myself and avoids large crowds as much as possible. Being surrounded by strangers makes me more anxious than normal. To keep my day-to-day anxiety in check, I design and create costumes. There's just something magical about being able to sketch something on paper, and then bring it to life. If my hands are busy, my mind is calm. My love for costume designing started as a little girl and evolved throughout the years until I decided that I wanted to make a career out of it. Now moms all over the city flock to me for their kids' dance recitals and Halloween costumes, and the local community theater requests my services regularly. On top of that, I'm currently working for the Department of Theatre at the University of North Carolina Wilmington as their Costume Designer.

At the age of twenty-one, I moved away from the Midwest town I called home and enrolled at UNCW. Before that, I spent the two years following high school caring for my ailing mother. When she passed away, I took another year off to settle her estate, travel, and heal. I wasn't just healing from losing my Mom, but from the incident too. I've always loved North Carolina, but being close to the ocean brings me peace. I can almost feel my Mom beside me each time I inhale the salty air.

"Myra, I really don't—" My front door flies open again, revealing a gorgeous blonde knockout. Amelia.

For fucks sake.

"Did she say no? I knew she would," Amelia says arrogantly like I'm not sitting right here.

"I'm not done convincing her yet!" Myra barks. "I told you to give me ten minutes!"

"There's no way you can convince her to go out with us in ten minutes! You know you have to ease her into this stuff gradually," Amelia counters.

"Girls, please," I beg. "I really don't feel like it and I'm already in my sweats. I just poured a glass of wine and I'm getting ready to start the next episode of Outlander. Why don't you stay and watch it with me? You know, girl time!"

Please say yes. Please say yes.

The two intruders look at each other before facing me again. "No," they say together and reach for me.

Twenty minutes later, I'm donning dark blue skinny jeans and my favorite Kelly green V-neck t-shirt with my auburn curls hanging loosely around my face. I'm in the backseat of Amelia's car, watching out the window and listening to them argue over whether we're going to the pub or the dance club downtown. If it were up to me, I'd choose the pub in a heartbeat.

"You know," I hedge, "tonight is open mic night at O'Nelly's. I'm pretty certain the soccer team is going to be there."

"But we can't dance at the pub. I wore this outfit with the whole purpose of finding a hot guy and dancing," Myra huffs, pulling the visor down to check her reflection in the mirror.

"You can dance at O'Nelly's." I roll my eyes at her.

"Ugh. No thanks." She wrinkles her nose. "But maybe I can convince one of them to take me out tomorrow night!"

Amelia catches my gaze in the rear-view mirror and winks. "You know, I think Norah's right. Let's go to the pub tonight and the club tomorrow! They usually have ladies' night on Saturdays anyway."

Bingo.

"So it's decided," I announce gleefully, pulling my phone from my purse. "O'Nelly's it is. I'll text the others to see if they want to meet us!"

When these two get together, things tend to get a little crazy, so I'm going to need a buffer. Pulling up our group chat, I text Charlie and Layla.

Norah: Hey, girls! Myra and Amelia kidnapped me and are taking me to O'Nelly's. Please come rescue me!

Layla: Ugh. Those jerks. Don't they know you're watching Outlander tonight??? Sorry, I'm in for the night. I work a double tomorrow. Lunch later this week ?

Norah: Boo. Sorry about the double. Yes to lunch! xoxo

Charlie will be my best bet. I love all of my friends with a passion, but Charlie has always been there for me. We grew up together in the Midwest. After everything happened, she tied up loose ends and moved to Wilmington six months after I did. I'll forever be in her debt for that.

Charlie: Hey, girl! I'll meet you there! Just got off work, so I'm going to go change! Did you hear it's open mic night?!

My lips curve into a smile. Like I said, she's always there for me.

Norah: Yay! God knows I'll need a backup with these two! They wanted to go clubbing. I'm just thankful I talked them out of that!

Charlie: I got you, girl!

Layla: Do they even know you?

Norah: Right? When have I ever gone clubbing? No thanks.

Layla: Good luck! ;)

Layla is one of those dark beauties with curves in all the right places, her Hispanic heritage shining through her dark hair, eyes, and tawny skin flawlessly. She somehow manages to rock every shade of lipstick known to man and is a wizard at eye makeup. I've been begging her to work in the Theatre Department with me as one of the makeup artists, but she keeps turning me down.

"Charlie is going to meet us there," I tell my traitorous friends up front.

"Scared to be alone with us?" Myra turns around in her seat and waggles her eyebrows.

"Absolutely," I deadpan.

Amelia laughs loudly. "Oh, Norie, you're cute. But I'm glad Charlie's coming too! I haven't seen her in ages."

