Irish Fire and Forbidden Love (Celtic Men #1)

1. Maeve

Maeve

It was late Saturday night at the Anchoring Pig, my lively bar in the heart of Galway, Ireland. I’d been in the middle of serving two American tourists when my bartender of ten years, Eliza, set the phone in my hands.

“It’s your sister,” she said.

Since my family lived in Texas and I managed the bar full time, we rarely had time to chat, so it was a pleasant surprise to hear Maddy on the other line.

“Hey, Maeve,” she said.

There was a long pause, one that was swallowed up by the clatter of patrons, but when Maddy spoke again her words were muffled by the guitarist strumming so loud that it drowned out even the loudest voice.

“Will you hold on? I can’t hear you.”

I looked at Eliza, who was pouring the pint I’d forgotten about.

Eliza was as integral to the place as its weathered wooden beams. She wasn’t just my employee; she was my best friend.

We’d known each other since I opened this place five years ago, and in that time, we’d learned how to communicate without words.

She gave me a nod, and that was enough permission for me to disappear in the back.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I said, closing the door to my office.

“Yeah, um… look, I know that you really care about your bar, but dad and I are going to sell. We found a buyer?—”

“A buyer?” I repeated, though I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I knew this day would come eventually. The pub was mine— heart and soul.

But technically my sister and dad owned half the shares.

It was the only way I could actually buy this place, and I’d always convinced myself that I’d buy them out of their half, but I still had a long way to go—about fifty thousand dollars’ worth.

“No one’s telling you that you should sell, but if you did…”

“I’m not selling,” I said, though I knew full well what would happen if they sold and I didn’t.

I’d be stuck with some suave businessperson, who thought they knew better than me.

It happened to Old Bill down the road. He’d sold just thirty percent of his shares, and there had been so much contention that he’d eventually sold everything just to get out from under them.

At least my family had given me the autonomy I had desperately craved, and now that was being pulled right out from under me.

“Maeve…” Maddy said.

“I need just a little more time. I told you that I’d pay you guys back.”

“Yeah, but dad needs the money now. He’s got serious debts, Maeve.” In a lower voice, she said, “He’s been gambling again, and it’s not going well. He’s about to lose his house.”

Her words were a punch in the gut, forcing me back into my chair. It was one thing to deal with our dad’s gambling addiction when we were kids. Back when everyone’s attention was focused on our mom’s cancer, but here? Now?

“I thought he promised he’d stop.”

“Apparently, he never did.” She let that sink in for a moment then said, “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m sure dad is, too. That bar means everything to you, but it’s just our shares we’re selling. Please understand?—”

“I can pay you both back— plus some. I just need more time.”

“No, Maeve.” She gave another, longer sigh, and I could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ve got a buyer now. We’ve already figured it out. Look, I got to go, okay? I love you.”

I wanted to keep arguing, but I stopped myself. “Love you,” then listened to her hang up before I lowered the phone.

Our dad had promised he wouldn’t get back into gambling. He’d gotten lucky with our mom. He’d managed to make back all the money we’d lost from her chemo, plus some, but there had been scares. And it was through those scares he’d finally thrown in the towel, or so we’d thought.

I didn’t know how long it was that I’d sat in that chair, staring at the closed door, listening to the raucous voices and the music outside, but it was long enough that there came a knock. Then Eliza poked her head inside.

“Everything okay?”

My first reaction was to shut down. To push her away, just like I’d done whenever anyone asked about my mom— and there’d been plenty of people.

My friends, teachers, school counselor. We spent two years in and out of hospitals while my mom battled with a malignant tumor in her right breast, and I never spoke about it.

I pushed people away until my mom died, and then it felt too late to reach out to anyone.

But that was over two decades ago, and since then, I’d spoken up more. I’d let people in my life, including Eliza. I could let her in about this, too.

“My family wants to sell.”

“Oh,” Eliza said, falling back against the wall. She didn’t say anything for a moment, instead she let her forehead wrinkle. Finally, she said, “So, you’re going to sell?”

“Not if I can help it.”

I could tell from the look on her face she was also thinking about Old Bill.

“You don’t exactly have the money. Didn’t we try raising money last year? And that was just for repairs. We needed like five grand and we failed. What do you need here? Fifty?” She grabbed my taped up 2015 open mic fundraiser poster.

