Ronan was in the corner with Liam Ryan, debating whether they had enough paint for the banners, while Jax leaned against the bar, looking far too relaxed for someone orchestrating a borderline revolution.
I looked at Jax. “This looks like a disaster waiting to happen.”
“It’s organized chaos,” he replied as he leaned over to kiss me softly.
“Organized, my arse,” I muttered.
“You have a gorgeous and juicy arse, darlin’ Dee.” He patted saidarse,and I growled at him.
“Hands to yourself, Yank.”
“You let Liam Murphy pinch your arse, and I can’t even pat it?” he challenged.
“I don’t let Liam do anything,” I ground out. “He’s just an eejit who doesn’t listen, and since he’s dying, he knows I won’t break his hand.”
“And since you love me, you won’t break mine.” He slid an arm around me and kissed my hair.
The plan was ambitious, to say the least.
We were going to stage a protest—a big, loud, unapologetic one that would draw attention from every corner of the county, maybe even the country.
There would be banners, speeches, music, and enough noise to wake the dead.
I’d contacted various villages in County Clare thanks to Jax’s new friend Fiona, who would also have their own protests and parades in support of Ballybeg.
If everything went according to Jax’s plan, the developers would be scrambling to salvage their image.
I wasn’t so sure.
Did men like that care about reputation? About morality?
Still, I had to give it to him—he’d turned up the heat in the media.
His interview on ESPN drew serious attention, especially when he spoke about how his girlfriend’svillage was in danger of being drained dry by greedy developers.
“Ballybeg sounds like a very special place,” the interviewer said.
“It is,” Jax replied with his heart in his eyes.
“And so is Dee Gallagher, from the way you talk about her.”
“She certainly is.”
The interviewer became serious then. “You never talk about your personal life, yet you’re doing it now. I’m assuming this is a serious relationship.”
“Yes, I’m extremely serious about both Dee and the village of Ballybeg,” he replied cheekily.
By mid-afternoon, the village green was a hive of activity.
People were everywhere, carrying signs, setting up tables, and hanging banners that read things like “SAVE BALLYBEG” and “BALLYBEG: POPULATION US, NOT A FECKIN’ RESORT!”
There were others like: “NO TO GOLF, YES TO GUINNESS!" and "RICH YANKS, GO BUILD SOMEWHERE ELSE!" (Jax took mild offense to this one.)
My favorite was: "BUILD A RESORT HERE & YOU’LL NEVER SLEEP SOUND AGAIN!" (Someone added a doodle of a banshee wailing.)
Seamus had made the one that said, "CILLIAN, YOU’RE A GOBSHITE!"
Unnecessary, in my opinion, but no one was taking it down.
