As for the cliffs in the distance, the developers were already making noise about glass-bottomed walkways and souvenir shops perched on the edge.
But the worst of it, according to Paddy (and I agreed), was that the resort would rip the soul right out of Ballybeg. This wasn’t the kind of village that could handle thousands of people a week trampling through its pubs, its farms, its lanes.
Ballybeg was made of its people and their history—the craic at The Banshee’s Rest, the bakery with its generations-old recipes, the whispered superstitions about fairies and stones, the fields you simply didn’t walk through after dark. Overpriced coffee shops and tacky souvenir stalls would drown all of that out.
For a second, I could picture it: the quaint charm of Ballybeg smothered by five-star luxury. The thought made my chest tighten. Sure, tourism was a moneymaker, but not at this price.
“Now, darlin’, Dee, we talked about how I wasn’t one ofthem,” I flirted.
Dee narrowed her eyes, but then, as if understanding that I was yanking her ex-fiancé’s chain, she cocked an eyebrow. “Well, Jax,love, I know that, buthedoesn’t.”
I turned to look at Cillian and Aoife. “I’m not one ofthem.”
Cillian moved his fiancée out of the way and sat down on a stool next to me. “You’re going to love what’s being planned, especially as a golfer.”
I shrugged. “I doubt it.”
Dee smiled smugly.
Cillian glared at her and then put on a plastic smilewhen he looked at me. “Why don’t we take you for a drink to?—”
“O’Farrell, I’m having a drink right here.” I picked up the Irish whiskey and waved it in front of him.
“Jax,” Aoife purred. “You’re a golfer. Surely, you understand the value of a resort like we’re planning.”
I stared at her for a beat, long enough for her smile to falter just a little, before I said, “Not really.”
We were putting on a show. Everyone at the pub was not even pretending to be doing anything else but seeing what the hell was going on between Dee’s new boarder and her bastard of an ex.
I didn’t do public brawls or scenes, but fuck, this asshole was tempting me.
“Look, ma’am, I’m simply not interested in whatever it is you’re sellin’,” I drawled, adding a little extra Southern to my accent.
“Once you know the details, you certainly will.” Cillian perked up. “We want to sell you a piece of the resort that we’re planning here in Ballybeg. With your endorsement, it’ll be a huge success.”
Dee scoffed, and everyone groaned.
“You’re all clinging to the past.” Aoife was worked up as she gestured to one of the framed black and white photos on the wall, which I’d studied this morning. It was a photograph of Ballybeg’s main street from sixty years ago.
“Exactly,” Cillian agreed, like a man who thought he knew everything. “But progress waits for no one.They’ll come around eventually. People like Dee always do.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Dee pounced on Cillian.
“Yeah, what does it mean?” Ronan wanted to know.
“I’m people like Dee,” another said.
Aoife sighed, leaning against the bar counter and crossed her legs in a way that I assumed she thought was attractive. It was cheap. I’d had better women throw themselves at me.
“You’re all being foolish,” Cillian stated tightly. “You’ll put up a fight, and Dee will try to interfere with the vote, but in the end, what choice do you have? This pub, this village, can’t survive forever, not with the way things are going. You’re all clinging to something that’s already dying.”
“Christ!” I shook my head. “He always this charmin’, Dee?”
“Always,” Dee assured me, amused.
Ronan smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Charming? That’s one word for it. Gobshite is another.”
I snorted a laugh. “Gobshiteit is.”
