Chapter 3 #2
“No.” She tilted her chin toward a wall-mounted board listing the two items she mentioned. “When I said special tonight, I meant that was all we were serving tonight.”
“Right. No vegetarians in Ballybeg?” I asked.
“Oh, my Lord, are you one of those vegan people?” Dee exclaimed in mock horror and then went back to speaking dryly, “If you are, you’re gonna be one hungry puppy.”
“No, I’m not.” I grinned. “I’m good with the stew and the bread pudding, ma’am. And to drink…whatever you recommend that’s on tap.”
She huffed. “We don’t have any of that fancy IPA shit you Yanks like.”
“Something local,” I suggested, and that softened her.
“Well.” She pulled a beer for me and set it in front of me. “This is a Dooliner Irish Lager. It’s brewed right here near the Cliff of Moher.”
I took a sip and nodded appreciatively.
“Lass, get me another Smitticks, will ya?” Liam asked.
Dee pulled him a pint, and as she watched me staring at the red liquid, she arched an eyebrow. “It’s an Irish red ale, spelled Smithwick but pronounced Smitticks.”
I nodded.
“It’s smooth, slightly sweet, and a classic choice for those like Liam Murphy who can’t handle their Guinness anymore,” she explained with sarcastic saccharine sweetness.
Liam growled. “Now, don’t be insultin’, Dee. Every Irishman worth his salt takes pride in drinkin’ a perfectly poured pint of Guinness.” Then he looked at me as he rubbed his chest. “It gives me heartburn these days.”
Dee went to the other end of the bar to take care of a patron, and another older man, who was wiry and wore thick glasses, and was sitting at a table near us, walked up and thumped Liam on his back. “You sly bastard, Liam, back at it with Dee, are ya?”
Liam let out a snort of laughter, and then the man looked at me. “You the Yank with the Porsche?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who are you callin’, sir?” He turned to his companion at the table. “He’s callin’ me sir,” he complained.
“You can call me sir.” His companion, who was balding and wore suspenders, came up to where Liam and I sat. He pulled at the suspenders, leading with a pot belly. “Sir Fintan, I like it.”
I was introduced to the other two men: Sir Fintan and Liam Ryan.
I learned that the two Liams and one Fintan were the Three Musketeers of Ballybeg.
After he finished his pint, Liam joined his friends at the table to play cards.
As I looked around, I realized that The Banshee’s Rest was a community center of sorts for the village.
There were families, people young and old, and a sense of camaraderie that was probably prevalent in small towns and villages.
Definitely very different from Charleston.
The server came up behind me. “Pardon my reach. Here’s your stew.”
I moved to let her set the big bowl, a plate of thick soda bread, and a small bowl of whipped herb butter in front of him. “Enjoy. Ronan makes the best stew in all of Ireland.”
I glanced at the steaming bowl, which smelled like heaven. “If this tastes as good as it smells, I might just move in.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “You should,” she said breathlessly.
“Go on, lass.” Dee banged her hand on the weathered counter, making me jump.
The server made a face. “She thinks you’re too old for me,” she complained.
I blinked. Say what?
“I said you’re rich enough to be as old as you like.”
I cleared my throat. If there was a Candid Camera somewhere, I wanted them to let me know now. “Ah, I’m flattered, but Dee is right, I am too old for—”
“Get going, Saoirse,” Dee snapped.
The server flipped her auburn braid and marched away.
“You keep your pants zipped up around that one,” she warned.
Okay, that was taking it too far. “She’s a child, and that warning is insulting.” I couldn’t keep the anger or hurt out of my voice.
Dee immediately (and surprisingly) became sheepish. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair. You want another beer? On the house.”
This woman was a bunch of contradictions, now, wasn’t she?
I accepted her apology. “I’d like that.”
I had to admit that I was enjoying myself.
People came by and chatted with me, and no one except for the server, who I think was yanking my chain, cared about who I was and what I did. They accepted that I was a stranded tourist and told me that Paddy would do a fine job with the car, even though it was his first Porsche.
Nikolai was going to murder me.
The bread pudding was excellent, as I’d been told it would be, as the stew had been.
I was happy as a clam. When Dee served me an Irish coffee with two homemade cookies, I knew I’d gotten lucky to end up here with good food, great company, and a sense of home that was comforting for even a stranger like me.
I felt someone touch my thigh. I looked down to see a toddler, a girl who waved a chubby hand at me.
“Hi there.” I grinned at the kid.
She gave me a thousand-watt smile that all but blinded me.
“Don’t let that smile fool you,” the man sitting next to me said, raising a pint of Guinness. “That one’s a tyrant when she wants to be.” He leaned closer. “Gets it from her mother.”
“Biscuit.” The little tyrant pointed at my plate. “You got two. You gimme one.”
Okay, so young children around the world are told about stranger danger and not to approach people in bars and ask for cookies. I looked around for the person who was her parent and saw a woman who was nursing a baby, a shawl over the baby’s head.
The mother, I presumed, looked at her toddler. “Now, Fiadh, you already had one biscuit. You can’t have another.”
“He has two,” the toddler protested.
Dee picked up little Fiadh. “You stealin’ biscuits, love?” She nuzzled the little girl’s neck, making her giggle.
“Eamon, take care of your daughter,” the mother yelled.
I looked around to see who Eamon was and realized it was the man who’d called Fiadh a little tyrant.
“I’m drinkin’ me Guinness, love, and you know well enough that when I am, I need me peace."
“I’ll give you peace once this one’s done nursing, you wanker,” the mother threatened.
Eamon didn’t seem affected. The toddler wiggled, making demanding sounds.
“You gonna eat both?” Dee asked me of the cookies sitting on the saucer of my coffee cup.
I shook my head.
Dee snagged the cookie…er, biscuit, and gave it to Fiadh, who took it like it was a champion’s trophy. She wriggled out of Dee’s grasp, cried out a “thank you” to me, and ran back to her mother.
“When she has cavities, I’m gonna send the dentist’s bills to you, Dee,” the mother called out.
“Whatever.” Dee waved airily. When she went back behind the bar, she stood in front of Eamon. “Get your ass back to your wife before she cuts your balls off.”
Eamon scoffed but did as Dee instructed. I turned to see that his wife glared at him but let him kiss her lips.
“You good?” I heard Dee ask me.
I met her gaze, and suddenly, the pub seemed quieter, smaller, like it was just the two of us there. “Yeah, I’m good,” I breathed.
Her lips curved into the faintest smirk, and I knew, right then and there, that pursuing this Wildcat, when I’d pursued no other woman, was going to be a whole hell of a lot of fun.