7. Finn
FINN
There was a very good chance I’d crossed a line. The thought circled as I stood outside O’Sullivan’s watching people file through the door.
I shouldn’t have kissed Bree or pulled her against me like I had every right to touch her. She was drunk and grieving.
Fuck. She was the daughter of a woman I’d grown up with, for fuck’s sake.
I’d kissed her anyway.
My stomach twisted. I’d made plenty of mistakes and questionable decisions in my life.
Taking advantage of Bree while she was three sheets to the wind ranked pretty damn high on the list of things I shouldn’t have done.
I didn’t regret my actions as much as I should, only that I’d let it happen while she was so drunk she might not remember.
Course, she’d asked me to come in. She’d asked me for a hell of a lot more than that. Didn’t matter. I should’ve been the better man, more like Declan or Ronan.
Nothing I could do about it now.
I tugged the collar of my green shirt and stepped inside.
The scent of Bailey’s spiked coffee hit me first, followed by the sound of voices thick with emotion and Guinness.
Shamrock decorations covered every available surface.
Green ribbons hung from the ceiling and tiny shamrock glitter had been sprinkled across the tables.
Maeve would’ve loved it. She’d have been in the thick of it, pouring drinks and telling everyone to quit being maudlin bastards. She’d have cried without shame and hugged every person in sight.
Well fuck. My vision blurred and I very nearly turned on my heel and walked my ass out the door. Maeve would’ve forgiven me.
I blinked and a vision in green took shape on the other side of the bar. Bree.
She stood behind the bar in a dress the exact shade of green as my shirt.
The bright, vibrant kind that made her hair look like it was on fire.
The fabric hugged her curves, curves I’d memorized the other night, and fell into a slant that ended at her knees on one side and mid-calf on the other.
My mouth went dry.
Someone called her name and she lifted her head.
I couldn’t move if the whole place went up in flames. The look in her eyes gutted me.
They matched the dress, but that wasn’t what anchored my feet onto the floor.
Her head swung toward me, and she caught me staring. A light smile curved her lips, and she cocked her head to the side. “Finn, thank god you’re here. Declan won’t tell me where Nana hid her favorite whiskey.”
“Is that so?” I shot a glare at Declan, who grinned smugly and poured another round of shots for a group at the end of the bar.
Weaving between clusters of people already deep in their cups and their memories, I made my way behind the bar.
Bree stayed put, not moving away when I reached over her head and pulled down an empty bottle.
Maybe I hadn’t fucked everything up after all. No regret shadowed her expression.
If anything, she looked happy to see me.
“How you holding up, love?” I swung the empty bottle back and forth.
Bree eyed it, a confused expression puckering her lips. “Better than I expected.” A sheen of tears glimmered in her eyes, but she gave that one-shouldered shrug I loved. “Everyone’s been really kind. Finn, why is the bottle empty?”
“Because she wanted to be buried with it, and she said not to waste the whiskey.” I turned it upside down on the bar, a tradition Maeve had started years ago. “We drank it.”
“Why didn’t Declan just tell me that?” Bree huffed and shot Declan a murderous look.
He laughed and turned away.
“Maeve made him promise not to give it to you.” I shrugged when she glared at me. “I didn’t ask questions, I just said yes, ma’am when she told me to make sure you had it when you needed it.”
“Well, I’m not exactly going to pull out a funnel and drop her ashes into a whiskey bottle.” Bree huffed and rolled her eyes. “Though she’d have thought that was hilarious.”
“Aye, she would’ve.” I accepted a Guinness from Declan without looking away from Bree. “You look beautiful, by the way. That color suits you.”
Her cheeks flushed pink beneath the freckles dusting her skin. “It was Nana’s favorite.”
I clinked my glass against the edge of the bar. “She’d approve. Of the decorations too. Woman loved a party.”
“That she did.” Bree accepted a cup of Bailey’s coffee from Declan and lifted it to her lips.
More people poured into the pub. Half the town had shown up, and the noise level rose with every extra body that squeezed through the door.
Voices competed with the fiddle music someone had started in the jukebox.
I should leave Bree and make a trip around the room and helped Declan manage the crowd.
I’d rather not.
Bree propped her hip against the edge of the bar and surveyed the space. If she had any misgivings about what happened the other night, she didn’t let them show.
“You know, Maeve once let me sleep in here.” Duncan, the baker from down the street, lifted his mug in a toast. “Great woman, that Maeve.”
“Stop getting yourself put in the doghouse and you wouldn’t need a place to sleep.” Tom cupped his hands around his mouth and hooted at Duncan, who waved him off with a sappy grin.
One by one, people stood to tell their memories of Maeve.
Bree smiled through Mrs. O’Malley’s pointed reminders of how Maeve loved her flowers and her pretty dresses.
She let ole Tom kiss both her cheeks and tell her she looked just like Shayla.
That one made her eyes go glassy, but she blinked away the tears and kept going.
She was so damned strong it melted any resistance I managed to dredge up.
