Chapter Two
Alicia - One Year Later
It’s buzzing at Paddy’s tonight. I haven’t had a moment to catch my breath, let alone pee.
Paddy is off mingling with the patrons, which leaves me manning the bar by myself, as usual.
God love Pat O’Nelly, but sometimes it feels like he thinks I’m Wonder Woman.
I probably brought that upon myself though since I insist on working six days a week.
Most of the time it’s not a big deal, but I’m in a piss-poor mood tonight.
Not even the sound of the Irish Trio playing pub songs can bring me out of it.
Bridget stayed out past curfew and came home high as a kite.
Whatever higher power thought that placing me as the sole provider and caretaker of a younger sibling was a good idea has overestimated me.
Our father went to prison when I was eighteen and my sister was six, and our mother just up and left without a word.
We haven’t seen or heard from her since.
As I was a legal adult, and had basically raised Bridget anyway, the State of North Carolina made me her guardian.
That was nine years ago. I tip my hat to all young, single moms out there. This gig is not for the weak.
My thoughts are interrupted when Norah Kennedy sits across the bar from me. Norah and I have been friends for a handful of years, but she only recently learned about my sister. I’m not ashamed of Bridget at all, but I tend to be a pretty private person.
“Hey, Alicia!” The redhead beams at me.
“Hello, Mrs. Kennedy!” Norah married Eamon, one of the Irish trio, a couple of months ago in Ireland, and that newlywed glow is radiating off of her. I don’t normally put much stock in love at first sight, but I got to witness their meet-cute and knew right away they were perfect for each other.
Norah giggles, her grin impossibly wider. “I haven’t grown tired of being called that yet.”
“No? Couldn’t tell,” I tease her. “Need another pint?”
“Nah. Just getting some space from the horde surrounding the guys.”
“They’re on fire tonight. Pat knew what he was doing when he begged them to play every month.”
I was against the idea at first. The trio consists of Eamon Kennedy, Teagan O’Brien, and none other than Rowan Gallagher.
They’ve been playing here since they transferred to UNCW from Ireland and found their way into the pub.
All of them sing but each play a different instrument.
Eamon on guitar, Teagan with a harmonica, and Ro usually plays the fiddle. He is Irish, through and through.
Our conversation pauses when Norah turns back to the stage.
As the door to the pub is pulled open, the little bell Pat recently installed tinkles, alerting us of incoming guests.
Setting down the glass I just finished drying, I make my way to the register to greet them.
The closer they get, the more I realize how strikingly gorgeous the two of them are. Especially together.
“What’ll it be, guys?”
The guy - tall, bearded, and ruggedly handsome - eyes the bottles shelved behind me and replies in a deep voice, “Whiskey, neat,” then nods to the curvy goddess with lilac-streaked chocolate tresses next to him, “And she’ll do a glass of your finest red.”
I rarely take a man’s word for it when he orders for his date who is right beside him. Women can make their own decisions. So, I look to her for confirmation.
“Red?”
She nods. “Please. But the house is fine.”
Content with that, I fill their order and set the glasses down in front of them. The guy opens a tab and I begin drying glasses again, listening to the low murmur of conversation between them. I smile to myself when she says, “They’re really good, Rhodes.”
Rhodes. I like that. It suits him somehow.
“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Norah answers, making me snort in amusement. “The dark-haired one, that’s my husband. I’m Norah.”
“Ames,” the girl replies. “This is Rhodes, my husband.”
A twinge of jealousy hits me. Everyone is married or getting married. I wouldn’t be surprised if Teagan O’Brien proposes to his girlfriend, Layla, soon. They’re just as in love as Norah and Eamon are.
“Ah. Well, you’ll have to have a pint before you leave, yeah? Maybe a bowl of Irish stew?” Norah tells the couple before yelling out, “Alicia!”
Oh lord. Here we go.
Eamon saunters toward the bar, eyes locked on Norah. “Aye, love. Who is this?”
“This is Ames and Rhodes. They’re in for a visit, and I was just getting ready to have Alicia pour them a pint.” She smiles mischievously at him.
He stretches a hand out to Rhodes. “I’m Eamon, this spitfire’s husband. Hopefully, she hasn’t asked Alicia to line them up yet.”
Rhodes doesn’t budge, keeping his grip firmly on his wife, but says humorously, “She was about to, I think.”
I lean my elbows on the bar and grin at Eamon. He tosses me a wink. “Do not line up a single glass, Alicia. All they need is a pint or two, yes?”
The night Eamon and Norah met, he accused her of not being able to hold her Guinness, so she challenged the Irishman to a drinking contest. They were pretty evenly matched until Pat came and broke it up. The rest is history.
Smirking, I grab a couple of glasses and turn to the Guinness tap, where I wait the allotted time between pulls.
When Pat hired me, the first thing he taught me was how to properly pour a Guinness.
Hold the glass at a forty-five-degree angle, aiming the nozzle of the tap towards the golden harp logo.
Fill the glass only to the top of the harp, then set it down and wait sixty to eighty seconds before filling it the rest of the way up.
It’s important to let it rest between pulls.
While it’s resting, I dart into the kitchen to ladle up a bowl of stew, as requested by my red-headed friend.
When I come back out, Eamon and Norah are bantering back and forth, while Ames and Rhodes watch on with amusement in their eyes.
The two couples are vastly different in demeanor, but it’s as plain as the noses on their faces that they’re deeply in love.
The twinge from earlier comes back. I look away, my eyes instinctively finding Rowan across the pub, talking with Pat.
I could easily blame it on his red hair and beard because they are eye-catching, but who am I kidding?
The guy is right up my alley. He has nearly as many tattoos as I do, has a great sense of humor, and the memory of his mouth and hands on my body will linger until the day I die.
As if my staring calls to him, his eyes snap to mine. The amusement in them turns questioning and his lips part like he wants to say something. I glance down immediately, telling myself it’s time to get back to pouring pints. I don’t let myself look at him again for the rest of the night.