I remembered that day. We made over five hundred dollars. A success in its own right, but it had also failed getting me the funding for repairs we desperately needed. I’d used all the money, then ignored the rest. Convinced that money would come rolling in in no time.

“Yeah, but that was then, this is now.” I took the poster and left the office.

The bar was quieter than it had been, but that was only from the absence of any music. Joe, one of the regulars and often tipsy guitarist, stumbled off stage and toward the door. He was cradling one of the pub’s guitars like a precious newborn.

“Joe!” I called, racing after him. I grabbed the guitar. “What do you think you’re

doing?”

“Taking my property home.”

He pulled the instrument back, but I pulled harder, forcing him to release his contraband and causing me to ricochet back, and collide with a tall and handsome man entering the pub.

“Oh, come on, Maeve!” Joe slurred, but he didn’t move.

“Are you alright?” asked the man, who helped me up.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” I brushed myself off, then turned to Joe, “Just because you got to pick out this guitar doesn’t make it yours.

You do that again and you’ll get banned from open mic.

” The words came out harsher than I intended, but with the recent unfolding of events and then my body pressed into a stranger, I barely had time to think, let alone be my normally even-keeled self.

Joe’s face crinkled, and he shook his head. “Oh, Maeve. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to take it home. To practice?—”

“Just stop it.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Have a goodnight, Joe,” I said and set the guitar beside the bar as I dropped into a bar stool.

Joe muttered something that seemed close to a “goodnight,” then left the bar.

The curious bystanders had gone back to their drinks and the cackle of voices reverberated across the space.

A guitarist came up and requested to use the nearly stolen instrument, which I agreed, and then grabbed myself a beer.

The stranger sat beside me. In an American accent asked, “Raising money?” He looked at the poster crinkled in my hands.

I stared at the poster, then at Eliza who was back behind the bar. Our eyes locked and then I said, “We are. Next Thursday. All donations go to saving the pub.”

“Saving it from what?”

I turned back to the man, who had the most striking green eyes. They were like mossy pools beneath a shaded sun. Warm and inviting. I wanted to swim inside.

“Family stuff,” Eliza said after my long silence.

My cheeks went hot, and I turned back to my beer. To say it had been a long time since I’d been with a guy was the understatement of the century.

It had been years.

Ever since I’d moved to Ireland, and that had been a way to flee a relationship.

I’d always meant to be with someone, but with working and owning a bar, it was easier just to push it off to another day, another week.

Now, I couldn’t remember why I’d preferred the isolation.

Why I’d let myself stare up at the ceiling for hours, allowing the hum of only my breath to ease me into sleep.

“Family always has a way to work its way into our lives in the most inconvenient ways,” he said, chuckling.

“Feels that way,” I said because I didn’t really want to get into my whole mess, but I also didn’t want him to stop talking.

There were plenty of Americans who came through my pub, but none of them spoke to me like a person worth knowing.

My family barely did that, but this guy did.

And those eyes— he kept them hard and focused on me.

“Can I get an amber ale?” he asked Eliza. Then to me, with a smile, he said, “You know, it’s funny, I come all the way from America, and I’m still getting served by Americans.”

Eliza said in her Irish accent, “Not today, you’re not.”

He held up his glass. “Suppose that’s true, but you—” He turned back to me. Those mossy pools stared into my soul. Into the very fabrics of what I had made of myself. “You’re American, aren’t you? Do you work here…?”

“Yes, I’m American. I’m owner, well, part owner, counting my family, but I’m the only one who lives up here. Not that I didn’t try to get them to move up here.”

“Ah, you don’t need them. You’ve got me,” Eliza said.

Yeah, but for how long? is what I wanted to ask. Because once I was forced out, I’d have to leave Ireland. Probably would end up right back with my family like no time had passed. Like none of my life here had made any difference.

“My family isn’t particularly keen on traveling,” I said. “Especially not to Galway.”

“But this is a beautiful place. I wished I lived here full time,” he said.

I shrugged. “That’s just how they are.”

He laughed. “Your family sounds riveting. And now they’re making you do a fundraiser?”

“Not making. They just want me to lay down while they sell. My dad’s got some financial troubles.”