Chapter 7

7

MADDIE

Wednesday, March 5

I push open the door to the pub with a big smile on my face.

Working at O’Brien’s for a few hours yesterday afternoon wasn’t just to help Patrick. I’ve been thinking about something since I hopped a plane to Dublin.

I really like working in restaurants.

I’ve missed it since I quit the Italian place last summer to volunteer in Saint Lucia before starting the hospitality program. Working in restaurants keeps me moving, serving, talking to people, doing all the things that are good for my extroverted soul.

The reason I applied to the hospitality program was to finish up Aunt Evelyn’s bucket list. But the way Reese’s eyes lit up when I said I was going for a certification? And maybe get a different kind of job, one with a more traditional life than the grueling restaurant schedule? It’s obvious that’s what she wants for me. And I crave her approval.

But on the other side of all that now, I’m not sure school is for me. It wasn’t back when I dropped out of college during my sophomore year. Back then my family assumed I was too flighty and unfocused and that maybe I’d go back later. But I got a full-time job serving tables (and met Jonathan and his tragically fajita-scented car), and while I wasn’t pulling in tons of cash, I was happy and could support myself.

I never really regretted dropping out of college.

Patrick sits at a table in the back of the pub, staring at his laptop like when I walked in last weekend. He looks up and before he can put on his grumpy mask, there’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face.

“Good morning.” I smile as I approach him, giddy and giggly at the prospect of working at a pub in Ireland. Job number eleven, which I will not ruin by dating someone I work with. Besides, it’s not even a real job, so how can I ruin something that doesn’t even really exist?

He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering at the bare skin showing between my boots and the loose bottom hem of my black dress.

“What are you wearing?”

I make a face at him. “That’s actually rude to say to a woman.”

He has the courtesy to flinch. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You look... nice. What I meant was that’s not what my employees usually wear to work. Especially managers.”

I thoroughly enjoy the slight pink tinge to his cheeks.

“The O’Brien’s t-shirt is in the laundry, and this was the only other black piece of clothing I have.”

He swallows, his throat moving in a wave.

“Right. It’s fine.” Patrick’s voice cracks and I suppress a grin.

I’m making him uncomfortable, and that sends a mini jolt of victory through my body. I shrug off my jean jacket and reveal my bare shoulders. Maybe the dress isn’t appropriate for March in Ireland. None of my clothes are, save a hoodie, a single sweater, and a few pairs of leggings.

Besides, I don’t hear him offering another O’Brien’s shirt.

“You okay?” I tilt my head and step closer.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Patrick looks away and appears to gather himself. “How was yesterday afternoon?”

“It was great. Ready to do it again.”

He stands and stretches his arms high above his head in an exaggerated and possibly fake yawn, revealing a panel of his incredibly chiseled abs. How am I not surprised to see that he’s ripped under another one of his tight black t-shirts?

Not that I was thinking about his stomach. Or what he might look like shirtless.

Crap. Of course I am. How could I not?

“I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“Nope.”

Now towering above me, he looks down, assessing, his eyes flitting over my face and darting so briefly down to the hint of cleavage on display.

A stutter of desire bats its wings in my center.

No. Nuh-uh. No desire! I’m a changed woman. A changing woman. A better one.

“Here’s the list of opening tasks.” He reaches down and grabs a paper from next to his laptop, handing it to me. “Why don’t you get started, and I’ll check back in half hour or so to see if you have questions.”

Patrick grabs his laptop and walks past me, maneuvering his body so he doesn’t brush against any part of me.

“Are you leaving? Do you actually trust me to do this on my own?” I follow him to the bar, but he continues walking down the hallway and I screech to a halt.

The hallway.

“No, not really, but I’ve got work to do.”

“Down... there?” To the dark corner where he had his tongue down my throat while I was pressed up against the wall?

Patrick stops and turns. “Pub office. Down here.” He nods his head to the cracked open door, across from... Then he glances to the spot on the wall.

He’s totally thinking about last Friday night. I sure as hell am. His tongue wrapping around mine. The way I ached when his hands inched onto the top of my ass. Him pressing his hips against mine... Nooo!

“Right.” I press my lips together and back away. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

Patrick breathes in through his nose noisily and disappears into the office, muttering something to himself.

“Pull it together,” I whisper and slip behind the bar to study the list of opening tasks. I start with checking the inventory levels in the cases behind the bar. There’s a solid selection of beers like Heineken, Budweiser, Harp, and ciders, amongst others. A few are missing, and I make a mental note to go down to the basement to see if there’s any extra stock.

