by Zara Keane
Back in the house, Ronan was sitting on the ripped sofa, reading a sci-fi book. Kyle was eating a Nutella sandwich. Goodness knew what state the bread was in. Nutella, at least, could survive a nuclear war.
“I’ll be back later with real food.”
“Whatever,” Ronan said. Kyle merely smirked. How had her beautiful baby brothers turned into surly teenagers? They’d been little boys when she’d left home eight years ago. Leaving them was gut-wrenching, but she’d craved freedom, and she’d thought Aidan Gant was the answer to her prayers. Her mouth twisted into a grimace. How wrong she’d been.
Once she opened the café and had somewhere to live besides one of Aidan’s guest bedrooms, she’d ask the boys to move in with her. Her parents might not agree to the scheme, but she owed it to the boys to at least offer.
Outside, the strong Atlantic wind propelled her to her car. All she wanted to do right now was curl up in bed with an escapist book. Instead her agenda consisted of an afternoon spent dealing with Aidan’s smug satisfaction and barbed comments. Thank goodness she had drinks with Jill—her old pal from cookery school—to look forward to this evening. A rant to a friend followed by a good laugh was exactly what she needed to decompress after her crappy week.
Chapter Seven
WHEN JONAS STRODE through the door of MacCarthy’s pub at eight o’clock, the place was packed. The economic downturn hadn’t prevented the folk of Ballybeg from going out for a pint, that was for sure.
He muscled his way through the heaving throng, nodding to people as he passed. Despite the hard rock music blasting through the speakers, MacCarthy’s had the appearance of a typical traditional Irish pub, complete with a snug in the corner and the requisite portraits of Ireland’s fallen heroes adorning its wood-paneled walls. Although Jonas had been in MacCarthy’s a thousand times, the incongruity of the alternative music and the pub’s old-fashioned appearance never failed to amuse him.
Ruairí MacCarthy, the pub’s owner and manager, stood behind the bar. He was a bear of a man. Quiet and gruff and just the sort of bloke you’d want on a rugby field or to have your back in a fight. The recent arrival of his estranged American wife had been the talk of the town. As Jonas approached, Ruairí caught his eye. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.” He hung his jacket on a peg beneath the counter. “How’s Jayme doing?”
The other man’s face split into a smile. “Grand. She’s started working at a hospital in Cork City.”
“Life in Ballybeg hasn’t sent her running back to New York?”
“Not yet.” Ruairí’s grin widened. “I’m doing my best to persuade her to stay.”
“Tell her I said hi.” He slid onto a free bar stool and let his fingers run over the newly polished counter. “This place looks great after the renovations, but I kind of miss the scratched counter. The grooves told a tale or two, you know?”
The corners of the barman’s mouth quirked. “I do know. Still, Gavin and your dad did a top notch job.”
“That they did.” He settled onto his barstool and observed the soothing ritual of the barman pulling his pint. It was a sight to behold. Ruairí did it nice and slowly, letting the drink sit for a while to allow the head to form before adding more. Most barmen these days rushed the process, especially when there was a queue of thirsty customers waiting to be served. Finally Ruairí pushed the pint across the counter.
“Sláinte.” Jonas clinked his pint against his friend’s water glass, then took a sip of the thick black liquid. As he licked the froth from his lips, a memory flickered. A vision of dark red hair and soft skin. He gulped down his drink. Today was bad enough without his mind playing tricks on him.
“Penny for them—or do I want to know?” A familiar voice broke through his reverie. He turned as his best friend claimed the bar stool next to his. In marked contrast to Jonas’s dark hair and tanned skin, Gavin was fair-haired and pale-complexioned. Not even his recent trip to Australia had done more than add the barest hint of gold to his cheeks. “I’ll have a shot of Jameson, Ruairí.”
The barman reached for a tumbler.
“I’ve been expecting to see you in here licking your wounds since Wednesday.” Gavin pulled a tenner out of his wallet.
Jonas slid him a look. “News travels fast.”
“Ballybeg, baile beag. In a small town, gossip travels faster than gonorrhea.” Gavin’s grin was sly. “Actually, Olivia filled Fiona in on the lurid details.”
“Mary reneging on their deal had nothing to do with me. Besides, Olivia’s rich enough to buy her own cottage. Don’t know why she’s making such a fuss about not being able to rent Mary’s.”
“I don’t have the particulars, but I believe Gant controls the money in that household. Fiona said he didn’t want Olivia to open a business.”
“So she takes her domestic spat out on me? She needs to grow up and stop acting like everyone in this town is at her beck and call.”
“Never got that vibe from her myself,” Gavin said, “and I’ve seen her regularly since Fiona moved in.”
Ruairí placed a whiskey on the counter.
Gavin slipped him the money. “Thanks, mate. Keep the change.”
“What’s new with you and Fiona?”
