I pulled out a thousand euros and set it on the table.
“I was jokin’, lad. I wouldn’t take your money for nothin’. Keep that in your pocket. I’ll bill you when the car is ready.”
I did as he asked. This village was not about money—the people here were about heart and being honest. He hadn’t said, you have to marry Dee, just that I treat her with respect. Fuck me, but I really, really liked the people of Ballybeg.
“Ah, can you take me to Mickey Byrne’s…gym?” I wasn’t sure what to call it. “I need a place to work out if I’m staying here longer.”
Paddy chuckled, shaking his head like I was the most entertaining thing that had happened in Ballybeg in years. “How long are you planning on staying, boyo?”
I shrugged. “A few weeks.” I couldn’t stay longer—I had responsibilities. Tournaments. Meetings. All of it suddenly felt like a burden when it never felt like one before.
“Come on, I’ll take you to Mickey’s place. He’s a good egg, our Mickey is, and he’ll whip you into shape.”
CHAPTER 8
Dee
My handsome boarder didn’t leave on TuesdayorWednesday.
In fact, he’d been here nearly two weeks, and Paddy still said his car wasn’t ready. Everyone in Ballybeg knew by now that Jax had hooked up with Mickey Byrne, who, for reasons unknown, liked him when Mickey didn’t like anyone.
The story went that Jax had wandered into Mickey’s place with Paddy, curious as to what was behind the sagging doors of the old community center Mickey owned. The old boxer had been in the ring with one of the local lads, barking instructions as he demonstrated footwork. Jax, being the cocky Yank he was, commented on the boy’s stance.
According to the village grapevine, Mickey shot him a glare sharp enough to curdle milk. “You think you can do better, boyo?”
Apparently, Jax had shrugged, stepped into the ring (took his shirt off before he did that, I was told), and promptly showed Mickey that,yes, he bloody well could do better.
As it turned out, the golden boy from Charleston had spent a few years learning to box back in his teens. His high school football (the American kind) coach, as the story went, thought it would toughen him up after Jax got into one fight too many.
“Something about a kid nicking some other kid’s lunch,” Eileen Noland recounted dramatically at Cadhla’s bakery. “Though, I think it was about a lass, ‘cause it’s always about a lass with men like him.”
Whatever the reason, Jax had picked up enough skills to impress Mickey Byrne—a feat not even the local lads, who’d been training with him for years, could pull off.
“He’s got good hands,” Mickey had reportedly told Paddy later that night over a pint. “Quick feet, too. His old coach must’ve known what he was doin’.”
Coming from Mickey Byrne, that was practically a love letter.
By the next day, Jax was a fixture in the gym every morning, sparring with Mickey and helping the younger lads with their jabs.
“He’s got that look about him,” Mickey explained to Ronan when he was asked about it. “Like he knows how to take a hitandhow to get back up.”
Jax Caldwell had been here for half a minute andhad become a part of Ballybeg, which was bad in itself, but what was worse was that he’d become a part ofmylife. Some people lived around you for years and didn’t make an impact, and some did it in a moment.
It was a Monday morning, and we didn’t open on Mondays until five in the evening. I’d have liked to close the pub and take the day off, but ends don’t meet if you take days off, and Ronan had assured me that he had no life and didn’t mind cookingevery day. If I didn’t love him like a brother, I’d marry that man, I thought as I wrapped a scarf around my neck. It was, after all, still February in Ireland, and while the calendar might’ve been shouting about spring coming soon, the weather was having none of it.
I had just zipped up my jacket, ready to brave the sunny, cold day, when the man who was occupying my thoughts sauntered down the stairs.
“We don’t open until five on Mondays,” I reminded him.
I looked like a walking pile of wool. He, meanwhile, could’ve modeled forHandsome Americans Braving Irish Weatherin a dark Cashmere coat, a gray Cashmere scarf, and leather gloves—all put together likely costing more than my priciest whiskey.
“I know.” He flashed me one of those deep dimple smiles that made my stomach flip. He nodded toward the door. “Paddy said the walking paths around here are worth seeing. Thought I’d check them out. Care to join me?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Iam going for a walk, and if you wish,youcan join me.”
“Sounds wonderful,” he said, far too pleased with himself—and I realized I’d walked straight into his plan.
Spending more time alone with Jax Caldwell was probably a terrible idea, but for some reason, I couldn’t tell him to take a hike.
