Chapter 5
The lunch rush was finally over—thank God.
It had been one of those relentless midday stampedes where the orders never stopped coming, the fryer never shut up, and the plates seemed to multiply on their own.
But somehow, they’d made it through without a single disaster.
No spills, no fights, no customers storming out. A small miracle.
Keefe rolled his shoulders and ran a hand down his apron as he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors, already tasting the cold beer he planned to grab from behind the bar.
What he hadn’t expected was to walk straight into a front-row seat of Ginny at full wattage.
There she was—Southern charm personified—laughing with a pair of older tourists who had clearly fallen a little in love with her over lunch. She leaned just slightly on the bar, smiling wide, her accent syrupy-smooth as she promised to save them extra brown bread if they came back tomorrow.
He paused just inside the doorway, watching. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. The way one of the old men patted his chest like he needed CPR after she winked at him as she crossed the floor to a table.
Keefe grinned.
Southern Charm Ginny had struck again.
Keefe poured himself a half pint of Harp—just enough to take the edge off the long shift—and perched at the back of the bar where he had a perfect view of the dining room.
He didn’t mean to keep watching her, but there was something about the way Ginny moved through the space, chatting easily with customers, that kept his attention. She was sunshine wrapped in sass.
Just then, Ginny dropped her receipt book and bumped heads with a male customer as they both bent to retrieve it. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the most graceful woman alive, but who ever said angels had to float across the floor?
The next table brought out an entirely new side of her, though—and nearly made him spit his beer all over the floor.
“You just remember now,” Ginny said, deadly serious as she balanced dirty dishes on her tray, “don’t look the sheep in the eye.”
The tourists—two American women dressed head to toe in waterproof clothing, and a man in socks and sandals—froze.
“Why?” the man asked, wide-eyed.
Ginny didn’t flinch. “Because they’ll drop dead where they stand,” she snapped her fingers, “and it’s illegal. They’ll send you to jail for a whole year. But that’s only if the farmer doesn’t shoot you first.”
Keefe choked on his sip of beer and had to turn around, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
Ginny continued as if delivering an official safety lecture.
“So, unless y’all can outrun a bullet,” she looked down at the man’s socks and sandals, “well, honey, that’s about as likely as a squirrel at a greyhound race.
I’d steer clear. The police take forever to get out here anyway—narrow roads and all, you know. Honestly, I wouldn’t risk it.”
She gave them a sweet smile and walked away as if she hadn’t just terrified three grown adults.
Keefe was still laughing when she ducked behind the bar, setting her tray down. “That was... awesome.”
Ginny grinned. “I confess, I heard your sister say it once. I wasn’t even sure I’d remembered it right.”
“You remembered it perfectly.” He shook his head. “She’s taught you too well.”
“Well,” Ginny said, dusting her hands and glancing over at him, “I won’t let her influence me too much. Wouldn’t want to go ruining this sweet nature of mine.”
“God forbid.”
They shared a quiet smile, the kind that lingered. The bar felt unusually calm for a change—no clatter of glasses, no loud music, no Sophie yelling from the kitchen. Just the two of them in the golden hush of late afternoon.
“Anyway,” Keefe said, clearing his throat, “since you’ve been handling everything so well while Sophie’s been off honeymooning… I baked you a thank-you pie.”
Ginny’s eyes lit up. “You baked me a pie?”
“Cherry.”
“Keefe O’Brian,” she gasped with mock shock, “are you buttering me up?”
He shrugged. “I could be, but you earned it.”
She walked around the bar to reach the kitchen, probably to sneak a peek at the pie cooling on the counter, but her heel caught on the mat by the register, and in one swift, cartoon-like motion, she tripped.
Keefe dropped his beer on the bar and caught her before she went full splat, arms around her waist as she bumped into his chest. “That was graceful,” he teased.
“Sometimes I swear this place has it out for me,” she said, breathless and red-faced.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine.” She blinked up at him, still tucked against him like they were slow dancing. For a second, her smile faltered—just slightly—but then it came back, softer this time. Less for show, more just for him.
“Sorry I’m such a klutz. My daddy always says that I’m like a duck on roller skates.”
“That seems a bit harsh.” He said it, but whether or not he actually meant it was up for debate. She really did have a clumsy side. How she managed to waitress so well was a bit of a head-scratcher.
