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Their daughter Ana, who was closest to my age, just shook her head and rolled her eyes. She would have left the village a long time ago but her parents weren’t in the best of health, and that kept her here.
“Don’t mind my folks,” she said. “They’re just nosy. The whole village is. And the fact that they know nothing about you, even after you’ve been here for five years… Well, they feel like a big-ass failure for not learning jack crap about you.”
I just smiled and took a sip of my sparkling water.
I thought going out tonight would dampen the loneliness in my chest, but being among the locals—so warm and so familiar with one another—somehow made it worse.
As if sensing my distress, Ana slid a fresh bowl of olives across the bar toward me. “Eat. Dinner is almost done and then you’ll eat something solid.”
I looked at them. “I didn’t know Ireland was big on olives.”
She shrugged. “Would you prefer potato bites?”
“Maybe.”
“Those go straight to your hips,” she grumbled, pointing to her own curves. “Trust me, I know.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” I muttered as I picked up an olive and popped it into my mouth.
“No, you don’t,” she shot back, watching me enviously. “I’d kill for your figure.”
Funny, because I was going to say exactly that about hers. I was too skinny, and it was purely the result of being here alone, my own lousy cooking, and a lack of appetite. It turned out that I hated to eat alone.
Joseph snorted from the other end of the bar. “She’s a stick. Clearly Sienna barely eats.”
“I eat,” I protested.
“Coffee isn’t food.”
“It is if you’re in a hurry.”
“You’ve been in a hurry for five years?”
A few people nearby laughed, but I ignored them. Instead, I lifted my glass. “Apparently I’m in a hurry to get nowhere.”
“Exactly,” Joe agreed. “But tonight, you’ll eat. My wife and I will make sure of it.”
Shit. Why did that make me feel even worse?
It reminded me of my mom and the way she’d always made sure I ate. Even after I left for college, she’d call before dinner just to remind me to eat something. Sometimes she’d surprise me with a DoorDash delivery. Other times she’d have someone drive up with a home-cooked meal she’d made herself.
She always found a way to make sure I was fed, no matter how far away I was.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, shoving the longing for my family somewhere deep and dark, then smiled.
“Thanks, Joe,” I murmured.
It didn’t take long for a plate piled high with roasted potatoes, roast beef, and green beans to appear in front of me. I didn’t have the heart to tell Joe that I hated green beans. Besides, I’d ordered the homemade special, so it was my own fault for not asking what came with it.
“You like it?” Joe asked, watching me expectantly. “Nobody cooks better than my wife.”
“Mmm. Looks delicious.” I smiled, picked up my fork, and took a bite.
The food was, in fact, delicious. The green beans were another matter. Still, I was going to shove every last one of them down my throat even if it killed me.
The door opened, letting in a gust of cool evening air. Two men came in arguing about football, still carrying the energy of whatever match they’d just been watching. They greeted everyone as they crossed the room, stopping every few steps to exchange a joke or a complaint.
I watched them with a small smile.
