Bree propped her hip against the edge of the bar and surveyed the space. If she had any misgivings about what happened the other night, she didn’t let them show.
“You know, Maeve once let me sleep in here.” Duncan, the baker from down the street, lifted his mug in a toast. “Great woman, that Maeve.”
“Stop getting yourself put in the doghouse and you wouldn’t need a place to sleep.” Tom cupped his hands around his mouth and hooted at Duncan, who waved him off with a sappy grin.
One by one, people stood to tell their memories of Maeve.
Bree smiled through Mrs. O’Malley’s pointed reminders of how Maeve loved her flowers and her pretty dresses.
She let ole Tom kiss both her cheeks and tell her she looked just like Shayla.
That one made her eyes go glassy, but she blinked away the tears and kept going.
She was so damned strong it melted any resistance I managed to dredge up.
The party hit its stride around the third hour. Someone convinced Father Murphy to abandon his mineral water for a proper drink.
Someone started singing bawdy pub songs that would’ve made Maeve howl with laughter then join in. People danced between tables, spilling drinks and not giving a damn.
All in all, it was one hell of a going away party and a celebration of the woman we’d all loved.
I kept one eye on Bree through all of it.
She circulated through the crowd with a tray of shamrock mugs filled to the brim. Every time someone stopped her, she listened.
And she never once looked at me like I’d done something wrong.
The knot in my gut loosened a notch.
Declan stopped beside me, warning glare shining as he dried his hands on a towel. “You planning on spending the whole night eye-fucking her from across the room?”
“Jealous?” I took a long pull from my Guinness, uncertain if it was my second or fifth. “You were the one who warned me to stay out of her bed. Just doing what I’m told.” I saluted him with my mug. “Don’t worry. I’m sure there’s someone here willing to give you attention since you’re so jealous of mine.”
He backhanded my shoulder. Same spot as always, and my drink sloshed over the rim. “She’s grieving, Finn. Don't be a bastard.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I meant it too. Whatever happened between me and Bree, if anything happened, it would be on her terms. Sober this time.
Declan grunted and walked away.
The hell with him and what he thought I should or shouldn’t do.
The crowd thinned as midnight approached. Older folks headed home first, then the families with kids nodding off in corners.
The die-hards remained.
Those were the ones who’d known Maeve the longest and loved her hardest.
Stories turned quieter, more introspective and intimate.
The “Do you remember the time?” stories gathered rapt audiences that brought less laughter and more tears.
I gravitated toward Bree, who’d found a spot in the corner and sat listening to yet another tale. She’d kicked her shoes off and sat with her arms folded on top of the table.
“Mind if I sit?” I gestured at the empty space across from her.
She patted the bench next to her and grinned. “Please. As long as you don’t mind bare feet. Mine are dying in those shoes.”
I slid in, close enough her warmth seeped into my side without touching. “Hell of a party.”
