Chapter 13 Whisky and Wisdom
WHISKY AND WISDOM
“What am I doing?”
When I arrived, Seamus hadn’t been waiting on the porch with his rifle.
I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or if he’d save it for later.
I had broken out my cleanest jeans and t-shirt.
It took some digging to find one that didn’t have a crude saying on it.
Was this a formal situation? Should I have found a button-down and a tie?
Glancing over my shoulder, I estimated a hundred feet to the truck.
I could be out of here before anybody noticed.
“You drink at a bar with mobsters, and you’re scared of a dress code.” It sounded outlandish when I said it out loud. I paused long enough to raise my arm and take a quick sniff. Good. Deodorant hadn’t lost the fight.
I knocked.
I heard stomping approaching the door. Without a word, Seamus opened the door.
I might hold my tongue, but Seamus offered a masterclass in being reserved.
I think he gave a slight nod of the chin.
He made no move to step aside or invite me in.
We entered a staring contest, a battle of wills to see who would cave first. His eyes held firm.
Locked and unblinking, I couldn’t read his face. Seconds dragged on for an eternity.
I relented. “This is for you.” I held up the bottle of whisky.
He took it and turned around. “Boots off.” His tone came out flat but not rude. “We’re not heathens.” Did Seamus crack a joke? I came inside, shutting the door behind me.
“The guest of honor has arrived,” came a voice from the kitchen. “Seamus, pour the man a drink. Dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes.”
I had to survive forty-five minutes of small talk.
I checked the time on my watch. Forty-four minutes and fifty seconds.
Kicking off my boots, I tried to shake the dread, the feeling I had to be on the defensive around these men.
Seamus had fooled me once. He’d lure me in with that stand-offish demeanor, acting just gruff enough.
Then, when I least expected it, he’d have me shoveling manure for the gardening club.
I stood in the entry, not quite sure where I should be going.
If it were anybody else, I’d head to the kitchen and grab a seat while we talked.
The rifle hanging on a peg on the wall suggested I should be a proper guest and wait for instructions.
I tried peeking around corners to see if Nick might already be here.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
Seamus came out of what I assumed was the dining room, with the whisky and a couple of glasses in hand.
He gestured to the room across the hall.
I led the way into an impressive living room.
The bookshelves reached the ceiling flanked the fireplace, but instead of books, most of the space had been taken up by vinyl.
A mantle carved from dark wood hung above a low fire, lined with framed photos.
Even from here, I recognized Grace’s graduation photo.
“Ahem.”
Captivated by Seamus’s sense of decor, I had overlooked the most noteworthy thing in the room.
Nick got up from the couch. He opened his arms for a hug as I came in for a handshake.
It took a moment for us to settle on a hug.
Three seconds. Otherwise, it’d be too long.
I wanted it longer, preferably with fewer clothes.
“I thought I was awkward.”
We turned to Seamus, eyeing us as he sniffed the open bottle. He sucked in a deep breath, holding it. Did he never blink? I’m certain he attempted to drill holes through us. He didn’t need to say much; his gaze did the talking.
“Dammit,” he growled. “Julie was right.”
He set the glasses on the coffee table, poured a finger of whisky in each, and then left the room.
I don’t know why I expected Seamus to be less of himself in his house.
If anything, he had turned even more gruff.
If we were going to wrestle for a trophy, he’d win.
I’d have to settle for second-place curmudgeon.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show.”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but somewhere in the room, I could hear the faint sound of a trumpet solo.
When Nick returned to his seat, he patted the space next to him.
I sat down, processing all the things that contradicted my expectations of the recluse.
The interior reminded me of a rustic cabin, which fit Seamus.
It was the surprising number of family portraits that surprised me.
Was Firefly’s resident mountain man a secret softie?
I took a glass and handed it to Nick before taking mine. Sitting back, I got comfortable, my knee bumping against his as if I were tapping out Morse code.
“So, this is Charlie.”
Patrick leaned against the doorframe. Was there something in the water? How did Firefly have so many beefy bears? Had the gay council labelled it as every woodland critter’s favorite vacation spot? Did they have meetings where they traded beard grooming techniques?
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I stiffened, waiting for the gossip to come pouring out.
