by Eliza Watson
I tested a new memory card, taking a shot of the Guinness sign at the pub’s entrance. It loaded on my laptop, no problem. I tossed the other card on the table. I flew into the pub, frantically snapping shots of a dozen attendees enjoying a full Irish breakfast. Gracie slipped an arm around Declan’s waist, snuggling against him, smiling wide for the camera. I followed a man and his son out to the lobby and had them pose by the Christmas tree. Derik and Curt shuffled out of the elevator, their bloodshot eyes matching their red Brecker T-shirts.
“It’s not closed yet, is it?” Derik asked.
“Nope, come on.” I directed them into the pub and straight to the bar. No banquet staff around, so I slipped behind the dark paneled counter and grabbed two beers from a fridge. Brecker had special ordered and prepaid all the beer. I opened the bottles and handed them to Curt and Derik. “Say sláinte.”
Curt’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Thought you told us to take it easy on drinking?”
“I was kidding. You’re here to have a good time.”
Even deeper wrinkles creased Curt’s forehead. “And you want to have a good time with us?”
“Yep. Now drink.”
A smile slithered across his unshaven face. “Cool…”
They clinked their beer bottles together, and I snapped a pic. I took shots from various angles to give the appearance of different pubs—one with the McGregor surname mirror in the background, another with the stained-glass trim running over the top of the bar. I had them finger-comb their greasy hair for one and had Curt slap the beer label in his jeans pocket on his forehead for another. I tolerated their arms around my shoulders for a selfie. Declan flashed me a curious look as he walked out.
“Eat a quick breakfast, and we’ll head to the temple bar area,” I said.
They slammed their beers.
Curt belched. “Okay, ready.”
“Eat something. We have a lot of pictures to take.”
Heart racing, I flew out of breakfast to run up to my room and grab my jacket. Bernice and Gracie could meet me at the Christmas market for pics and—
“These snaps are brilliant,” Declan said, seated at my laptop.
What snaps?
I bolted over to my computer displaying all the attendee pictures I’d taken. I about collapsed with relief.
I lived to work another day.
“You have a knack for capturing candid shots. People are comfortable around you.” Declan looked seriously impressed by my photographer skills.
I nodded. “Thanks. Since you have the memory card in there, can you save them onto my computer?”
I had no clue why the photos wouldn’t download before, but no way was I losing them again. I wouldn’t have the opportunity to take more. Everyone was on their own tonight, and we’d decided against departure shots since most people were low maintenance on early flights.
“You should think about giving photography a go.”
I nodded faintly, refusing to admit my panic attack over the missing pictures. Let Declan be impressed. He didn’t need to know every time he came to my rescue on a daily basis without even trying.
Chapter Four
I squeezed the baster with too much force, causing hot goose fat to spray off the bird, spitting me in the forehead, Finn O’Brien in the face.
I gasped in horror. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” The chef’s usual charismatic smile was a bit lacking in charisma. He slipped the kitchen utensil from my hand and focused on basting, absently wiping his face with a towel.
I fought the urge to pluck several drops of fat from his unshaven chin, not wanting to touch Finn in public when touching Declan was off limits. He, Rachel, Gracie, and Bernice sat lined up in front of the shiny stainless-steel counter in the test kitchen where O’Brien’s restaurant held cooking classes and demonstrations.
Rachel snapped a pic of me finger-combing goose fat from my bangs. I’d informed her that as head photographer I had to approve all shots used for promotional purposes.
I wiped the grease from my forehead with the red ruffled bottom of my fancy apron, a souvenir from Finn. I hadn’t put on an apron since I was seven. When helping Grandma bake, I’d worn her purple apron, and Rachel, her yellow sunflower one.
Finn had prepped the goose prior to my arrival, so I hadn’t had to dig out the slimy giblets or whatever else might have made me nauseous. It was a small goose, able to feed six people, and only took two hours to cook unstuffed. In the meantime, we made dressing with celery, onions, spices, and goose fat droppings. A good thing this bird had a lot of fat to spare since it was also used to roast the potatoes. A bigger concern than wearing the goose fat on my face was wearing it on my butt for a month.