His friend raised an eyebrow at his not-so-subtle attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. “Nothing new. Fiona is splitting her time between assisting her aunt at the Book Mark and helping me with admin stuff for the business. It’s nice being able to spend time together. I’ll miss her when she starts her new teaching job in August.”
Jonas felt a pang of envy at his friend’s newfound happiness but quashed it. “Sounds like you two aren’t regretting how things worked out last year.”
“Hell no. Best life implosion ever,” Gavin said cheerfully. “But enough about me. You’ve had a sour puss since I arrived, and I don’t think it’s solely to do with your fight with Olivia. What’s up?”
“Childcare crisis.” Jonas took a fortifying sip of Guinness. “My mother’s off on a cruise with Mary.”
“Hey, good for them.” Gavin’s handsome face split into a smile. “They’ve been talking about a cruise for years. When do they leave?”
Jonas cast him a black look. “Next week.”
“Ah…hence your crappy mood. I take it you haven’t found a babysitter for Luca?”
“No,” he said sourly. “Who’ll want to look after a kid with special needs and a slew of appointments each week?”
Gavin twisted his long-and-lean form around on his stool. “Why don’t you look after him yourself? About bloody time, if you ask me.”
“Which I didn’t.”
“All right. No need to bite my head off. I’m just saying you’ve been leaving him with your parents an awful lot since you moved back to Ballybeg.”
“Only because I’ve had one deadline after another. If I don’t hand in my books on time, I don’t get the next installment of my advance, and I need every penny to put toward Luca’s therapies.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting an advance?”
“Tell me about it. That’s the publishing industry for you.”
Gavin took a swig from his whiskey glass and swirled the amber liquid pensively. “When’s your next book due?”
“In two days. That’s why I have to make tonight’s drink a quick one.”
“Why don’t you send Luca to us tomorrow night? You can power write all night if you want to. Then we can swing by your house on Saturday morning to collect you for the Easter parade. I don’t see Luca wanting to miss that.”
Jonas frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you and Fiona out.”
“Course I’m sure. Gotta do my godfatherly duty. But apart from us helping out the odd time, the way I see it, you’re in the ideal working situation to cope with this. You can write mornings in your home office while Luca’s at school or therapy, take the afternoons off to be with him or ferry him to appointments, then write again in the evening
s. Seems perfect. That’s how Fiona and I juggle looking after Wiggly Poo.”
Jonas wavered between irritation and amusement. “I hate to break it to you, mate, but looking after a kid—even one without autism—is not the same as caring for a labradoodle. If you want to see what it’s like trying to concentrate on work with a kid running wild in the background, feel free to borrow Luca for a day.”
“Aw, come on. Surely it can’t be that bad. Luca just happens to be a bit different from the rest of us.”
Jonas stared at a portrait of Michael Collins and willed patience. Gav meant well, but he didn’t get it. “Luca’s autistic. That’s more extreme than a bit different. He’s also a six-year-old boy. Getting into mischief is what he does. I can’t shut myself into my office and leave him to his own devices.”
Gavin threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, man. Don’t bite my head off. You know I adore the little fella.”
“I came out tonight to have a quiet pint, not to get into an argument with you. Let’s drop the subject, okay?” Gav didn’t understand how precarious his financial situation was at the moment. If it hadn’t been for Mary’s generosity, he’d be well and truly screwed. He needed every second of writing time he could get.
“Fair enough,” Gavin said. “I’m hoarse from shouting over the music anyway.”
Jonas’s mouth quirked. Blaring music or no, Gavin managed to carry on a conversation in any environment if he had a mind to.
“Have you found a tenant for the second cottage?”
“Not yet. I’m putting an ad in the newspaper next week.”
Gavin tapped the side of his glass. “I’m guessing renting it to Olivia is out of the question?”
“Nah. It’s a no-go.” The very idea made his stomach twist.
“Why?”
He shot his friend a look of exasperation. “You know why. My mother would have a conniption if I did Olivia a favor.”
“Way I see it, she’d be doing you a favor. You need to rent out the place, and not many people are looking to rent a cottage this time of year. Besides, Mary didn’t have a problem with the idea of having Olivia as a tenant until you showed up.”
“I didn’t ask my aunt to turn her down, if that’s what you’re implying.” He hadn’t needed to. Mam had taken care of that. “If I offered her the lease, it would cause major friction with my mother. She’s not reasonable on the subject of Olivia.”
“After all this time? Surely she knows what happened to Bry wasn’t Olivia’s fault.”
“She must on some level, but blaming Olivia has become a habit. My dad definitely doesn’t hold her responsible.”
“Speaking of which…how does it feel to be a house owner?”
Jonas pondered the question for a beat. “Weird. I know I should be delighted. Mary is doing me an enormous favor.”
“But…?” Gavin prompted.
