Chapter 5
QUINN
“Aah-choo!” I can’t hold back the huge sneeze. As soon as I let it out, my nose twitches with the threat of another. I manage to fend off the second one before complaining to Maeve.
“When was the last time this place was thoroughly cleaned? Especially the mahogany wood? There’s so much dust everywhere. I’m going to polish this bar until it shines!”
I really don’t expect an answer from Maeve, as it’s painfully obvious that a significant amount of time has passed since the bar has had a good dusting.
The old-fashioned cash register that hasn’t been used to hold money since long before I was born still sits in a prominent place in front of the large mirror behind the bar.
It’s as much of a fixture in the pub as the colorful stained-glass windows by the front door.
I wouldn’t dream of getting rid of it, but boy, does it need a cleaning.
It doesn’t take me long to locate Gramps’ stash of Bar Keeper’s Friend cleaner and a pub rag.
I polish the antique until the brass is gleaming once again in all of its golden glory.
As I’m cleaning behind the register and below the mirror, I see a groove in the wood.
A closer examination reveals a small trap door, a hidden compartment of some sort.
I press on the wood and the door pops open, revealing some personal effects of my grandfather’s, including a leather-bound journal.
I carefully remove the book that smells of whiskey and possibilities.
Putting down the rag, I take a seat at the bar, abandoning my cleaning duties for now, ready to explore what’s before me.
I carefully open the cover, revealing pages yellowed with age.
The first page reveals the contents: the Kavanaugh family recipe book with notes and family history.
The date on the book is 1952, the same year Gramps’ parents opened Kavanaugh’s Korner.
I take notice of my great-grandma Annie’s beautiful cursive writing, documenting family history and authentic recipes all the way back to the late-1800s in Dublin.
Inspired by the handwritten entries and family history, I grab a pen and note pad to begin drafting a business plan to revitalize the tavern, returning it to its Irish roots and restoring the traditional authentic atmosphere and cuisine, while introducing modern business practices and updated technology.
I map out a new menu consisting of hearty Irish breakfast offerings, cozy comfort foods, and classic Irish desserts.
As I continue to jot down notes, rather than typing them into a tablet or laptop—perhaps an old habit from my Kavanaugh ancestors—an idea hits me. I wonder if we still have any of the vintage advertising signs or posters for the bar to provide inspiration. Maybe they’re stored in the basement.
Making my way to the cellar, I flip the lights on and descend into the storage area, the air ripe with moisture.
I see some old signage and stacks of flyers in the corner.
As I move closer, the smell of wet cardboard is more intense, and then I spot the cause.
A pipe is slowly leaking. Apparently, it has been for a while, as evidenced by the degree of dampness.
Over time, the drip from the pipe has saturated the entire corner.
“Great. Gotta love old buildings and old pipes,” I mutter to myself as I climb back up the stairs.
“Maeve! Do we know any plumbers?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I was just down in the basement looking for some stuff. There’s a pipe leaking. We need to take care of it now before we have a major problem on our hands.”
“Oh, dear. I’m not sure.” She pauses for a moment. “Kane’s pretty handy. I bet he’d be willing to take a look.”
Sheesh. Asking the enemy for help feels like making a deal with the devil. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be better to call in a professional?”
“It could be something minor and wouldn’t you rather save the expense?
Neighbors are supposed to help one another out, you know.
We would do the same if the tables were turned, regardless of competition.
Swallow your pride and accept the helping hand.
If it’s easier, I’ll go ask him. Kane is respectful to his elders. He won’t turn me down.”
I let my breath out in a huff. “The pub is my responsibility, so I’ll go ask him.”
I grudgingly accept the help from a smirking Kane, who comes over a few minutes later with tools in hand, claiming some expertise at dealing with old pipes. Since he’s helping us out, the least I can do is stand by and hand him tools while he works.
After leading him down the stairs, I show him the site of the leak. He pulls out a cloth from his pocket to wipe the water away from the pipe.
“Fortunately, an easy fix. I just need to replace that old clamp and you should be good to go. I’ve got a spare lying around over at my place.”
I sigh in relief. Cash is not exactly flowing through the pub yet, and I need to invest what money I do have in making some other repairs and refreshing both the inside and outside of my building.