Except for the fact I hadn’t had the opportunity to bring up Brecker beer and secure a bonus, the evening was going much better than I’d anticipated. Finn was doing most of the cooking. I was stirring sauces and measuring ingredients from unmarked containers to retain the chef’s secret recipe. I was keeping my distance from sharp knives and flammable materials. Who’d have thought I could cause harm with a baster?
I stirred the brownish-colored gravy with a spicy, vaguely familiar scent… The timer buzzed, and Finn slid the roasting pan from the oven. He sliced through the bird’s crispy skin.
My stomach growled. “I’ll have white meat, please.”
“It’s all dark.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’ll take a leg.” I used to eat chicken drumsticks when I was a kid.
Finn laughed, sliding a slice of breast meat on my plate. “You have a brilliant sense of humor.”
Asking for a leg was obviously a faux pas.
He drizzled gravy over the meat and added sides to our plates. I snapped a pic of the culinary masterpiece, pride welling up inside me. Even though I’d contributed little to the preparation, I’d made it through three hours of cooking, and the only snafu was basting us with goose fat.
I glanced over at Declan, who gave me a thumbs-up.
I cut off a small piece of meat and took a bite.
A horrible taste filled my mouth.
Curry!
A gag reflex prevented me from swallowing the foul taste. Afraid I might projectile vomit goose curry all over Finn, I covered my mouth with my apron and spit it out. I pretended to cough.
“She’s choking!” Bernice yelled.
Everyone sprang from their chairs.
In one swift movement, Finn was behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle. He grasped one fist with the other, pressed in below my rib cage, and heaved his hands in an upward motion. I was going to vomit. Another big heave, and I waved frantically for him to stop. He lowered his hands and stepped back, wide-eyed and panicked.
Gracie snapped a lovely pic of me still holding my goose-curry-filled apron to my chest. “You saved her life.”
“Sorry…went down…wrong way,” I sputtered. I chugged my glass of red wine to wash away the horrid taste.
“I caught the entire thing on video if you want to use it to train your staff,” Bernice said proudly.
I shot her a mortified look.
Apron still clutched against my chest, Declan drew me into an embrace. He smoothed a hand over my hair, kissing my forehead. “Feckin’ A. You scared the shite out of me.”
I nestled my head against his chest, comforted by his arms and woodsy cologne. Sensing Rachel glaring at our public display of affection, I stepped back from Declan, avoiding her gaze. Finn was too busy slamming wine from the bottle to notice.
“Um, I’m going to clean off my apron.” I fled the kitchen, Rachel hot on my heels.
“I knew this was going to happen,” she said as we flew into the bathroom.
“I’m sorry, but you knew that I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Declan. Besides, you spit it out because you didn’t like it.”
“Yeah, well, everyone else thinks I was choking.”
U
nless Finn reviewed Bernice’s video and realized I hadn’t been. I had to delete the evidence from her phone. I needed that bonus. Finn’s reaction could go either way. He might carry Brecker because he wouldn’t want it getting around that I’d choked on his award-winning goose curry. Or he’d be so traumatized from saving my life that he wouldn’t want the beer as a reminder every time he poured a pint of it.
Rachel glared at me, hands on hips. “Didn’t I warn you about him?”
“Just because Gretchen thinks he’s a player—”
“And dozens of other women. Caity, have more respect for yourself. What makes you think you’re any different than all the other girls he’s slept with?”
“Because I haven’t slept with him, and he told me about Shauna’s death…”
Rachel’s head snapped back in surprise. “Who’s Shauna?”
I’d just broken my promise to Declan not to mention Shauna to anyone.
I shrugged. “Someone he was…close to.”
“When did she die?”
“Three years ago. He confided in me about her when he hasn’t talked to anyone else. You can’t say a word.”