The party hit its stride around the third hour. Someone convinced Father Murphy to abandon his mineral water for a proper drink.
Someone started singing bawdy pub songs that would’ve made Maeve howl with laughter then join in. People danced between tables, spilling drinks and not giving a damn.
All in all, it was one hell of a going away party and a celebration of the woman we’d all loved.
I kept one eye on Bree through all of it.
She circulated through the crowd with a tray of shamrock mugs filled to the brim. Every time someone stopped her, she listened.
And she never once looked at me like I’d done something wrong.
The knot in my gut loosened a notch.
Declan stopped beside me, warning glare shining as he dried his hands on a towel. “You planning on spending the whole night eye-fucking her from across the room?”
“Jealous?” I took a long pull from my Guinness, uncertain if it was my second or fifth.
“You were the one who warned me to stay out of her bed. Just doing what I’m told.
” I saluted him with my mug. “Don’t worry.
I’m sure there’s someone here willing to give you attention since you’re so jealous of mine. ”
He backhanded my shoulder. Same spot as always, and my drink sloshed over the rim. “She’s grieving, Finn. Don't be a bastard.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I meant it too. Whatever happened between me and Bree, if anything happened, it would be on her terms. Sober this time.
Declan grunted and walked away.
The hell with him and what he thought I should or shouldn’t do.
The crowd thinned as midnight approached. Older folks headed home first, then the families with kids nodding off in corners.
The die-hards remained.
Those were the ones who’d known Maeve the longest and loved her hardest.
Stories turned quieter, more introspective and intimate.
The “Do you remember the time?” stories gathered rapt audiences that brought less laughter and more tears.
I gravitated toward Bree, who’d found a spot in the corner and sat listening to yet another tale. She’d kicked her shoes off and sat with her arms folded on top of the table.
“Mind if I sit?” I gestured at the empty space across from her.
She patted the bench next to her and grinned. “Please. As long as you don’t mind bare feet. Mine are dying in those shoes.”
I slid in, close enough her warmth seeped into my side without touching. “Hell of a party.”
“Nana would’ve loved it.” Her voice grew thick with emotion and she blinked several times. “These people and their stories. I didn’t know half of them. She really lived, didn’t she?”
“She did. Lots of people think small towns are easy. Comfortable. She liked that, but she sure loved causing a stir too.” I traced the rim of my glass, fighting the urge to touch her hand where it rested on the table. “She lived more in this town than most people could ever imagine.”
Bree turned her head, her green eyes landing on mine. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.” She stopped and color spread across her cheeks. “Thanks for the other night.”
Which part? For kissing her and making her forget her worries? I kept my mouth shut and waited.
“You made me laugh. I needed that.”
Right. Of course. Not exactly the acknowledgement I’d been hoping for, but I’d take it. “Anytime, love.”
We sat in silence for a moment, keeping tabs on the remaining guests saying their goodbyes.
Declan wiped down tables and turned off the music. Glasses clinked when he gathered up a trayful and carried them toward the kitchen.
“Have you made any headway on your decision about the will?” I regretted the question when she heaved a sigh but it was too late to take it back.
“I have.” She swept a hand toward the bar. “This place was Nana’s life. I can’t walk away from that. I’m going to do the renovations to honor her memory.”
Her words cracked my chest wide open.
Gods knew I wanted her to stay, but hearing why she wouldn’t leave–not because of money or her inheritance but because she loved Maeve–broke me. “Even though it’s tough being back here?”
“Because it is.” She ran her thumb along a grain line in the table. “Walking away would be easy, but Nana never did easy things. Why should I?”
Fuck. This woman. Why did she have to come into my life now? Why her and the complications that came with my feelings?
“If there’s anything I can do to make your time easier, let me know.” I picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, winking at her in the process. “Anything at all.”
The air between us thickened.
She glanced down at our joined hands, her exhale feathering over my knuckles before she laughed and pulled her hand back. “You’re already making it better with all that humor and charm.”
There it was again. Humor and charm. I’d become the entertainment. A distraction.
Not once had she mentioned what happened upstairs the other night. Not the kiss or the way she’d pulled me into the room and begged me to fuck her.
Nothing.
My stomach sank. She didn’t remember.
She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. “I should call it a night. Big day tomorrow.”
“Right. Course.” I stood and held out a hand, offering to help her from the booth.
She took it and rose, the scent of Bailey’s and coffee rising with her. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
A slight grin and she released my hand, hooked her thumbs into her shoes, and crossed to the stairs without inviting me to join her.
I hadn’t expected her too. Declan was right.
She was grieving and I wasn’t a complete asshole.
But I hadn’t expected her to be so drunk she didn’t remember.
I’d spent two days feeling guilty about crossing a line, worrying I’d taken advantage and convincing myself I was a bastard who didn’t deserve forgiveness.
Turns out, I was right.
If she couldn’t remember, it didn’t take me off the hook, it dug it deeper.