Chapter 6

6

PATRICK

O f course she wants adventure. That would have to be the word Maddie uses. What a nightmare.

Cara found her adventure, all right. She found it with her lips wrapped around an American banker’s cock on the couch in our flat in Dublin, which I witnessed firsthand after getting off a bartending shift early. She jumped away from him but didn’t even try to say something like it’s not what it looks like .

It was exactly what it looked like.

And now Maddie’s perched on a barstool in my pub, all wet and gorgeous, and telling me she’s here for an adventure. But she’s also my best friend’s fiancée’s little sister. These days, I know better than to feck with that kind of connection. I learned my lesson long ago when I dated a mate’s sister.

But Maddie might need some protection. Clearly, she doesn’t make logical decisions. What if she’d fallen off that rental bike and gotten hurt? I’d have to be the one to call Oliver and Reese.

“My parents haven’t changed a thing in the thirty years they’ve run Slea Head Brewery. Same three beers. Same equipment. Same processes. Same head brewer. Everything.”

Her eyes follow my movements as I mindlessly wipe the clean bar.

“New Dingle has dominated. That family has grown their business tenfold over the past decade. And now with Liam in charge, it’s doing even better. He’s aggressive with innovation.”

Even I hear the bitterness in my voice.

I got together with Cara after I started seeing her regularly when I was back during breaks from soccer. Liam would meet me at the pub and bring his sister along. Eventually, I asked her out, and he was supportive of me dating her.

To this day, I’m not entirely sure I understand Liam’s intense dislike for me. Before I found her cheating, Cara told me Liam hated that I left her in Dingle while playing soccer in the UK. But I was already a professional soccer player when we got together. That was my life. Everyone knew it. He thought it was my fault that Cara cheated, I guess. I don’t disagree. She even said it during our last fight: I was too distant and closed off, which basically shoved her into the arms of another man.

Liam and I never discussed it. When I returned to Dingle, his hatred for me was obvious.

“Well, what do you want to add to your lineup?”

“An IPA to start with—I’ll call it In Your Face IPA—and we’re so close to getting it right. My assistant brewer said the batch is ready to try.” I pause in my endless wiping. “I’m also hoping to have an autumn brew ready for this year called Irish Oktoberfest. Then we’ll have a five-beer flight like New Dingle. And farther in the future, a white beer like a hefeweizen, and a high ABV IPA.”

She nods and is quiet for a beat. “When did Liam take over New Dingle?”

I hate hearing his name come out of Maddie’s mouth so casually, as if they’re old acquaintances, and I glance briefly at her before turning and squatting down to check out the inventory of bottles in the fridges. I lose count immediately.

“Right when I got back to town five years ago. I wanted the brewery then, but Dad wasn’t ready to retire. Then O’Brien’s went up for sale and I jumped on it.”

“So it’s just a business rivalry? Between you and Liam?”

“Well—” I start, but stop. I give up counting bottles and stand slowly, careful to wipe any emotion off my face before I look at her.

“Ohhh, come on. Spill. There’s definitely more to this story than beer.”

“No. That’s all.” Why am I telling her so much, and why do I feel a pang of regret for lying? Maddie’s a stranger, and I was this close to telling her about Cara’s connection to this all.

About Cara in general.

Jaysus.

That’s none of her business, and not something I ever want to talk about. Only to Saoirse. My little sister is always firmly on my side when it comes to the Smith family, even though my parents have seemingly forgiven them for the nasty end to my engagement to Cara.

My mobile pings and I glance at the screen, a reminder popping up for the interview with a potential new product development manager in thirty minutes at the brewery. Dammit .

“For feck’s sake,” I mumble as I type out a message to the candidate. I can make it a phone interview and take it from here. If anyone comes in, I’ll put her on hold.

“What?” Maddie presses, and when I look up, her wide eyes are locked on me.

I shake my head. “I have an interview with someone for the brewery, so regrettably, this conversation will have to come to an end.” Which is good, because the tourist is making me want to confess way too much.

“Is anyone coming in to work?” She looks around the empty room.

“No. It’s no problem. I’ll do it via mobile. I just need to send the woman this message.”

“Don’t do that.” She shakes her head and slides down from the barstool. Maddie runs her fingers through her drying hair, and I’m transfixed by the motion.

“Why not?”

“Do you really want to interview them over the phone?”

“No, I’d rather do it in person at the brewery.”

This would be my first important hire. I want someone to help me do market research and develop a five-year innovation plan so we don’t ever fall behind New Dingle again. And then I can focus on the Wellington Pubs pitch.

Maddie walks around the edge of the bar until she’s standing next to me. She surveys the stacks of glasses, the iPads, the bottles of liquor lined up along the wall.

“I can run this pub in my sleep.”

I laugh, because it’s the last thing I expected her to say.

She steps toward me and puts her hand on my forearm, wrapping her fingers around my muscle and gently tugging.

