What the hell was I doing?
Comforting her was one thing.
Touching her was something else, especially when my brain kept supplying helpful images of exactly how and where I wanted to touch her.
An instant later, she sat upright and pulled her phone from her pocket. “Time to stop messing around and do this right. Checklist time.” She tapped and swiped. Frowned and shook her head, then nodded. “This will do. You said you can get word out at the newspaper. Are you sure it’s not too late?”
“Nope.” I tapped my phone where it rested in my pocket. “I can send an email now. Barb has been waiting on me to let her know the plan. She’s promised to hold a spot.”
“Right. Small town. I almost forgot how different the rules are here.” Her frown deepened. “Can you update the social media sites too? I’ll take care of printing pictures and decorating the pub, but I need you to double check that we have all the supplies to have both parties back to back.”
“I’ll take care of that this afternoon.” I checked my watch. Two more hours until we officially opened for the day, but there were a few regulars who’d shuffle over an hour early in hopes of some gossip and hot coffee.
It wouldn’t be hard to get the word out. Once those two old codgers heard the news, they’d spread it like wildfire.
Add in a few phone calls to friends and an announcement on the radio combined with the paper releasing in the morning.
Every person in town should know in plenty of time to come by. Hell. I’d better double up on the Bailey’s and Guinness.
Maeve would’ve loved it. The chaos and the noise, the whole town turning up to send her off. She’d have been right in the thick of it, telling stories and pouring drinks until someone physically removed the bottle from her hands.
The pub wouldn’t be the same without her.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see her, still hear her voice cutting through the crowd to call someone out for being an idiot or to welcome a regular like family.
We might be a small town, but we also knew how to throw one hell of a going away party.
Bree hadn’t had that.
My throat tightened as I took in her carefully controlled posture and too-tight expression. She kept it together, but the strain showed. “What about desserts?” I kept the question light, remembering how she took offense to Finn’s comment last night. “Maeve always said it wasn’t a party without cake.”
Bree pushed air through flattened lips. “She always loved the spice cake from the bakery, but she always asked to have it made special. I never knew what she asked for.”
“I do, and Duncan, the baker who took over after his mother passed, has the recipe. I’ll call him.”
A few quick blinks tamped down the sheen in her eyes. “You really know a lot about her.”
“Honey, I practically live here. I’ve known Maeve longer than I knew my own parents. She’s the one who taught me that hangover recipe.” I laughed at the memory of the first time I’d needed it.
“What?” Bree looked around like she might find the answer behind me.
I took a minute to gather myself. “The first time I ever drank, I didn’t realize how powerful Maeve’s stuff was. I overdid it. By a lot. She found me sick as a dog in the back alley, puking my guts up. Once she finished laughing, she lectured me, then taught me how to fix it.” My throat convulsed, and I turned my head to avoid looking at Bree.
My pain was nothing compared to hers.
“I called her on my twenty-first birthday and asked what I should drink to celebrate.” Bree’s watery laugh wrenched my heart. “She told me to stick with coffee.”
A breath wheezed through my lungs. “Sounds like her. I’m sure people will have all sorts of stories about her tomorrow.”
“I wish I had a chance to hear them from her.” She stood and paced between two sets of tables.
Her arms swung by her sides, but the tightness in her hands and the way she held her head stiff and slightly too high, showed her grief.
She fought it admirably and most people might not notice the strain.
“If she was here, she’d give you hell about last night.” I rested the back of my head on the edge of the booth and gave her a grin. “And about Finn.”
It was the closest I was willing to get to asking outright what happened.