“I know. Rude, right?”
From the far end of the bar came a voice that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Do you know, I just passed a pack of tourists out on the road and they’re all mad as feck!”
Slightly startled, Keefe turned his head. Sure enough, there he was. The scarecrow-faced man, somehow already perched on his usual stool, elbows on the bar like he'd been sitting there all afternoon. No one ever saw him come or go. He just... was .
“Shieldin’ their eyes like this.” He lifted both hands to the sides of his face, palms out like blinders. “Walkin’ around like they’re afraid of makin’ eye contact with the grass!”
He glanced between Keefe and Ginny, visibly annoyed but also mildly curious. “What the feck is that all about, do you suppose? Jesus, they’re gettin’ crazier by the minute I say.”
Keefe let Ginny go, still grinning as he picked up his half-finished pint. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said into his glass.
* * *
Rain came down in sheets, hammering the pub’s windows and roaring against the roof like a thousand tiny fists.
Ginny flipped their open sign to closed then stood near the door, staring out into the watery evening.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t all that dark. She smiled.
It never truly got dark here this time of year—or so she’d been told. Not even in a rainstorm.
“Jesus Christ! This rain is biblical!” she cried, pulling her sweater tight around her shoulders.
Keefe dried his hands on a dish towel and laughed from behind the bar. “You’re starting to sound Irish, did you know that?”
“I am?” Ginny asked, brightening a little.
Keefe nodded, popping a bite of brown bread into his mouth. “You better be careful, or we won’t be able to tell you’re Southern anymore.”
“Well then, I’ll start every sentence with ‘Well, bless your heart’ just to keep my roots intact.”
He smiled as he leaned on the counter. “So, do you still like it here, or are you secretly making an escape plan to rush home to Dixie?”
She turned toward him, arms folded, hair slightly frizzy from the damp air. “You know, it’s the strangest thing—I don’t miss home at all. I love it here. With you, with Sophie, the pub, our customers. I meet new people every day and I’m really getting to know our regulars.”
“We have that many regulars?”
“Oh, definitely,” Ginny said, ticking names off on her fingers. “There’s Diane Marie—isn’t that a sweet name? She’s crazy about your triple chocolate cream pie. And Nancy Birkett—you know, the one with the rhinestone fairy pin and the pensioner sass?”
He didn’t, of course, being in the kitchen, but he let her continue as if he did.
“She’s the sweetest lady. And, you know, sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever get together with our stranger. I see them talking and flirting. It’s just the sweetest thing.”
Keefe tilted his head. “Stranger?”
Ginny nodded toward the end of the bar. “Yeah. You know, that fella who looks kinda like a scarecrow or something? The one who just appear s like a ghost every few days? He’s never told me his name, and Sophie says he was in the snug with her and Liam once.” Ginny giggled at that.
Keefe chuckled. “You mean the same man who interrupted our moment earlier?” He’d heard of this man but hadn’t met him—until today apparently.
“The very one,” she said with a grin. “He wears a wedding ring, but I get the feeling he’s a widower.
Don’t know why, just... something in the way he talks.
It makes me a little sad, imagining him going home to a big old empty house.
But I like to think he’s got a dog—one of those big shaggy ones that drools a lot.
Maybe he talks to it over tea and they watch television together, and when they go to bed the dog takes up most of it.
But, of course, the man doesn’t mind. And then in the morning when he has his breakfast, he pours a little coffee into a bowl for the dog to have. ”
Keefe smiled as she spoke, watching the way her eyes softened when she got lost in a story.
“You’ve got quite the imagination,” he said, wiping down the bar again even though it was already clean.
“Helps pass the time,” she replied. “Well, I guess I’m done for the night, which is fine because I am tired, so I’ll go upstairs now. You drive safe in this rain, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Keefe tipped his head like he was wearing a cowboy hat, and Ginny laughed softly before disappearing up the stairs to her room.
He watched the staircase for a moment after she was gone, a faint smile still tugging at his mouth. Then, as he turned back to the bar, something caught his eye.
The cherry pie.
Untouched.
He frowned, walking over. The crust had cooled, the filling no longer steaming. He stared at it for a moment, then let out a slow breath through his nose.