“Well, then…ah…have a nice day,” I murmured and then hurried into the kitchen and waited to hear the sound of the creaky steps that Jax took to go to his room before I came back into the bar.
My vibrator stopped working a couple of months ago, and I had not bothered to replace it, which I now knew was a mistake.
I decided to order one right away.
I didn’t have time to dwell on Jax (thank the Lord) because there was so much work to do. Cleaning, helping in the kitchen, doing inventory, restocking the bar, wiping down the tables, polishing the taps, making sure the kegs were connected correctly, double-checking the till, placing new orders for anything running low, sweeping out the front entrance, and, of course, wrangling Saoirse into helping Ronan prep the day’s menu without startinga kitchen fire.
It was a Thursday, and we served roast chicken with champ, along with seeded brown bread, which Ronan baked. It was hearty and nutty, a real crowd-pleaser. For dessert, Ronan was making an apple tart with custard.
Ronan adjusted the menu with the seasons and always used locally available ingredients. In the spring, while the chill still lingered in the air, he made nourishing meals to warm body and soul.
It wasn’t like I was paying attention, but my boarder went for breakfast and didn’t return for lunch, and by around five in the evening, I was wondering if the Yank had gotten himself lost.
The crowd had simmered down around four and would rise again at seven for dinner. I was taking the opportunity to wipe down the tables.
“You know, if you married me, you wouldn’t have to do hard labor,” Liam Murphy remarked.
“If I married you, I’d go to prison for killing you, and I would have to do harder labor,” I teased.
Liam had come to Ballybeg a decade ago with his wife, who’d died of breast cancer two years ago. Since then, he’d tried to live the best he could, but when he was hit with cancer, and after seeing what his wife went through with chemo, he decided against treatment. The doctors, I knew, had given him a few months at best, and he was spending a good part of them at The Banshee’s Rest.
When I asked him why he wasn’t getting treatment,he’d flatly told me,“What’s the point, Dee, when I got just a few months…I want to live it here, not in a hospital.”
I was with him on that.
Maggie wanted to die at home—she’d been militant about it, and I’d supported her. My heart felt heavy because I still missed her—the grief, I knew, would lessen, but never fully disappear.
“Liam, you haven’t eaten a thing.” I rebuked him as I looked at his plate of roast chicken and champ. He’d eaten some of the champ but none of the chicken.
“Today is not a good day, lass,” he said quietly.
“You want something else?” I put a hand on his shoulder. He covered mine with his. “How about a milk tea? Something to soothe the stomach.”
He nodded. “That sounds good, love.”
I blinked my tears away. Liam didn’t need that.
“Always wants something that’s not on the menu,” I grumbled good-naturedly.
Liam took the bait. “Aye, you know me, Dee, nothin’ but trouble.”
Tears were rolling down my cheeks when I made it to the kitchen. Ronan looked at me with concern. I shook my head.
“It’s Liam,” I whispered.
Ronan hugged me. Then, I felt Saoirse's slender arms join in the group hug.
I pulled away, sniffling. “Hewants a milk tea.”
Ronan rolled his eyes. “Always wanting what’s not on the menu.”
“Considering we don’t have a menu….” Saoirse flipped her braid airily and went back to her workstation, where she was putting whipped butter into tiny bowls for the dinner service.
I stepped out to let Liam know his tea would be up shortly—and stopped cold.
Cillian O’Farrell stood in my doorway.
The old anger and humiliation coiled in my stomach. I’d given that man three years of my life, and he’d cheated on me, discarded me, and left me feeling like I wasn’t good enough.