We all have such crazy schedules. Myra, Amelia, and Charlie work full-time, while Layla and I work and go to school full-time. Finding a night where we're all free is nothing short of miraculous.

"Layla works a double tomorrow, so she can't come," I tell them.

"She needs to get out of there and find something else," Myra adds, still admiring her reflection. "I don't know how she manages that schedule with school. "

I nod, even though I know she can't see me. "I know. She works so hard all the time. And her degree isn't even something she really enjoys."

"Then why is she doing it?" Amelia asks.

"She says it's because there are better job opportunities."

Of course there are better job opportunities in the IT field, but I have to question if it's worth it if she's miserable.

Myra lifts her phone to snap a selfie. "If she didn't have anything holding her back, what would she want to do?"

"Honestly, I don't know," I admit. "She's insanely talented with makeup application. She'd probably make a killing being a professional makeup artist or esthetician. I've begged her to apply for a position in my department, but she shrugs it off. I don't think she feels confident enough in herself."

"That's really sad," Amelia says, peeking over her shoulder before switching lanes.

"I agree," Myra replies, catching my eyes in the mirror. "Maybe she just needs more exposure to people who need her services. If she sees there's a market for that, it might encourage her to seek it out."

I grin in response. "That's a great idea! I'll talk to our department head about having her help with stage makeup for the play. If I can convince her we need the extra help, it won't be just a job to her."

"Agreed," Amelia says while swinging the car into a surprisingly vacant parking spot just outside of the pub.

We clamber out of the car and make our way toward the gilded pane-glass doors of O'Nelly's.

* * *

"Hello? Earth to Norah. Are you even paying attention to me?" Myra whines, waving a hand in front of my face.

"No, your majesty, I was not," I quip. "Were you saying something important?"

Amelia bursts out laughing. We're sitting in a corner booth near the stage, Myra complaining about the lack of mixed drinks while Amelia and I discuss getting a flight of the local craft brews. The place is packed, but the pub owner, Pat, is on stage plucking at a guitar and singing an old Irish jig. Being here always makes me think of my trip to Ireland. It was overwhelming going by myself, but I fell in love with the country and soon learned that I could manage just fine as long as I had a Guinness in hand and could find my way back to Temple Bar. I can't wait to go back.

"You bitches are so rude!" Myra glares at us before glancing around the room. "When do those soccer players go on stage? I call dibs on the hot one."

"The hot one? And which one would that be, My?" Amelia laughs.

"Whichever one I decide! You can have whoever is left over." She turns her nose into the air and waves a dismissive hand towards the stage.

"I hear you kidnapped poor Norie here!" Charlie says, appearing out of seemingly thin air and plopping herself down next to me. "You know Friday nights are for Outlander."

Both Myra and Amelia roll their eyes. They're clearly very remorseful.

"Charlie, she can't just stay sitting in that house every weekend. She's never going to meet anyone," Myra says.

"Well, maybe she doesn't want to meet anyone. Maybe she's satisfied with me. Ever think about that?" Charlie asks, leveling them with a playful scowl.

"Guys, I'm literally right here. I can hear you, ya know. And yeah, maybe Charlie is all I need in life. She understands me and doesn't make me do things that I clearly don't want to," I say with a pointed look in their direction.

The girls tease me relentlessly about not dating anyone, even knowing my history. I've gone out a time or two since being in North Carolina, but nothing ever lasted more than a single date. Myra opens her mouth to say something, probably highly inappropriate when the lights dim and Pat O'Nelly taps on the mic.

"Good evenin', friends! I'm so glad to be seein' ya in O'Nelly's tonight! We have a special surprise for ya! As some of you know, our very own UNCW football team—no, not that rubbish American pigskin game, but the real football we play in my homeland—is here tonight…"

Cheers erupt all over the pub. Over in a corner closest to the stage, I can finally see where the team sits—half of them in their jerseys and the other half in t-shirts. Most of them whoop and holler and high-five each other while only a few remain silent. My eyes snag on one in particular. There is nothing not attractive about a soccer player, but this one has something extra. His hair is inky black, cut close on the sides but long enough on top to drape across his forehead. His sharp jawline is lightly stubbled and has me wondering what it would feel like if he nuzzled my neck…wait, what the hell? I shake my head to dislodge that line of thinking and turn back to the stage.

"Now, calm down!" Pat barks, his Irish brogue thickening the more agitated he gets. "As I was sayin', our boys here have agreed to perform a little ditty from the Green Isle to start Open Mic Night! Isn't that wonderful? Let's give them all a big welcome to O'Nelly's stage!"

