Chapter Thirteen
“Jenny Monaghan!”
The crowd cheers. Like, they literally cheer. Some even burst into applause and wolf whistle as Bridget’s wife, Jenny, hurries up to us with a wide smile.
They might be drunk.
I mean, they’re definitely drunk.
But that means they’re buying an awful lot of raffle tickets.
“Next winner will be announced in thirty minutes,” Frank calls. “This one’s for the blender, folks. Used only once, according to Paudie.”
“We’re up five hundred euro already,” Jenny says, as I hand over her prize. “This was a great idea, Katie.”
It was, wasn’t it?
The pub is packed. More packed than I’ve ever seen it.
Outside of the Christmas season anyway. With only a month to go until the festival was supposed to start, we’d not only managed to get the whole village out to support, but also what felt like half of Rossbridge as well.
We had a few decent items for the raffle, signed GAA jerseys, some books, the blender.
But people are also chipping in with their own prizes.
Someone already bagged a free carpet cleaning service from Danny, and Bridget is offering a week’s worth of coffee.
She’s also the winner of Nush’s free color consultation and haircut, while Nush herself won my prize, which is the chance to make any drink she wants, on the house.
To my delight, she’s chosen one of my cocktails, and it’s her I return to now, slipping back behind the bar to find her putting the finishing touches on her glass.
“Perfect timing,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind, but I adapted your recipe. I don’t like pineapple. Or lime. Or orange juice.”
I frown. “Then why did you choose to make a Caribbean rum?”
“I don’t know; it sounded cool.”
“Katie!” Noah calls over from where he stands with Adam in front of the dartboard. “Are you watching?”
“Yes!” I say, turning to him.
“Mam, don’t look.”
“What?” Gemma glares at him from her seat by the bar. “Why can’t I look?”
“Because you do it weird.”
“How is it weird? I’m just looking.”
“ Mam .”
“Oh, for the love of—” She spins around to face me, doing as she’s told. “Why do you get to look?”
“Because he thinks I’m cool,” I tell her, and she scoffs, reaching for Nush’s cocktail only to almost spit it out at the first sip.
“What the hell is in that?” she coughs.
Nush looks affronted. “Rum.”
“How much rum?”
“Well, it’s a rum cocktail, Gemma. I don’t want to be stingy.”
I tune them out, slumping over the bar to watch Noah line up behind the throw line, his tongue peeking out between his teeth as he concentrates.
“Just like I showed you,” Adam says, adjusting his arm. “Remember your stance.”
Noah shuffles at Adam’s words, planting his feet on the ground before he takes a breath and throws. Those of us allowed to, watch as the dart bounces harmlessly off Jack Doyle’s left nostril and falls to the floor.
“Not too shabby,” Adam says, but Noah’s shoulders slump.
“I’m bad at it.”
“You’re not bad at it,” Adam says. “Katie’s bad at it.”
My mouth falls open. “It’s hard .”
“Very bad at it,” Adam mock whispers and Noah smiles a little. “You’re just moving too fast,” he says, shaking the kid’s shoulders until he loosens. “Take your time and let yourself go still. Then throw.”
“That’s what I did.”
“It was. But go even stiller this time. You’ll get there.”
Gemma has another sip of Nush’s cocktail, makes a face, and then takes a gulp. “Who’s that?” she asks me.
“Who’s who?”
“The guy who keeps staring at you.”
I frown, turning to face the crowd. “What are you—”
Callum.
He’s standing on the other side of the room, just inside the door, with a slightly lost expression, like he’s completely out of his element. Gemma didn’t exaggerate the staring thing. Our eyes meet as soon as I turn around, and I quickly spin back to the bar, my heart flipping over in my chest.
“Do you know him?” Gemma asks, watching me curiously.
Nush snatches her drink back and pokes at the ice. “Does she know who?”
“Mr. Handsome by the door.”
“You mean Frank?”
Gemma blinks at her. “ Frank ?”
“Frank’s handsome.”
“He’s thirty years older than you!”
“And he’s still got it,” Nush says, stung. “A girl can appreciate.”
“What’s Callum doing here?” Adam’s joined us now because sure, why not?
“ Callum ?” Gemma’s gaze narrows. “You know him too?”
“He works for Glenmill. One of Jack Doyle’s guys.”
Nush’s smile drops. “Glenmill? He’s a spy?”
“He’s not a spy,” I say, which is dumb because everyone’s attention swings back to me. “He’s not! He just works on the site. A lot of people work on the site.”
“But a lot of people don’t hang around with Jack Doyle,” Adam says. “Did you invite him here?”
“No,” I say. “And they don’t hang around.
They just work together. It’s not a big deal,” I add because all three of them have the exact same frown on their faces, which would be funny if it wasn’t directed at me.
“He’s the one who helped me with my traffic problem.
And he gave me a ride home from the city when it was raining.
And he helped Granny out with the garden. He got a whole corner cleared.”
“Sounds like your new best friend,” Gemma says flatly. “You don’t think it’s weird that he’s just around all the time?”
“I think it’s a small place and he works nearby, so no. I bump into you all the time too.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the same thing.”
“Katie?” Frank appears at the bar, gesturing to Adam for another drink. “It’s almost time for the next prize.”
“I’ll be right there,” I promise, as Nush gives Gemma an exasperated look.
“How do you not see it?” she asks. “That is big silver fox energy.”
“Oh my God.”
I hand out the prize. And then I hand out another.
And in between, I work the room, encouraging people to donate, explaining the festival, and ignoring Callum Dempsey.
For two whole hours, I ignore him. Or I pretend to, at least. Because I find the man impossible to ignore.
