Chapter 3
QUINN
Idive into learning how to run a bar headfirst, practicing the pour of a perfect pint of Guiness with Maeve, who has the patience of a saint.
The rich aroma of roasted barley from the beer mixes with the hearty scents of meat and vegetables from Gramps’ shepherd’s pie recipe wafting from the kitchen.
As I sigh in frustration at my latest attempt to pour a beer, Maeve gently encourages me.
“You’ll get it, hun. It took me months of practice to perfect the pint.
The secret’s in the double pour. Hold the glass at a forty-five degree angle, slowly tilting it back upright as you pour.
Stop the tap when the beer gets to the top of the “K” logo on the glass.
Let it set for about a minute and a half, then top it off with just the right amount of foam for a nice creamy head.
And one last thing: when you place the glass in front of the customer, make sure the Kavanaugh logo is facing them. ”
I grin at Maeve. “Now why didn’t I think of that? It’s the perfect marketing strategy!”
My fingers trace the deep grooves in the bar’s wood as I listen to the regular patrons spinning stories about my grandfather and my parents, who according to Maeve, met in the pub.
As I continue to practice, more regulars trickle in as the word seems to be out that Kavanaugh’s is open again with the long-lost granddaughter at the helm.
Most of them don’t bother to hide their curiosity about me.
Another tip I received from Maeve is that engaging with customers is just as important as having ice cold Guiness available on tap.
I patiently answer all the questions with a smile, offering up my own stories about memories of my grandfather, and some initial ideas about how to preserve his legacy within the pub.
When evening comes, the regulars are still sitting around the bar, many of them enjoying shepherd’s pie, when Kane O’Brien comes strolling in. Everyone looks toward the door when he enters, as the atmosphere in the bar turns to one of anticipation, mixed with curiosity.
Kane gives a wave of greeting to the crowd, then stops once he sees me come out from behind the bar.
“What can I do for you, Mr. O’Brien?
He’s a brave man, walking in here after I slammed the door in his face earlier. He has the nerve to look sheepish, scratching his head and cocking it to the side.
“I, uh, was wondering…”
Now that my head is not throbbing, I can study him more clearly. As I look up into his crystal blue eyes and note the faint five-o’clock shadow covering his jaw, I find it hard to focus on what he’s saying. Dammit. Why does he have to be so attractive? “I’m sorry, what?”
He clears his throat. “I’d like to send some customers your way, if it’s alright. We’re at capacity, and I hate to make them wait. That is, if you’re willing to accommodate them.”
I continue to face him, distrust not letting him out of my sight. Is this some kind of test? Even though I don’t trust his motives, he is easy on the eyes.
“Maeve!” I yell across the bar. “How many shepherd’s pies do we have left?”
She steps out from the back, wiping her hands on a bar towel and giving a nod to Kane.
“I suppose we could feed about two dozen or so. Of course we’ve got plenty of beer on tap if they just want a drink.”
“Send them over. And thank you.”
When Kane turns away to exit the bar, I can’t help but to also notice the fit of his jeans on his rear and the broad shoulders beneath his button-down shirt. He’s dangerous coming and going. I have a feeling he’s going to be much more of a risk to my heart than to my business. Dammit.