Sometimes Fate Doesn’t Need a Hand, It Needs a Kick

“Where’s Em?” Danny asked Ian as he pulled the last of the chairs off the tables and straightened them. “Place is going to open in fifteen minutes.”

“She usually rolls in at about five ’til.”

Danny set a chessboard on a two-top table and positioned all the pieces. “She knows better than that. Thirty minutes minimum.”

“I tried telling her that.” Ian opened the wooden covers on the dart boards and replaced the chalk pieces with full ones. “But I got tired of hearing the ‘down with the patriarchy’ speech.”

“This patriarchy is paying her to be here early.”

Ian held up both hands. “She’s your cousin. Feel free to tell her that.”

Danny smirked, knowing exactly how Emelie was. Their relationship went beyond just cousins. When her mother had had a stroke and he’d stepped in to help cover the responsibilities that fell on Emelie’s young shoulders, they’d grown really close. She became the little sister he never had, and their favorite pastime was bickering over politics. Ian was convinced Danny only indulged in the arguments to watch her face go splotchy.

It didn’t matter how much they argued, though. They dropped everything to do anything for the other. Like when Ian told Emelie why Danny was coming home, he thought he’d hear another speech about the oppression of women in the archaic institution of marriage. Instead, Ian had to physically hold her back from jumping on a plane to, “Drown that bitch in her own ‘happy’ medicine.”

That’s really when Ian stopped getting on her about being late.

Danny headed to the back kitchen to check the food stock with Kevin, their deep-fry guy, right before Emelie waltzed in. Earbuds plugged in, blowing bubblegum bubbles, her fingers flew over her phone keyboard. Without looking up, she asked, “He in?”

“Yeah, he’s mad you’re late.”

She slowly grinned. “Good. I plan to keep him pissy to remind him how much I’ve missed him.”

Ian checked over his shoulder to make sure Danny was still in the kitchen before striding over to her. Emelie felt his presence and unplugged her ears.

“I need your help today.”

She popped her gum, waiting for him to tell her why.

“He scrubbed the beams last night.” He pointed up and she followed his finger.

“Shit. That’s bad.”

“Exactly, and the one thing he’s worried about is questions about what happened with Jessica.”

The signature Larsson scowl crawled across her face. “Nobody’s going to ask him questions about her. They’re just happy he’s home and so am I.”

“All I’m saying is he’s worried about it, and we need to keep the talk to a minimum.”

She sighed and nodded. “He never answered my phone calls, you know.”

“Mine either. Barely even got a text. But she sent back all the stuff he gave her last night, and my back hurts. I don’t want to clean anymore.”

“She sent it all back?” Ian shushed her with a hand over her mouth, and she took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll keep ’em quiet.”

“You’re an angel.”

“A goddess.” She pointed a long finger at him. “Not a fat baby with wings.”

“Those are cherubs, and they could still probably kick your goddess ass.” He grinned, and she smacked his arm. “Manager abuse.”

She laughed, and he caught her sleeve when she thought the conversation was over.

“I also need a favor.”

She snap-popped her gum again and raised both brows.

“Can you keep an ear out for any talk about a woman dressed like the Great Gatsby?”

“Ian,” she said his name with a warning. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I just need to find her and clear something up about Danny, that’s all.”

“I know you’re up to something.” She ran her nails through her wavy blond hair and pulled it up into a high ponytail, securing a band. “You always have plans and most of the time they don’t work.”

“My plans work fine. It’s the people that don’t. Will you do it?”

“Is she pretty?”

He slowly smiled and she cackled, giving him a high-five. “I’m so in.”

“In what?” Danny’s voice whipped them around.

“Nothing,” they said at the same time, making them look extremely guilty.

He arched a brow but didn’t push. “You’re late,” he said to Emelie.

“Oh, so now it’s not enough that we’ve spent centuries being chained to our kitchens birthing your babies that we have to be slave-driven at our independent workplaces?”

He crossed his arms. “You were a baby once. I think.”

“Misogynistic Overlord.”

“Fem-Nazi.”

She snickered, and he smiled as she plowed into him. “God, I missed you.”

He sighed and wrapped her in a full hug. “Missed you, kiddo.”

“You okay?”

“Define okay.”

“I got your back. You know that, right? We all do. The entire Larsson and McClellan clan. The whole town, Danny.”