I’m logging onto the payment iPad and feeling victorious for completing most of Patrick’s list when the door to the pub swings wide open. I check my phone for the time.

“We don’t open for another ten minutes,” I say to the woman who walks in with two children holding iPads of their own.

“Where’s Patrick?” the woman asks, stopping in the middle of the room and planting her hands on her hips.

Uh-oh. I blink at her. Wife and children? That shouldn’t be surprising, given my history with men, but for some reason I would be surprised. Reese hadn’t told me that Patrick was married. And he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to kiss a woman in a dark hallway while he has a family waiting at home.

There I go again. Trusting too soon.

I go through an entire debate in my head, reminding myself of why I should not be thinking about whether or not he’s married or that strip of ab muscles.

Why am I like this?

The woman is still staring at me. Shit.

“Uh, he’s back in the office. Want me to get him?”

The two girls plop down at one of the tables, immediately swiping at the screens.

“Oh no, definitely not. I’d rather talk to you.” She strides toward me and rests her forearms on the bar.

“Me?”

“When he texted me this morning that he’d found an American woman to be a temporary day manager for the pub, I knew we needed to stop by and make sure he wasn’t lying and trying to do everything himself.”

I grunt. “I haven’t known him very long, but that sounds exactly like something he’d do.”

She studies me, now smiling, and it reminds me of Patrick’s assessing face from yesterday when I was convincing him to let me cover the shift. But friendlier.

“Mam?” the older girl, around middle school age, calls. “Where’s Uncle Patrick?”

Uncle. Makes perfect sense now.

“He’ll be around in a few, Erin. Just watch YouTube for a bit.” She hops up on a stool. “They’re always watching absolute rubbish on that app. I’m helpless to stop it.”

“I used to hear that from my sister,” I say with a laugh.

“I’m Saoirse, Patrick’s sister.”

“Hi . . .” I blink at the unfamiliar name.

“Saoirse.” She spells it out for me. “But it’s pronounced Sur-shuh.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that spelling at all. So nice to meet you.” I grin at the pretty woman with dark hair, just like her brother’s, and hazel eyes to match. “I’m Maddie.”

“Mam? Can we ask him about my doll?” the younger girl chimes in.

“Yes, Niamh, when Uncle Patrick comes out of the office, we’ll ask him if you left it at his cottage.”

So many interesting bits of information here.

Saoirse turns to me. “And while her name sounds like Neev, it’s spelled N-I-A-M-H.”

“Good lord.”

Saoirse chuckles. “We came to see you and also to hunt down Niamh’s doll. She must’ve left it at Patrick’s last weekend.”

I give her an inquisitive look. “Last weekend?”

I remember last Friday night. Yup. Sure do.

“Last Saturday, when they slept at his cottage. My brother keeps the girls for a night most weekends, to give me a bit of a break. He’s been a godsend, especially since their dad and I divorced. Actually...” She leans forward and lowers her voice. “He’s been amazing since he came back to Dingle five years ago. After he and Cara split.”

“We can hear you, Ma,” Erin says with an eye roll in her voice.

“Has he told you about her?” Saoirse ignores her daughter. “They were engaged. She was the worst.”

Something moves in my chest. Cara. A key to understanding who he is. Not that I care, obviously.

I shake my head. “We haven’t been having many heart-to-hearts, you know?”

Saoirse chuckles. “I’m not surprised. He’d be pissed I shared anything about her with you.” She glances back over her shoulder at the girls.

“I won’t tell.” I make a zipping motion on my lips.

“He’s so good with them. And he always makes it to biweekly family dinners with our parents. Not that he has anything else going on. No girlfriend or anything.”

“Uncle Patrick never brings girls around,” Niamh moans, not looking up from her iPad.

I stifle a giggle.

“Hush, dears. Want some crisps?”

“Yes!” both girls yell.

“Will you hand me two?” Patrick’s sister nods her head to the bin of chips behind the bar. “You’re American?”

“Yup.” I nod, handing her the bags.

“Are you single?”

I practically choke on my own spit. “Yeah.”

“Excellent. And what are you doing here working at this pub? In the winter? Not the best time for a vacation in Dingle.”

“Yeah, I noticed. But I’m here to plan a bachelorette-slash-bachelor party road trip for my sister and her fiancé.”

She raises her eyebrows and I explain Reese and Oliver’s role in all this.

“Lovely. I know Oliver from when he spent time here in Dingle.”

“Oh, I keep forgetting he lived here for a bit. We’re not telling him I’m in Ireland, though.”