I’m aware of when he buys a raffle ticket from a beaming Bridget.
I’m aware when he gets a drink from a stony-faced Adam and finds a spot along the wall.
I’m aware when he starts talking to two men from Rossbridge, and I’m aware when he’s chatted up by a pretty redhead who keeps putting her hand on his arm before he politely excuses himself.
I’m aware when he goes to the freaking bathroom .
And I’m aware when he finally leaves. Slipping out around thirty minutes before closing time, with only a brief glance in my direction.
I try not to read too much into it. Especially when the other three are still watching me like hawks.
I throw myself into my work instead. Eventually we run out of prizes, Adam calls last orders, and the pub begins to empty as, one by one, the designated drivers patiently take their friends and families home.
A few of us stay to clean up and count the cash.
I’m so busy that he’s almost gone from my mind when I grab the last trash bag of the night and push open the door to the back.
There were some smokers out here earlier, but now the patio is deserted. Empty except for Callum, who’s leaning back against the wishing well, facing the lake.
He doesn’t hear me step out, probably lost in thought, because it’s only when I toss the bulging trash bag to the side that he glances over his shoulder, straightening when he sees me.
“Hey.”
“I thought you left.”
“No.”
No . I take a step closer, pulling the sleeves of my fleece down over my wrists. “It’s weird that you came here.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. You’ve been labeled a spy.”
“Must be a pretty bad one if I’ve been found out.”
“Well, if you’re not, then why are you here?”
He looks surprised by the question. “I figured this is where you’d be.”
Voices call to each other from around the front of the pub as more people leave, but no one comes out back and I don’t move from my spot, except to swing on the balls of my feet. I feel restless. Like I’m waiting for something, but I don’t know what.
He picks up on it, of course. I’m not exactly being subtle about it. “You okay?”
“You make me nervous,” I admit, and he nods like he knew that already.
“Good nervous or bad nervous?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Still got a chance then,” he says, and I have no idea what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all. “Or maybe not.” His expression grows thoughtful. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” I say quickly. I’m aware I’m being confusing, but that’s because I’m confused, and being this close to him isn’t helping matters.
More noises. More voices. Still, we’re left alone.
“Do you know how many projects like these I’ve been on?
” he asks, when I just stand there. “Dozens. This is the biggest one, but I’ve worked on office blocks and housing estates.
Hotels. Shopping centers. You always have to knock down to build up these days.
Always. And I’ve never thought about it before.
We’ve demolished houses and shops that were sometimes a hundred years old, and I’ve never cared about them.
It was always just a job. And I always just got on with it.
But with you…” He trails off, his brow furrowing like he’s figuring out his own thoughts as he says them.
“He’s nervous about this. Jack. He won’t say it, but I know he thought you’d fold after a couple of days.
The fact that you didn’t has him on edge.
You’re getting to him. And you should keep going.
If you want to save your pub, you should keep going. ”
I stare at him, confused. “You work for him.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t like what we’re doing here.
Or maybe I’m just bored and want to stir the pot.
” Callum’s gaze snags on mine, and the feel of it is so intense that I almost look away.
“Or maybe,” he continues. “It’s because I don’t know how I’m going to tear down your favorite place in the world when I can barely stand the thought of you getting caught in the rain. ”
There’s a strange pang in my chest, one that hurts in the best kind of way.
Green eyes, I decide. I like men with green eyes and men who look at me like that.
Like I’m the only person in the world.
He takes another step, closing the distance between us, and I force myself to keep still as he slowly, finally brushes a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
His lips are soft.
I don’t know why I’m so surprised by this. Maybe because the rest of him feels so tough, but his lips are very, very soft, and it’s all I can think about as he tilts his face, his nose skimming mine as my eyes flutter closed.
I hadn’t planned on getting kissed tonight.
I would have put on some Chapstick if I knew.
Maybe double-checked that chin zit I’d been diligently applying toothpaste to.
But as colossal as those worries were a second ago, they fly out the window as soon as he captures my bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug that I feel all the way down to my belly.
He does it again, and I shuffle closer, slipping a tentative hand between the folds of his open jacket.
His body feels hard beneath his T-shirt, hard and warm and perfect, and I curl my fingers into the material as his own hand burrows into the hair behind my ear, sending prickles of pleasure down my spine.
Oh man, I could do this all night. All night and tomorrow night and the night after that and the night after—
“Ahem.”
The pointed cough breaks through the haze I’d slipped under, and I break away so fast I almost get whiplash.
Gemma stands in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. I have no idea how long she’s been watching us. But I know it’s too long. And even with her scarily neutral expression I know she’s not happy.
“Adam’s looking for you,” she says, when neither of us moves. “And I’m going to head if you want to say goodbye to Noah.”
“Right.” I duck my head, not looking at Callum as I grab the trash bag from where I left it and hurry to the shed. “Just give me a second,” I call back.
My heart is thumping for all the wrong reasons now, and when I return to the pub, Callum has vanished, and Gemma is looking at me with that stern Mam expression that usually sends Noah running in the opposite direction. And now I understand why.
“Katie—”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. And way to be a creeper, by the way.”
“You were standing right outside the door. Apologies for using it. Look, I’m not Nush,” she says, when I try to move past. “I don’t think everyone who works there is the devil. But just think. He still works for them, and I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
“It was just a kiss. I’ve been very stressed and he’s very handsome and I just wanted a little kiss in the moonlight, okay? Drop it.”
“Fine,” Gemma mutters, and though I know she’s not finished with the conversation, she obviously takes pity on me because she turns back to the pub. “But at least do it in a shadowy corner like normal people,” she adds, and nudges me inside.