Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
~LEXI~
I ’ve seen places like this in movies, but I always assumed they were just the product of a writer’s overactive imagination. Or they existed in Europe somewhere. Maybe a small village in Ireland or Scotland. It never occurred to me that loud, lively pubs like O’Callaghan’s Pub existed in real life.
But here I am, sitting on a barstool at the end of a long, mahogany bar, watching in fascination as a man who looks very much like Shawn pulls beers from the taps and laughs at something an older customer says.
I couldn’t tell you for sure what that might have been, given how thick the Irish accent is on the older man. But it seems it was quite funny.
“So, you’re the lass working on the movie with Shawn,” Keegan says. I was introduced to several of Shawn’s siblings as soon as we arrived. Keegan owns the bar and works it, as well. I see Maggie swinging through the crowd with a loaded tray of drinks and food, and Shawn is in the kitchen, helping to serve up dinner orders.
Which leaves me out here alone with Keegan.
“That’s right,” I reply. I have to speak loudly to be heard over the loud, live band playing on the tiny stage in the corner. They’re playing Celtic music, complete with a fiddle, piano, and what looks like an accordion.
Suddenly, Maggie jumps onto the stage and sings several verses of the lively song, laughing and dancing and giving the crowd a thrill.
Maggie is a beautiful woman. I’d say she’s in her mid-twenties, with gorgeous auburn hair and the same green eyes as Shawn. In fact, Keegan’s eyes are green, as well, but his dark hair matches his brothers’.
“How are you getting on then?” Keegan asks.
“With what?”
“The movie writing, of course.” He sees that my wine glass is almost empty and immediately reaches for the bottle, filling it up again.
“Oh, it’s going slowly, I’m afraid.”
“And why would that be?”
I could sit here for days on end and listen to Keegan O’Callaghan speak. His accent is the thickest of the siblings I’ve met, and just like when Shawn’s shines through, it makes my belly clench deliciously.
“It could be because your brother is a stubborn mule.”
“And just like that, I find you telling lies to my very own brother.”
I turn at the sound of Shawn’s voice, and find him smiling down at me. The lilt in his voice is heavier this evening, probably because we’re here among others who sound the same.
Dear God, he’s something to look at. Lucifer himself couldn’t hold a candle to Shawn O’Callaghan with all that thick, dark hair, square jaw, and green eyes. And it’s completely unfair how black his eyelashes are.
I shrug.
“There have been days that Shawn’s been a stubborn one, and that’s the truth of it,” Keegan says. “Are you hungry, Lexi?”
“Oh, no. Shawn made dinner before we came tonight.” Shawn wasn’t kidding when he said he enjoyed cooking. He made grilled salmon with some kind of fancy rice and asparagus that just melted in my mouth.
And I’m not particularly fond of the green stalks.
“Next time, don’t fill your belly before you arrive, and we’ll feed you some proper Irish food.” Keegan winks and then moves down the bar to wait on other customers.
The music has slowed, and Maggie now croons a ballad about boys going to war and the girls who pine for them at home.
Suddenly, Shawn tugs me off the stool and sweeps me into his arms, dancing me around the bar.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” I say, trying to keep up with him.
“Seems that you are,” he says. “All you have to do is move with me.”
“I’m clumsy.”
“You’re quite lovely,” he replies, and I’m not sure what to say to that. “Even when you’re calling me a stubborn ass.”
“I said mule.”
“Same difference.” He moves effortlessly. His big body is graceful as he guides me around the floor. “I liked seeing you at the bar.”
“I’m completely out of my element here.”
His lips twitch with a half-smile. “I can see that. But you’ll get used to it. No one means anyone harm here. It’s a happy, lively crowd, and one I enjoy being around on an evening now and again.”
I can’t help myself. I let my fingers slip into the hair at the back of his neck. It’s soft, running like silk over my skin.
“It’s quite different from the quiet at your house when you’re working.”
“You’re absolutely right. I can’t be alone in the silence all the damn time. A person could go crazy.”
I frown and glance over his shoulder to watch Maggie lean in and share a microphone with another man as they sing in harmony.
“I spend most of my time alone in the silence,” I murmur. “I quite prefer it.”
“You need people eventually.” He turns his head, and his lips graze my temple, sending shockwaves down my spine and straight to my core as if his lips carry electric currents.
I’ve never been so frustrated by a man and yet want to climb him so badly in all of my life.
The slow song ends, and just as I’m about to return to the bar, Shawn catches my elbow and swings me around into a fast-paced dance. If I had time to think, I’d be mortified. Instead, all I can do is try to keep up with him and not fall on my face.
He spins and twirls me about, singing loudly along with the song.
It seems Maggie isn’t the only one with pipes in the family.
And as quickly as it began, the song ends, and I’m in Shawn’s arms, panting and laughing and staring up into his happy face.
He leans closer, and I swear he’s going to kiss me.
Right here.
In front of all these people.