“Sure, okay.” Saoirse gives me a funny look. “Spring’s a wonderful time of year for a road trip. There are many tourists, but less than in the summer. Loads of them come from the US. Patrick has a thing for American accents.” She winks.

“Why do I feel like you’re having a secret conversation with me?”

She shrugs. “It’s my goal in life to get Patrick to date someone again. He’s done so much for everyone else but hasn’t had a girlfriend in years. So many years.”

“I’m not sure what to do with that information.” I swallow. “But I’m not looking to date anyone.” Patrick’s sister is oversharing, and I kind of love it.

“Of course, of course.” She nods, but I have a feeling she’s not interested in my protests. “Anyway, you’ll not have a problem planning your road trip. There is so much to see.”

“Patrick’s coming on the road trip as well, and he’s supposed to help me plan.”

“Is he being helpful?”

I blink and press my lips together. She laughs.

“Didn’t think so.”

“I’m trying to make the itinerary unique. What’s a weird or quirky thing to do in Dingle?”

“Hmm.” She appears to think, tapping her lip with her pointer finger. “Ah. Along Slea Head Drive, there are these tiny stone houses called beehive huts. Apparently, hermit monks used to live in them when they were built over fourteen hundred years ago.”

“Wow.”

“Are you a Star Wars fan?”

“Nope.”

She chuckles. “Well, if you were, you’d recognize them from the movies.”

“That’s definitely going on the itinerary. Anything else? Doesn’t have to be Dingle.”

“Got it.” Saoirse holds up a finger. “It’s a little dark, but there’s a giant hole in the ground up in Donegal at St Patrick’s Purgatory. It’s supposed to be a gateway to hell.”

I stare at her with wide eyes. “Well. Okay. That’s definitely unique. And super creepy.” I pull out my phone and make a note of both of those ideas, right below Patrick’s suggestion of the bench-eating tree in Dublin.

I like this woman.

“How’s it going out here?” Patrick’s voice booms from the hallway. “Oh, Jaysus. You lot are here.”

“Uncle Patrick!” Niamh jumps up from her chair and sprints across the room, throwing herself at her uncle. He easily lifts her up in the air and spins her in a circle before setting her gently back down.

“Hello, love.” Warmth infuses his voice, and his face relaxes in a way I’ve not seen before.

“Did I leave Margaret at your cottage last weekend?” The little girl looks up at him, eyes wide and worried.

“As a matter of fact, you did. And I brought her here. Run back to the office and fetch her.”

“Hooray!” Niamh dashes down the hallway.

“Saoirse.” Patrick nods at his sister. “Hello, Erin,” he calls, and his other niece waves without looking up from the screen.

“So I heard you need to help this woman plan a road trip? Sounds right up your alley.”

Patrick groans. “Shouldn’t the girls be at school? And you be at the hotel working?”

“No school for some reason and I’m off today. Thought we’d swing by and meet your new manager. She’s delightful. You didn’t mention that in your text.”

“Why do people keep calling her that?”

I choke back a laugh, and Patrick gives me a glare. I roll my eyes in response.

“Well, since you’re both here, try this for me.” Patrick pulls a growler out of the refrigerator.

“What is it?” I ask.

“The new IPA. I don’t think it’s quite right.” He pours three small servings of the cloudy liquid and pushes one to Saoirse, then one to me.

I sip the liquid. It’s good, but it has a hell of a bite.

“Damn, that’s bitter, Pat.” Saoirse’s face is far less masked than mine.

“That’s what I thought. We have the right hops, finally, but the timing of when we add them to the mash isn’t right for this batch.” He sips his own glass.

“Mash?” I lean against the bar and watch him clear the three glasses.

“It’s the crushed grains and water at the start of the boil, before fermenting.” He slides the growler back in the refrigerator. “There will be another IPA batch ready in a few weeks. I’m hoping we crack it with that one.”

“You’ll get there,” Saoirse says.

“Have you finished all the opening tasks?” he asks me, his tone a bit short.

“Patrick.” Saoirse shakes her head at him.

“What?”

She turns to me. “My brother often sounds like he’s being an arse, but he’s really not. It’s his...” She waves her hand at Patrick. “His face? Voice? How he looks at people?”

I bite back a giggle as Patrick turns his glare to his sister.

“Yes. Just like that.” Saoirse winks at me and gathers up her children—including Margaret the doll—and heads out of the pub.

O’Brien’s opens a few minutes later.

“See how easy it is to be helpful?” I call to Patrick, who’s established himself at the table in the back corner. “She gave me two ideas.”