“I won’t.” Rachel shook her head. “I feel so awful for…” She trailed off, peering over my shoulder.
I turned to find Declan standing in the doorway. My hands dropped to my sides, releasing the apron, remnants of goose curry tumbling to the floor.
How long had he been standing there?
Declan’s gaze narrowed. “Was just seeing if you’re okay.”
Was his concerned expression over me choking or blabbing about Shauna? A sick feeling tossed my stomach, and it wasn’t from the lingering taste of curry in my mouth.
“She’s doing great.” Rachel’s sympathetic expression was directed more at Declan than me. “How are you?”
I shot her a warning look. Way to be discreet.
“I mean, that was pretty traumatic for us also,” Rachel said.
“I’m grand.” He looked baffled by her concern. “Right, then. I’ll wait out here.”
He left, and my gaze darted to Rachel. “Gee, that wasn’t the least bit suspicious.”
“Well, excuse me, but I’m still processing what you just told me and what you hadn’t told me.”
After I told you about Gerry Coffey.
For once, her disappointed expression wasn’t over me screwing up my job. She marched out.
Wait a sec. Rachel cared more about the fact that I hadn’t confided in her about Declan and me than she had about me likely messing up Brecker’s shot with O’Brien’s restaurants and our bonuses? This helped lessen the blow that I’d just caused our relationship to take a step backward. And Declan had likely heard me blab about Shauna and would never confide in me again.
Hopefully, I hadn’t just lost the two people closest to me.
Thanks to that wretched bird!
Chapter Five
The festive lights blanketing the brick department stores on Grafton Street did little to perk me up. Neither did the leprechaun wearing a Santa hat and singing carols. I was proud of myself for finding the sweater shop where I’d bought my favorite blue mohair scarf last trip. However, with no money for retail therapy, I decided on comfort food. I popped into a busy coffee shop for some hot chocolate and a scone. I unzipped my purse, and my nose crinkled from the stench of curry pouring out. Not wanting Finn to think I was unappreciative, I’d kept my souvenir apron. The smell clung to my designer handbag, a yellowish smear staining the black lining. I’d just paid off the insanely expensive purse.
I whipped the balled-up cloth into the garbage can.
I pulled out my phone to check messages and realized it was still turned off. After leaving the restaurant, I’d needed a few moments of silence to recover and had forgotten to turn it back on. Rachel had left seven messages merely requesting I call her. Her tone grew a bit angrier with each one. Had the realization just settled in that I’d likely lost O’Brien’s business, or was she still upset about Declan and me?
Speaking of which, I had zero messages from Declan.
Not a good sign.
I texted Rachel that I was on my way back.
She asked me to meet her in the office.
I opted to wait in the coffee shop’s long line rather than racing back to the hotel to face Rachel and the possible end of our reestablished friendship.
Speaking of friendship, my ex-best friend Ashley and I hadn’t spoken in over a year. She’d tried to do an intervention, warning me that Andy was an arrogant, controlling ass. I’d insisted she was merely jealous that I was dating a gorgeous lawyer. My stomach tossed at the thought of choosing that bastard over my best friend.
It tossed again when an e-mail popped up from my client Heather informing me that the February meeting in Venice was canceled. Would I still get paid? I couldn’t recall the contract’s extensive provisions. I shot Heather an e-mail tactfully asking when, not if, I would receive my cancellation fee. Besides the possible loss of income, no romantic gondola ride with Declan. If I wasn’t meeting Rachel, I’d be in a pub slamming pints rather than sipping hot chocolate!
A half hour later, I headed with a sense of dread down the hotel’s hallway toward our office, reminded of a meeting when I had been preparing to confront Rachel after a big blowup. That argument had ultimately led to mending our strained relationship, caused by Rachel being a workaholic and Andy manipulating me into distancing myself from family and friends.