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed her, letting her know he’d heard, and let go. “Thirty minutes, minimum, and your ass better be here.”

She propped both hands on her hips. “Or what? You’re going to cut my benefits and unlawfully fire me? You know, that figures. You man-apes are all the same.”

“That’s man-ape that gives you great benefits to cut, thank you very much.”

“Whatever.” She waltzed to the kitchen with a wide smile.

“And lose the gum.”

She flipped him off and Ian, who’d been silently watching it all unfold, grinned. Damn, it was nice to have things back the way they should be.

Word had certainly spread that Danny was home, and Flygande Norseman packed out earlier than usual. It’d only been a month since he left, but his return was excuse enough for them to declare a holiday.

Danny was in his element. The man literally thrived off a crowded bar. The fast pace and the constant drink orders being shot at him gave him a massive burst of energy, twirling bottles and pouring mixed drinks into garnished glasses like they were an extension of his hand.

Not Ian though. Making whisky was more his pace. Slow and laid back with the smell of fermented grain around him. No demanding customers. No orders being yelled at him. Just him and his quiet distilling vats alone together—making magic.

“Ian?” Emelie called.

“Look,” he yelled. “I’m still filling your last order, you drink sadist.”

“George and Merv need you.”

“Need me? Did they lose a chess piece or—” He stopped when he noticed a young, barely over twenty-one, out-of-town man next to Emelie staring directly at her chest.

She also noticed. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Or better yet, remember that I have eyes, too, and that’s the only place you should be looking.”

“You’re the one that stuck them in my face, sweetheart.” He winked and kept his eyes where they shouldn’t be.

“Imma stick my fist in your face next.”

The man huffed at her threat, downed the rest of his beer, and snapped a finger at Ian. “Another.”

Ian bit his cheek until the metallic taste of blood hit his tongue. Slowly, he dragged himself away to where Emelie beckoned and leaned his ear across the bar.

“We need a code or something,” she said.

“What do you mean?” He kept half an eye on Creep. “Code for what?”

“For ... you know.” She tipped her head to Danny.

“You heard something about the woman I mentioned?”

“See George and Merv.” She twisted away with another glare at Boob Man.

“Hey, Danny,” Ian called. “I gotta check the chessboard, something’s up. Can you handle it alone for a minute?”

He nodded and handed over two stouts to a local.

“What about my drink?” Creep asked.

Ian squeezed the lip of the bar. “Nah, man. You’re done.”

“You can’t cut me off. I just started.” He slapped cash on the bar.

“Your money is no good here,” Ian said in a low voice. “Now leave.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“He’s the manager and I’m the owner.” Danny stepped up beside him, crumpling the cash into his palm. Ian knew he hadn’t seen what happened with Emelie, or he wouldn’t be this calm. Danny could read a potential bar brawl, though, and always had Ian’s back, like Ian had his. “Door’s behind you.” Danny threw the cash and it bounced off his head.

“You know what, dick? You’ve just earned yourself a bad review.”

“Be sure you get the name right.” Danny leaned in close, flexed arms doing all the warning. “That’s D-A-N-N-Y L-A-R-S-S—don’t forget both ‘S’s.”

Creep scoffed, but arched back, waiting it out for a few brave moments. Danny jerked forward, and the guy stumble-fell off his seat. Gathering his money, he tore out, bumping a few people as he went.

Ian snickered. “Danny, my boy, that was beautiful.”

“With his ‘review’ comment, I was damn close to engraving the bar with his face.”

Normally, that’d be a lie. Ian was the one who had a history of pulling stunts like that. But if Danny had seen what just happened with Emelie, that scenario could have been a very real situation. All because of—

Ian shook that thought away and pulled two ales to take with him. “But then we’d have to stare down at that ugly face every day. Bad for morale, don’t you think?”

Danny smiled, and Ian ducked under the bar’s connector counter, heading toward George and Merv.

“I’m telling ya, I know what I saw,” George said to Merv, an elderly man across from him who puffed smoke from a pipe jammed between his teeth.

Ian smiled, taking in the odd sight of them together. Merv, with his dark sepia complexion and head full of thick graying hair, towered over balding George’s stout, pale-as-the-dead frame. Merv was all warmth and sunshine where George was all raging storms and black clouds. They were opposites in every way, and Ian often wondered how the two of them stayed such great friends for so many years.