“Good. Ask her about the road trip from now on.” He doesn’t even look up.

A pair of locals trickle in, greeting Patrick with a lift of their hands. They both order pints, then quietly chat at one end of the bar while I pour. The door swings open again to reveal a heavily tattooed red-headed man.

“Hello, mate.” He looks from Patrick to me, smiling.

“Jaysus. Did my sister text you?”

“Aye. She did.” The man strides over to me and holds out his hand. “I’m Ian. I needed to check out the pretty American woman Patrick hired.”

Patrick groans and stands, walking over to join Ian at the bar. I pretend I didn’t hear him call me pretty, but heat crawls up my neck.

“My sister needs to keep her mouth shut.” Patrick claps Ian on the back and shakes his hand.

“I own the tattoo parlor down the road.” Ian nods his head to the street. “I’m also dating Patrick’s sister.”

“Unfortunately,” Patrick says, but he’s got a hint of a grin on his face.

Ian’s a good-looking man, with tattoos covering almost every bit of exposed skin—the back of his hands, peeking out from his wrists, his neck, and stopping at his jawline. His red hair goes perfectly with the freckles that cover his nose and cheeks.

“I’m Maddie.”

“Oliver’s fiancée’s sister?”

Good lord, this is a small town.

“Yes. Nice to meet you. But we’re not telling Oliver or my sisters where I am, okay?”

“No worries. Did you know that Oliver worked at the tattoo parlor for a bit while he was here? He also tended bar in this very pub.”

“I didn’t realize he’d worked for you, too.” This secret is hopeless. I definitely didn’t think through the connections Oliver has in this town when I jumped on that plane.

“He’ll not hear that you’re here from me.” Ian nods solemnly.

“Don’t worry, Madison, I’ll get these customers.” Patrick stares me down as he pours pints for a pair of women waiting at the bar.

“Thanks.” I ignore his obvious sarcasm.

“He’s not exactly an easy man to work for.” Ian nods his head to Patrick. “Not sure if you’ve realized that yet. Which is probably why the other manager ran to New Dingle.” Ian fake-whispers the last part.

“Ian, shut it,” Patrick growls.

Ian ignores him.

“I can handle a tough boss.” I slide my eyes to Patrick.

Ian scoffs, but it’s good-natured. “What have you been up to since you arrived? Seeing the sights?”

“Just wandering around town so far, but I think in the morning I’m going to try to bike on Slea Head Drive before my afternoon shift.”

Ian raises his eyebrows. “A gorgeous ride for sure.”

“Like hell you are.”

Ian and I swivel our heads to Patrick, who is glowering at me as he hands a credit card back to the customer.

“Excuse me?” I cross my arms.

“You came in last time looking like a drowned rat. You rented from that shite place down the road—those bikes are about ready to fall apart—and didn’t wear a helmet.”

“He’s right about that bike shop.” Ian nods.

“Are you going by yourself?” Patrick ignores another customer waiting to be served. So do I.

“Well, I’m not going with my friends, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Patrick throws his head back and groans, and I let my eyes drift to his exposed neck and the dark stubble on his chin. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

I shrug. “I’ll be fine.” I probably won’t be.

He shuts his eyes and appears to pray, moving his lips wordlessly. Ian looks back and forth between us, but I stare at Patrick.

“I’ll go with you.” Patrick opens his eyes and drags them in my direction, as if it requires great effort.

“What?” Ian and I say at the same time. Ian’s voice is full of amusement and matched by a grin, and mine is truly shocked, given Patrick’s previous response to my request to hang out.

“Let’s get an early start. I’ll bring an extra bike and helmet. I can show you the best views. Safely.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Oliver would murder me if something bad happened to Reese’s little sister. And I also don’t want my new employee—even a temporary one—falling off a cliff.”

“Falling off a cliff? I don’t love the sound of that.”

“Do you want me to have to call Oliver and tell him you ran off the road and plunged into the sea?” Patrick levels his gaze at me.

“No! No plunging into the sea. No calling Oliver.” I hold my hands up. “Fine.”

“Well, that’s my cue.” Ian turns to me. “Nice to meet you. Come stop by sometime, alright?”

I lift a hand to Ian, promising I’ll do so.

When he’s gone, I pour a customer a pint and stick a cheese toastie in the oven, struggling to figure out how to work the contraption. Patrick sighs and presses the big square start button, then strides back across the pub to his table.

I don’t even try to hide my grin. Like it or not, he’s finally agreed to hang out with me.