But before his lips have a chance to meet mine, Keegan calls out from behind the bar.
“Shawn, these food orders aren’t going to fill themselves, mate.”
“Bloody arse,” Shawn mutters before setting me back on my stool. “I’ll be back out in a bit.”
He hurries through the door to the kitchen. I take a deep breath and stare down at my glass of wine as the pub continues swirling around me, the patrons singing and dancing and laughing.
I’ve been in Shawn O’Callaghan’s arms twice in one day. And he’s taken me by surprise with it both times. How’s a woman supposed to breathe around him?
“ Finally, I can take a quick moment to say hello properly.” Maggie smiles as she stands next to me. She slips a foot out of her shoe and starts digging her thumb into the arch. “I bought these new shoes, but they’re killing me. Supposed to be for people on their feet all day, but I call bullshit on that one.”
I blink down at the shoe on the floor and then back at Maggie. “Before I was able to write professionally, I was a nurse. I can send you a list of good shoes to try.”
“I’d love that,” Maggie replies. “So, you were a nurse?”
“A very long time ago. It’s been at least ten years since I worked with patients.”
She smiles as she switches feet to rub. “I want to hear all about it sometime. For now, I have to get through about six more hours of these torture devices. Maybe I should go barefoot.”
I stare at the floor dubiously. “With all of the spilled drinks and food? You don’t want to get botulism or something.”
“You have a point. Keegan, I need two pints of Guinness, a shot of Jameson, and a margarita.”
Keegan scowls. “I don’t make margaritas.”
“I know. I told them that, but they insisted I try. Probably a tourist.” She shrugs. “Give them a shot of tequila instead. While you fill that, I need to place an order with Shawn.”
She hurries away, and I watch Keegan as he pulls the taps and starts to build a Guinness. I didn’t know it was described as building a Guinness until this evening.
I’m storing all of this information up for a future book. It’s too interesting.
“Do many murders take place amongst the Irish?” I ask Keegan, who raises a brow.
“Are you planning to kill him, then? What’ll it take to get you to wait until this evening is over? I don’t have anyone on hand to fill in in the kitchen.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, I’m wondering because I might like to write a thriller with an Irish foundation.”
“Would you now? Well, of course there’s murder to be had when humans are involved. Maybe a man wandered from his marital bed. Or a lad got tied up with the Irish mafia—which is a thing, by the way. There are all kinds of possibilities. Or, you could take the story in another direction.”
“What kind of direction is that?”
“Well, the land of Ireland is full of legends. Ghosts, the Tuatha de Danann—what you’d call faeries. You name it.”
“Are you suggesting I write a story with a paranormal twist?”
“Why not? It would be a story I’d read, I’ll tell you that.” Keegan winks at me as he finishes loading Maggie’s tray, just as she bustles out of the kitchen with two bowls of stew.
“That smells amazing.”
“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Maggie says. “She used to make it every day for the pub when she and Da still owned the place. Now, I make it instead. But the recipe is the same. I’ll fetch you some.”
“I ate already.”
“You danced and have been here for a couple of hours. A little bowl of stew won’t hurt you,” Maggie says, talking me right into it.
“Do you mind if I go back and see Shawn?” I ask.
“Not at all,” Keegan says, pointing to the door. “Help yourself. Be at home here, Lexi. And I mean that.”
“Thank you.”
Shawn’s family is so kind. So welcoming. I’m enjoying myself more than I have since I arrived in Seattle a week ago.
I push through the door to the kitchen and see Shawn wiping his hands on his apron. He reaches for a ladle and scoops some stew into a bowl, then lowers a basket of fries into some hot grease.
“How did you get roped into this?”
His head turns in surprise at my voice, and then he smiles when he sees that it’s me. He reaches for a chair and sets it near a clear space at the counter, gesturing for me to sit and keep him company.
“Keegan fired his cook yesterday. Which means he’s shorthanded back here until he finds a replacement.”
“I had no idea you knew how to man the kitchen in a bar.”
“I can also make the drinks, deliver them, and clean up when everyone’s gone,” he says as he gets to work building a sandwich. “I grew up in this pub.”
“Maggie mentioned your parents owned it.”
“They did. When we first arrived in America, all of us lived in the small apartment above us. Keegan lives up there now, and it’s almost too small for him. But my parents were poor, and they did what they could with what they had. Eventually, the pub did well enough for Da to buy a house not far from here, and we moved there. But all of us worked here in the pub, and most of us still do from time to time when Keegan needs us. Maggie’s been working here full-time since her piece of shit husband died a few months ago.”
I gasp and cover my mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. She looks so young.”
“She is. Barely twenty-six. She married just out of high school. He was a philandering, controlling jerk. Had a heart attack while with his side piece.”
“That’s just horrible.”
He nods and gestures to the pot of simmering stew. “Would you like some?”
“I’d love to try it. I can’t believe I can eat anything at all after the meal you made us for dinner.”