Maybe my talk with Rachel wouldn’t go too badly. Maybe she wasn’t going to tell me she’d never hire Declan and me together on a program again or that we were back to being merely sisters rather than friends. Maybe she wanted to tell me I’d screwed up the hotel research I’d been doing for the St. Paddy’s Day trip, an excuse to fire me…
I entered the office, where Rachel paced with a nearly empty glass of wine. Exactly how I’d found her the last time.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”
“Dad slipped on a patch of ice, shoveling the driveway. Threw out his back and broke his arm. Mom’s freaking out about taking care of him, Christmas, having to cancel the party… Pretty much everything.”
“Omigod. Is he okay? Is Aunt Teri helping out?”
“She has the flu, and Dottie isn’t back yet from Florida.”
“She can’t cancel the party. It’s a tradition. It means a lot to her.” I heaved a disappointed sigh. “We’ll have to save Killybog for spring after all.”
“I already checked, and flights are packed because of Christmas. I could only get one of our tickets changed, and even that was an insane price. So I’ll go home and help Mom. I had the rental car changed to your name.”
My heart raced. Last trip, I’d almost been hit by a bus, looking the wrong way while walking across the street. I couldn’t drive in Ireland!
Relax. Don’t freak out.
“Does Mom know I can’t make it home early?”
“Yeah. You staying here by yourself gave her one more thing to worry about. But you planned the trip to Grandma’s homeland and made contact with Sadie Collentine. You need to meet her. Need to find answers about Grandma’s past.”
“But this is supposed to be our journey.”
Researching Grandma had helped Rachel and me reconnect. After my Declan secret, we really needed sister bonding time in Killybog so I could do some damage control.
“We’ll go in the spring like we originally planned.” Rachel held her head high, struggling to remain stoic.
“The weather will be better in the spring.” I tried to sound reassuring, despite fighting back tears.
“I need to tell you something else.” Apprehension filled her voice, and she picked at a manicured nail.
What could be worse than what she’d just told me?
“I was in on the whole Finn cooking thing with Bernice and Gracie.”
I knew it!
“They came across an auction promo in the newspaper at breakfast and
mentioned wanting to memorialize their sister. I offered to go in on it. Not just for Brecker’s sake, for yours.”
“For my sake?”
“I thought a date with one of Ireland’s most eligible bachelors would give you a morale boost. Of course, I hadn’t known about Declan.”
“I’m sorry. I planned to tell you when we went to Killybog. I wanted to prove we could still act professional.”
Which we’d done until our intimate hug at the restaurant.
Rachel nodded faintly.
Two months ago, I’d have believed her actions were purely motivated by financial and professional gain. I’d be fuming right now. However, after her hurt reaction in the restaurant bathroom, I was touched. Also, a sense of pride welled inside me that Rachel had secretly entrusted me with the responsibility of landing a lucrative piece of business.
And I’d majorly effed up my big break.
I had to contact Finn and land O’Brien’s account.
* * *
I was marching out of the office, determined to win Finn’s business, when Declan called and asked me to meet him in the lobby. His voice held an ominous tone. I slowed my pace.
He’d heard me blabbing to Rachel.
I would explain that telling Rachel had been an accident. He had to forgive me. Relationships were about forgiveness. Right?
Declan stood in the lobby holding a bouquet of red and white roses. Either he hadn’t heard me or he forgave me.
He handed me the flowers.
I smiled wide. “Thanks. They’re—”
“From Finn O’Brien.” His jaw tightened.
“Oh,” I muttered, lowering the bouquet from my nose.
“There’s a card.”
I opened the small pink envelope and slid out a card containing a two-hundred-euro gift certificate so I could give his restaurant, and goose curry, another chance. My stomach tossed. Apparently, he didn’t realize I hadn’t choked on his famous recipe. But a two-hundred-euro dinner was insane. Could I exchange it for cash? I should be the one sending him a thank-you gift for supposedly saving my life. He said he hoped to see me next time I was in town to discuss adding Brecker Dark to his menu.