“I was taking Duncan for a walk,” George continued. “When my dear ol’ mother, God rest her soul, came tearing down the lane dressed like the spittin’ image of her picture, looking scared, but,” he scratched his chin, “well, she asked for Larsson. Why would she ask for Danny and not me?”

Merv moved his knight in position to take George’s king. “Maybe she got tired of your old man in the afterlife and wanted some young blood.”

“Watch it, Merv.”

He gave him a toothy grin. “Checkmate.”

George cursed and double checked the pieces, unconvinced he’d been beaten.

Ian’s mind snagged on Claire being frightened. Was that why she’d been nervous earlier? “Your mam’s spirit came down from heaven to visit Solsken, George?” Ian asked.

George harrumphed and crossed his arms. “I know what I saw.”

“Where was it?” Ian said.

“Out near the lane toward Sven’s old place.”

“Sven’s place? She must’ve gotten herself lost.” Ian hated how Sven’s kids never bothered fixing up his home or keeping it when he died. He’d barely gotten cold in his grave before they’d sold it. They hadn’t even given the locals a chance to bid on it. “Did she say anything else?” Ian asked.

George and Merv stared up at him. He’d forgotten they both thought Claire was the apparition of George’s mam and not a real person. His question was odd at best. “I’m kidding. Ale?” He plopped their drinks down and removed their empty glasses.

“How’d you know?” George asked, staring at the ale. “We hadn’t ordered new ones yet.”

“Your mam told me.”

Merv keeled over and slapped the table while George reset the chessboard, grumbling curses. Emelie caught Ian’s attention and nodded toward the dartboard group. Apparently, nodding was their code now.

“Hey, everyone. Aunt Annie, Doc, Gene, Marco, good to see you all, but one,” Ian said, and Marco smirked. “Do you need anything?”

“Emelie just took our orders.” Annie eyed him. “You feeling okay?”

“Fine. Only checking on some of my favorites.” Marco snickered at his dig. Ian knew he was being childish, but didn’t care. “Also, I wanted to thank you for the delicious biscuits, Auntie dear.” He smiled but could tell she didn’t buy it. He’d always stayed behind the bar when it was busy.

“Then she ordered two cases of mac and cheese,” Gene, the local grocer, said to Doc Clark. Both oblivious to the other conversation around them. “Two and she put an order in for the same amount next week. How can one thin woman eat that much pasta?”

“You having trouble with macaroni?” Ian asked him.

“Yeah, some tourist with a love of antique clothing and apparently children’s food. She asked if I could make a delivery later to some lean-to shelter, not her home. I told her I didn’t offer that service and she handed me an extra hundred.” He shrugged. “Now I offer delivery service.”

“By the way, not just for children,” Ian said. “I love mac and cheese.”

Gene looked him over. “Only proving my point.”

“Oh, burn.” Ian shook his head.

They all laughed and clinked their nearly empty glasses together. All but Marco watched him grow up, so he knew he’d always be the McClellan kid to them.

“Gene, let me ask you something. Did she seem scared to you?”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “No. Quite calm. She smiled a lot. Oh, and she bought the last of my Assam tea. I’ll have to order more for Danny.”

“He’s got plenty for now.” Ian was out of excuses to keep standing there when Emelie walked up with their drinks.

“Send a note,” she whisper-yelled in his ear.

“A note?”

“Yes, from Danny.” She winked. “I’m assuming he’s off his game tonight because he’s thinking about her.”

“He’s off his game? I thought he was on.”

“You mean I noticed and you didn’t?” She snickered, and Ian faux glared.

He wasn’t about to suggest Danny could be off his game because a little over a week ago, his wife laid out all the men she’d been with like a grocery list. That would defeat the purpose of keeping people from asking him questions.

“Can we have our drinks now?” Doc asked.

While they’d been talking, the group was reaching for their drinks and couldn’t catch them because Emelie kept swinging the tray. She quickly handed them off.

Would a note work? Could it really be that easy? Ian cleared his throat, getting their attention. “Gene, can I add a note to the delivery you’re taking to her?”

Gene sipped Ian’s family’s island whisky. “You know her?”

“Danny and I do, but she’d left before he ... we got to ask her something.” He tried to ignore the growing smile from his aunt. “So, do you mind taking a note with you?”

Gene sipped his drink with a shrug. “Don’t see why not.”

Ian pulled out his kitchen orders’ notebook, and with a small smile and silent prayer this lie was for the best, he scratched out a message.