He nodded a few times and took a step in retreat. “No problem. I’ll meet you by the truck when you’re done.”
Having cleaned up for the day, Morgan walked past his little brother, a knowing grin plastered wide on his face. This time, Ryan didn’t say a word, he merely grabbed his hat and waited for Nicole to lead the way. Sometimes brothers were a real pain in the neck.
O’Farredeigh’s looked exactly like the kind of pub that lived in small-town stories—warm light glowing through old glass, a carved wooden sign over the door, and laughter spilling out every time someone came or went.
Behind Ryan, Nicole stepped inside and paused just past the threshold. The place was cozy, all dark wood and scuffed floors, a long bar to the left, booths and small round tables scattered to the right. The scent of corned beef and fresh bread made her stomach rumble despite Molly’s substantial lunch. Ryan led her past the bar where a man who had clearly been chiseled from the same Farraday rock pulled a draft.
Catching her stare, Ryan lifted his chin in the bartender’s direction. “That’s Jamison. Owns the place. His wife Abbie owns the café. You’ll probably meet her tonight as well. She usually pops in for at least a few minutes depending on who’s watching the kids.”
They wove between tables to where Morgan and Valerie had already claimed a large corner table. Quinn and Eloise sat opposite them. Meg and Adam slid around to make room. Morgan and Valerie claimed the chairs on the other side. Aunt Eileen and Uncle Sean sat side by side at the head of the table. Nicole settled into the remaining spot beside Ryan, their backs to the wall, giving her a view of most of the room.
“Glad you were brave enough to join us.” Sean Farraday smiled up at her, his wife chatting animatedly with a woman at the table beside theirs.
The pub’s patrons started clapping, a few whistling. Aunt Eileen made a show of protesting, but she was already walking toward the stage.
“What’s happening?” Nicole whispered to Ryan.
“You’ll see.”
The music shifted again—a slow, jazzy tune began to play, something Nicole almost recognized. Aunt Eileen took themicrophone, closed her eyes for a beat, then opened her mouth. She began to sing. Nicole’s mouth nearly fell open. This wasn’t the brisk, “walk it off” matriarch from the ranch. Her voice was rich, smoky, and carried an effortless, professional grace that seemed to expand to fill every corner of the room.
Around them, the pub had gone quiet. Even the kitchen sounds had dimmed. Nicole’s gaze shifted from the family to matriarch to Ryan watching his aunt, a soft smile on his face. His fingers drummed the table in time with the music, unconscious and easy. The entire family had a sweet look of love and admiration on their faces. Had anyone ever asked her, she would have sworn families like this only existed in sitcoms from the previous century. Suddenly, she longed for a big boisterous family of her own. Brothers and sisters to pick on each other, parents, aunts and uncles to puff proudly at your accomplishments, a bond that made anywhere they went feel like home.
The song ended. The pub erupted in applause. Aunt Eileen took a small bow, replaced the microphone in the stand, and returned to her seat beside her husband.
Nicole leaned in and whispered softly, “She’s incredible.”
“Used to sing professionally before she moved here to help Uncle Sean raise the kids after Aunt Helen died.”
“Oh. I thought Eileen was your cousins’ mother.”
He shook his head. “Their mom, Helen, was her sister. She and Uncle Sean raised all the kids together and it wasn’t till a few years ago when her ex-fiancé came to town that the two realized they felt more for each other than just the camaraderie of co-parenting.”
“They look like they’ve been together their whole lives.”
“In some ways, they have.” Ryan’s gaze shifted to his aunt and uncle, a sweet smile settling on his face.
No wonder her brother spoke so highly of all these people. Tuckers Bluff and the Farradays seemed to be the stuff dreams were made of. Even hers.
Chapter Eight
In Farraday country, Sunday was family day. Every week. Fifty two weeks a year. Without fail. Today was no different, except that there was an extra houseguest. While Ryan pulled out the leaf extenders for the already ginormous dining table, Owen came beside him to help pull the table.
Paxton tugged from the other end. “Morgan says this may have been the first full work week with no surprises.”
With a groan at the weight of the solid wood table, Ryan nodded.
“And the new guy, er girl? How’s she working out?” Owen asked.
“Fine,” Ryan grunted, finally fully extending the table and lifting the first heavy leaf.
“What about Jet?” Paxton reached for the other leaf. “He behaving himself?”
Ryan resisted the urge to bite down on his back teeth at the mention of Jet. Other than a few leering stares, the guy had kept his distance and minded his manners. That in itself was a surprise. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“Good. Then Mike was worried for nothing.” Owen slid the last leaf into the table.
“Maybe,” Ryan shrugged, “or maybe not. I’m still watching him.”