As Kane works, he makes conversation. “So, how’s it going so far? Is coming back to Pelican Point what you thought it would be?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what I expected.”
Then, I make a confession, and as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back.
Too much information. “Initially, I didn’t plan to stay.
But when I walked back into the pub for the first time after so many years, I could feel my grandfather’s presence all around me. It felt right. So I’m here to stay.”
He looks over at me as I’m saying the last part, which is a good thing. I want him to see my determination, my will to make Kavanaugh’s great again. Surprisingly, he seems to understand where I’m coming from.
“I know what you mean about it feeling right. It’s in our blood. Did you know our respective great-grandparents opened the competing pubs in the 1950s? And the history between our families goes back even further than that.”
“I really don’t know anything about the history since I’ve never been involved in the operations of the bar. I moved North right after high school. But it seems weird to have two Irish pubs right across from one another, doesn’t it?”
“My father thought so. He was very interested in buying out Kavanaugh’s. Your grandfather has been running it for as long as I can remember.”
That’s my cue, I suppose, to tell him about my mom and dad. “I guess my parents would have been running the pub if they were still alive. They died in a car accident when I was twelve. That’s why Gramps raised me and was the only Kavanaugh around to run the bar until he died.”
I can see sympathy in Kane’s eyes. Maybe he’s not the asshole I initially thought he was.
“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t know that.
I was still a kid myself when that happened.
My Dad passed away, too.” He runs his fingers through his hair before continuing.
“My mother—I don’t remember her at all. She left when I was a baby.
My Dad and my Gramma raised me. And my Dad, he got cancer when I was away playing pro soccer overseas.
I came home to be with him and to take over the business. ”
“That must have been very difficult for you.”
“Yeah, it was. Seems we have at least one thing in common—raised by a grandparent.”
“Speaking of family—I was cleaning today and found something very interesting—an old ledger filled with family notes and recipes. The reason I came down here earlier and spotted the leak is because I was looking for more old memorabilia from the pub.”
“That’s cool—the ledger I mean.”
“Yes, some of the notes and recipes go all the way back to Ireland.”
He lets out a low whistle. “There’s a lot of history in our families.
Perhaps my father didn’t know there would be anyone around after Connor to keep Kavanaugh’s going.
Apparently, both he and my grandmother thought the pubs could be merged one day and plans were developed.
That’s why I inquired with your grandfather about selling.
I thought maybe he was ready to retire. I didn’t know about you. ”
I no longer think he’s rude, but I’m still not sure I can trust him. I make it clear to him that I’m not going anywhere. “While I appreciate your help, I need to remind you again. Kavanaugh’s is not for sale.”
“Fair enough. But if you change your mind, please let me know.”
When we emerge from the basement, there’s a guy I’ve never seen before sitting at the bar talking to Maeve. I can clearly see the tension on her face, as well as a hostile look being exchanged between the man and Kane. Who is this guy?
As we approach, he rises from the barstool and walks over to me, hand extended.
“You must be Quinn, Connor’s granddaughter. I’m Darren. Darren Kennedy.”
I return the handshake, his grip so weak and slimy I feel like wiping my hands on a bar rag to rid myself of his sweat. But I try to remain polite. “Mr. Kennedy.”
“Please. Call me Darren. Your grandfather always did. My family has been involved in the beer distribution business in South Florida for generations. As a matter of fact, I was in discussions with your grandfather to take over all your tap lines and become your exclusive supplier.”
Seriously? This guy who I don’t even know walks in and tells me he and my grandfather were embarking on a business relationship.
And he doesn’t even have the good grace to offer condolences for Gramps’ passing before attempting to talk business.
Even though I’ve spent most of my adult years working in a large city, I recall from growing up here that common courtesy and Southern hospitality come before business in Pelican Point.
My irritation bubbles to the surface. “Oh? I’m not aware of any pending contracts for my grandfather. I own Kavanaugh’s now, and I’m still in the process of determining what business relationships I’ll be entering into going forward. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
I can spot a fake smile a mile away and Darren’s is not fooling me one bit. “Of course. I’m sure you need some time to sort everything out.” He slaps a business card down on the bar.
“I’ll be waiting for your call.”