“It’s been a while,” he says and serves me the stew. “I like having you in here where I can see you.”
“Do you think I’m going to escape? Or embarrass you?”
Shawn laughs and then shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. You’re in here where I can see you. Rather than having to make excuses to go out there and get a glimpse of you. You may drive me mad, but you’re a pleasure to look at.”
“Back at you, Mr. O’Callaghan.” I take a bite of the stew and sigh in happiness. “Oh, this is amazing. I’m going to have to try to talk Maggie into the recipe before I go home to Minneapolis. No one should have to live without this.”
“She might give it to you,” he says. “I’m sorry I dragged you in here for the whole evening. If you want to take my car and go back to the house, you’re welcome to. I can catch a ride back with one of the others when we’re done.”
Normally, I’d be itching to go home. To be wrapped up in my blankets and reading a book.
But I’m enjoying myself here—much more than anticipated.
“I’m actually fine where I am,” I say and eat more of my stew. “Is there bread to go with this?”
“Of course.” He slices and butters a fresh roll, then passes it to me.
“So good,” I say with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m good here. I’ll gain a million pounds, but who cares?”
“Who indeed?”
Last night, I was charmed by the clever pub and the wonderful patrons there, the music, and the O’Callaghan siblings. Especially Shawn. I spent several hours with him in the kitchen, and even jumped up to help him fill some orders when he had an extra-busy streak at about ten o’clock.
Today, I’m back to wanting to commit the kind of murder I write about. Bloody, sinister slaughter.
“You’re not listening to me,” I say, crushing a pillow with my fist. “Seriously, I listened to you the other day, and you’re not hearing me.”
“Fine. Do whatever you want, Lexi.”
“Oh my God. That’s not what I want either!”
I’m going to scream, so I turn and stomp out of the room into the foyer, where I shove my feet into some shoes and storm out the door, slamming it behind me.
That felt good .
Yes, it was childish, but I don’t care.
I need fresh air.
I want to walk on the beach.
I frown as I glance around the house. I know where the beach is , I just have no idea how to get down to it.
Instead, I walk in large circles around Shawn’s driveway, breathing deeply.
Why won’t he just listen to me? As soon as I start explaining why I think something should be written differently, he clams up. Doesn’t talk, won’t listen.
Simply acts like a freaking child.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to work like this.
I hear the door open, but I don’t turn to look at him. I just keep marching around the driveway.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking off a mad.”
I glance over. He’s standing on the bottom step, his hands in his pockets.
“In the driveway?”
“I wanted to walk on the beach, but I don’t know how to get down there.”
He starts to walk, and I follow him. Mostly because I really want to walk on the beach. I’ve heard people talk about it all my life, and I want to see what the hype is about. Will it calm me? Will it terrify me?
Most things scare me.
There’s a path behind the house that leads down to the sand. At the bottom, I look both north and south, then back to the path that leads to the house so I don’t forget what it looks like. And then I turn to Shawn.
“You can leave now.”
I set off, headed south. The sand is packed and wet, I assume because the tide reaches up this far. The waves crash against the shore about fifty yards from me. Far enough away that I’m not afraid of being swept out by a riptide, or fear getting eaten by a beached whale.
Not that I know anything about those things.
The sound of the water is soothing, and before long, I feel my blood pressure start to lower.
When I turn around to head back the way I came, I’m surprised to find Shawn not even a hundred yards behind me, his hands still in his pockets, his face impassive as he waits patiently.
I walk toward him, pretty sure that the urge to kill him has passed. When I reach him, he surprises me by tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.
He’s done that before.
Both times have made me sigh.
“You infuriate me,” I admit in a calm voice.
“I know. It’s not on purpose.”
“Feels like it is.” We start to walk back down the beach, side by side. “When I tell you I don’t like something about what you’ve written, you clam up on me. You don’t say anything in response to me, and you don’t listen. ”
“I’m thinking,” he says. “If I’m not responding, it’s because I’m thinking, Lexi. It’s not because I’m deliberately being a jerk.”
“It shouldn’t take you ten minutes to think of a response.”
“No, but it might take me two minutes to wrap my head around something. I don’t think aloud like you and so many others. I process internally.”
“Okay.” I sigh and step around a piece of driftwood. “Maybe in the future, if I disagree with you on something, I should state my case and then let you ponder it while I use the restroom or grab a snack or something.”
“That would help, yes.” He takes my hand in his, surprising me. But I don’t pull away. “You’re not the most patient of women, Lexi.”
I laugh. “You’re right. I’m not. I’ll try to work on it.”
I wish we could spend all of our time away from the office. Because as much as we are at odds while we work, Shawn and I get along really well when we’re not talking business.
Under different circumstances, I could see having a romantic relationship with this man.
Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards. We need to figure out how to work together productively so we can finish the project, and then I’ll be on my way home.
We head back to the path that leads up to Shawn’s house, and he suddenly tenses.
“What is it?”
“Something’s wrong.”