Cheers explode once more as the team rises from their chairs and walks toward the stage. It's a small platform, so anyone not playing an instrument has to stand in front of it, much to the ladies' delight on the first row. The three players who had been silent at the table take to the stage, moving toward the instruments. The dark-haired mystery man grabs a guitar and sits on the bar stool at stage left while the other two—a tall guy with thick, wavy copper hair and matching beard, and a shorter guy with tousled brown hair—grab a violin and a harmonica.

"This should be interesting," Amelia whispers in my ear, making me snort in amusement.

"Look at that blond in the front!" Myra blurts out, eyes wide. "Look how ripped he is!"

She's not wrong. He's extremely handsome with the body of a Greek god, smiling like he knows exactly how good he looks too, and the girls closest to him aren't helping his ego any. As handsome as he is, my eyes keep getting drawn back to the guitarist. I try not to ogle random men, but damn , he's beautiful.

"Stupid," I mutter.

"What's stupid?" Charlie asks, brow raised.

"Oh, nothing. Just all these girls acting like these guys are superstars or something." I fold my arms on top of the table.

"Well, they kind of are. They did win Nationals last year," Amelia reminds me. She would know since she grew up playing sports and is a walking ESPN channel.

"True. But they're just people, like the rest of us," I say with a shrug,

"Oh, yeah? Is that why you can't take your eyes off the guitarist?" Myra asks loudly.

My face flushes as I shoot daggers at her. It's my biggest tell. I blush over literally everything. "Shut up! I was not staring. I was just trying to figure out how all of those guys are going to do any justice to Pat's song. That guy probably doesn't even know how to play the guitar."

Nice save, me.

Then the music starts, with the guitar no less, and it turns out I'm wrong. Very wrong. Tall, dark, and handsome strums gently at first but then picks up the pace. Somehow he manages to transport me right back to the streets of Dublin—music spilling out of the pubs, people laughing and singing loudly along. I'm completely mesmerized. It feels like a lifetime of music, but it's only a handful of seconds. The harmonica and fiddle join in, and I'm officially a goner.

Until the singing begins.

It's horrible . They're loud and off-key. Pat O'Nelly stands offstage with his fingers in his ears, grinning. Nothing makes Pat happier than bringing his homeland to this pub. That's why it's my favorite. There are pubs all over the Wilmington area, and each one boasts its authenticity, but Pat's is the real deal.

When he lived in Renvyle, Ireland, he owned a small pub with his wife, Ellie. He came to America after she passed away. His oldest son was getting his medical degree at UNCW at the time, so he moved over to be close to him and open up O'Nelly's. Above the polished mahogany bar, there's a black-and-white picture of Pat and Ellie when they were in their late twenties or early thirties. You can tell in the picture that Ellie was a redhead and full of the fire that accompanies it—I'm more than a little aware of that stereotype. Having been born towheaded and then progressing naturally to a shade somewhere between copper and auburn, I've heard every remark under the sun. Some playful, others downright perverted.

As the horrible rendition of "All For Me Grog" ends, everyone stands to applaud and cheer. Myra puts her fingers in her mouth and lets out a shrill whistle, quickly attracting the attention of the blond Neanderthal she set her sights on earlier. Amelia and I give each other a knowing look. She won't be leaving the pub with us tonight.

"I'm going to get another drink while the hordes are distracted. Want anything?" I ask, leaning into Charlie.

"Nah, I'm good! Mark has a bottle of wine waiting for me at home." She wags her eyebrows.

Charlie started dating Mark shortly after she moved to Wilmington. They met while volunteering at a local children's home, and it was love at first sight. They moved in together a few months later. I adore Mark; he's perfect for my quirky best friend. He encourages her free spirit while also keeping her grounded. It's a match made in Heaven.

I weave my way through the crowds toward the bar. My favorite bartender, Alicia, is pouring drinks tonight. Alicia is a no-nonsense kind of girl who never lets anyone hassle her but is always quick with a laugh. We've hung out a time or two away from the bar and always have a great time, but our schedules only seem to line up a couple of times a year. Unless I just happen to catch her behind the bar, like tonight.

"Norah!" Alicia shouts. "What did you think of that circus up there?"

Chuckling, I slide onto the stool in front of her. "The music was lovely. Not so sure about the singing!"

"Understatement of the year!" She laughs, her long black ponytail swinging behind her as she turns to grab a bottle of coconut rum. "What'll you have, dear?"

I glance at the tap. The flight with Amelia was good, but after hearing that Irish ditty, I need a Guinness in a bad way. And Alicia is an expert pourer. She learned from the best, after all.

"Guinness, if you please!"

"Coming right up!" She grins at me.

"A Guinness girl, I see," says a smooth voice behind me.