“This is what I’ve been doing for the past decade. My last job was managing an Italian restaurant with a thriving bar.”

I furrow my brow and process what she’s saying, but it’s hard with her standing so close and touching me. The connection between my skin and hers is sending daggers of lightning up my arm.

“Madison.”

“Maddie,” she corrects.

“Madison. You are here for an adventure. Working at a pub is not an adventure.”

“Who are you to tell me what qualifies as an adventure?”

“You’re delusional.” I cringe after the words come out, sure I’ve offended her.

“Sure, no arguments there.” She grins brightly at me. “But I can do this.” Maddie slides her hand down to grab my fingers and reaches out and takes my other arm, and now we’re in some kind of awkward pose like middle school kids at a dance. “Come on. Let me. Please. I need this.”

“What are you hiding from, little tourist?”

She huffs with offense. “I am not a tourist.”

I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes.

“Okay. I’m planning a trip during which I’ll be a tourist. But right now? I’m basically a local.” She bites her lip and smiles up at me.

This girl is flirting with me, which never happens when women are sober in the light of day. Usually, they’re scared off by... well, me. The things I say. The natural look of my face.

“You’re not going to work at this pub.”

“How long until that interview you have scheduled?”

“Feck. Probably about twenty minutes, now that you’ve distracted me.”

“I bet that woman is already there waiting for you. You’re going to force her to take the interview from her car. In the parking lot.”

She’s right, and it annoys the shite out of me.

“You’re still all wet.”

Maddie glances down at her shirt, still clinging to her stomach, then back up at me.

“There are O’Brien’s t-shirts for sale right behind the bar. I’ll wear one of those.” She nods her head to the unorganized stack of shirts behind me. “By the way, you are missing out on a huge merchandising opportunity. Why don’t you have long-sleeved t-shirts? Hoodies? Pint glasses? Key chains, bar mats, pens... you could pick anything and put an O’Brien’s logo on it. Tourists would love it.”

I ignore the last comments. I’ve got about one minute to make this decision.

She could cover for an hour or two, then I’d take back over. And deal with the rest of Beth’s scheduled shifts later.

“And I can cover whatever shifts you have open tomorrow. And the next day. The rest of this week, even.”

“This is the worst idea ever.”

“Says the guy who now has fifteen minutes until a very important interview.”

“It’ll be a disaster.”

“No, it won’t.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m here anyway; just let me help. I have nothing else to do.”

I narrow my eyes and study her eager face, still flushed from her poorly planned bike ride.

“I suppose it would be helpful.”

“Great, I accept! Only if you give me one unique thing you’ve done in... Dublin.”

“For the road trip?” I pull away from her.

“Yup.”

I sigh loudly and she grins.

“Guinness Brewery.”

“Nope, try again. I don’t need you to tell me that one.”

“Temple Bar.” I turn toward the stack of t-shirts. “What size are you?”

“Do you even want my help? I’m a medium.”

“Fine. There’s a spot in Dublin where a giant tree is eating a park bench.” I pull a medium black O’Brien’s shirt from the stack, replaying her interesting merchandising idea. I turn back around.

Feck. Me.

Maddie’s in the process of peeling off her wet top, and I watch with my jaw dropped as she lifts it over her head and tosses it on the bar, left only in a black sports bra.

The sports bra has a deep neckline that clearly shows the tops of her breasts, and I swallow as my eyes travel down to trace the smooth curve of her waist. An unexpected wave of desire washes over me.

Unexpected and seriously inappropriate.

She blinks at me. “. . . eating a bench?”

“Very slowly.” I swallow and hope she doesn’t notice. “Over time. But yes. It’s consumed half of it.”

“Well. That’s perfect. I’ll put it on the itinerary.”

Maddie tilts her head and reaches for the O’Brien’s shirt, a slight blush crossing her cheeks.

“I’ll skip that day of the road trip.”

“No skipping allowed.” She pulls the shirt over her head and lets it settle on her torso.

“Let me give you a quick tutorial on the iPads.” I beg my eyes to stay on her face. Her bare skin caught me off guard. That’s all.

“See how easy it is to help me with the road trip? Maybe we can do it again sometime, as it’s why I’m actually here.”

Thank feck she’s covered up now. Maybe I can think straight.

“That’s funny, because I get the distinct impression you’re hiding from something. Or someone. Like your sisters.”

She shrugs. “Are you going to help me plan the road trip or not?”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll send you a Tripadvisor link.”

“Patrick!”

I almost grin and vaguely note that I enjoy hearing my name on her lips.

I can hire her. Just temporarily. There’s no risk. I need the help, and she’s here, and she’s offering. And now that I know who she is, I can keep this completely professional and platonic.

As long as she keeps her clothes on and her hands off me. Which shouldn’t be a problem... except she just violated both those rules in the past five minutes.

One thing’s for sure: no more kissing in dark corners.