What source had divulged secrets that didn’t belong to them?
Bonnie, while getting groceries? Julie, while restocking the liquor cabinet?
Did he attend Bingo with Gladys? Or was he one of the pie bakers who stopped by Mum’s house when Pops passed away?
“Nick said you work at a tattoo shop?”
Oh? Knowing it came from his mouth? That made it okay. I’d have to stop and think about why it bothered me when Firefly did it, but this flatlander got a free pass. Maybe the gossiper had to have a furry chest and a grippable ass?
“I did.”
“Did?”
“Did?” Nick echoed.
I hadn’t meant for it to sound so final. It did. It was. The sting remained.
Patrick took a seat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table. Seamus had robbed the cradle, and I could see why it worked. Patrick didn’t shy away from conversation.
“Sounds like a story to me,” he added.
Seamus returned, a glass in hand. He sipped as he sat. Other than the occasional swirl of whisky, he became part of the decor. I wonder if he hunted? Perched in a tree, the deer would never see him before he pulled the trigger.
“The shop closed. When I head back to Boston, I’ll start interviewing.”
“Interesting.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed.
Seamus reached over, hand on Patrick’s arm. “We talked about this.”
It came off as an effortless gesture from Seamus, as if there had always been an ease between them. Did I envy the comfortable certainty they displayed with one another? If not that, I was jealous that they didn’t care who noticed.
The gentle touch wouldn’t have been noteworthy if I weren’t playing a game of knee-touching with Nick. They made it look effortless, and I couldn’t even figure out if Nick and I were at the hugging stage. I was starting to think that being single might be my own fault.
Patrick chuckled. “I’m going to school for social work. Seamus thinks I’m intrusive.” His eyes narrowed at Seamus. “He doesn’t understand the art of conversation.”
“You didn’t mention the shop closing.”
Nick had thrown his baggage onto the table. I suppose I could open the vault door and explain the situation. A little.
“The owner got an offer from a developer. I can’t blame him.” My eyes went wide. “So many zeros. For the moment, I’ll chill here. I can find something when I get back to the city.”
“There are a couple of shops in Bangor. Sue Flay works at one. I can hook you up.”
Sue Flay?
He chuckled. “She’s a drag queen. I work at the gay bar in Bangor.”
Growing up, something like that would never have existed. A gay bar? This far north in Maine? I had heard rumors about men gathering at a barn for partying, but I assumed it had been an urban legend. Now I wondered if Seamus had been throwing wild orgies back in the day.
“It’s appreciated. I’m sure I’ll find something. There’s a shop on every corner in Cambridge.”
Nick’s leg, rocking back and forth, stopped.
I leaned back on the couch, glass in hand, to keep it subtle as I glanced at his face.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about the smile seemed off.
With my arm tucked between us out of sight, I tugged at one of the belt loops in his jeans.
It wasn’t a kiss or snuggling next to the campfire, but I hoped he felt the bridge.
“Seamus, want to visit Boston sometime?”
Patrick smirked and pointed at his partner as if he already knew the answer.
“What does the city have that Firefly doesn’t?”
“Museums.” Patrick held up a hand, counting on his fingers. “Bars. Culture. Sports. People. Food.”
“We’ve got food.”
“The Bistro on Maine,” Patrick said. The smile spread across his face as his eyebrows rose, and he gave a sweeping gesture of the hand. “Opened by somebody from…” He made an audible gasp. “Boston!”
Seamus grumbled under his breath before sipping his whisky.
Their dynamic cracked me up. Seamus, a man of few words, and his partner, a talkative man quick with a joke.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see the similarities between Seamus and myself.
Why offer a lengthy monologue when a grunt would do?
“Nick, we need to discuss something important.” Patrick leaned back in his chair, holding his glass as if he were a supervillain about to release the hounds. “Lacie. I ran into her at the market. I—” He took a sip. “There are no words.”
Nick chuckled. “If that’s not the best description of her. Seamus would love her.”
Seamus huffed while Patrick laughed. Lacie and Seamus locked in a room. I’d pay money to watch that.
“Assless chaps pay his tuition.”
“All chaps are assless. And hey, whatever gets me tips.”