“The atmosphere at Gant’s was off. I can’t put my finger on what the problem was. I figured it would be awkward with Olivia working there, but he’s been Mary’s solicitor for years. Oddly enough, it wasn’t so much the tension between us and Olivia that felt wrong, but her interaction with Gant.”
Gavin chuckled. “My friend, you are behind in the times. It’s common knowledge that Aidan and Olivia hate each other’s guts. I don’t need to be privy to her conversations with Fiona to know that.”
His jaw dropped. “Are you serious? Why are they still together?”
“I don’t know. Not even Fiona knows. My guess is that they’ll stay together until after the mayoral election at the very least. Ballybeg is old-fashioned enough to want a male politician to have a wife, and Gant intends to be the next mayor.”
“It’s all a sham?” He shook his head in disgust. “No wonder the tension in Gant’s office was at boiling point.” No doubt his and Mary’s presence had made matters worse. “Did Gant know Olivia planned to rent the cottage from Mary, I wonder?”
“Aidan Gant doesn’t miss a trick. It must have caused him no end of pleasure to see that deal take a dive. I suspect her plans to open a café are a bid to gain financial independence from Gant so she can afford to move out when the election is over.”
“Dammit. There’s no love lost between me and Olivia, but I don’t wish her harm.”
“I know you don’t,” his friend said. “Perhaps this info will make you reconsider renting the cottage to her.”
“I wish it were that straightforward. My mother will see it as a betrayal. She was livid when she found out Mary had been thinking of renting the cottage to Olivia.” He paused for a moment, searching for an excuse. “Besides, Olivia’s a snob.”
“That’s crap, and you know it. Olivia doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but she’s no snob. And you know she’s not responsible for your brother’s death. It’s not fair to tolerate your mother blaming her after all these years.”
“Tell that to Mam. The fact remains that Olivia and I rub each other up the wrong way. Can you seriously see us surviving next door to one another?”
“Depends on what you’d be surviving,” Gavin said with a sly smile. “She’s a good-looking woman.”
Jonas snorted. “If you like snotty redheads.”
“Which you once did, and I suspect you still do.” Gavin grinned. “Not that you’d ever admit it.”
Heat crept up his cheeks. His short-lived relationship with Olivia was the stuff of Ballybeg legend—and not in a good way. No way he’d want to revisit those dark days, but he had to admit that he had a grudging respect for the way she’d stood up to him at the dentist’s. The memory of her flashing eyes and flushed cheeks lingered. “She’s not my type.” The words sounded lame even to his ears.
“No offense, but after Susanne, you should change your type.”
Jonas narrowed his eyes.
“Sorry, mate,” Gavin said. “Guess that was out of line.”
“Forget it.”
“Will you at least consider making that offer to Olivia? Opening the café is important to her.”
“Lay on the guilt, why don’t you? Oh, all right. I’ll consider it.” With a bit of luck, Olivia would balk at the notion of working next door to him, and that would be that.
Gavin smiled and drained his whiskey. “Good on you, mate. Listen, Fiona’s expecting me for a late dinner. Will I see you on the beach for our morning run? Say about six o’clock?”
“You’re determined to get me fit, aren’t you?”
His friend grinned. “I’m determined to do well at Ballybeg Sports Day.”
“Torturer. Go home to your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tomorrow…when he had to figure out what do with Luca for the next two months.
He finished his pint and stared morosely at the play of light through the glass. God, how he loved that little boy, but he felt utterly inept in his presence. He was terrified of letting his son down, of falling behind on his therapy payments, of the lingering sensation that Luca deserved better than he could offer.
He pushed back his barstool. Right now, what he needed to do was get home and squeeze in another couple of hours of writing time.
***
Jill shook her head, and her beaded dreadlocks jangled. “If looks could kill, Jonas O’Mahony would be deader than the victims in his crime novels.”
She and Olivia had cornered the last free table in the pub, affording them an excellent view of Jonas’s denim-clad derriere. Did he still have the matching leprechaun tattoo? Olivia wondered. Or had he run to the nearest dermatologist after Bry drowned and their relationship imploded? Pulling her gaze from Jonas’s broad back, she faced her friend. “That scheming fecker poached my cottage.”
“Don’t be daft. Mary is Jonas’s aunt. Of course she gave him priority.”
“We had a deal.”
“You had an oral agreement. Worthless without a written contract to back it up.” Jill screwed up her nose, making her coffee-colored freckles stand out against her light brown skin. “I stuck with my legal studie
s long enough to learn that much before I dropped out.”
“It still stinks of nepotism.” Olivia took a swig of her tonic water, deliberately restraining herself from looking in his direction. “What’s more, Jonas now owns the building.”
“Eh?” her friend said in surprise. “I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Nor did I. When I returned from dropping off my brothers, Aidan wasted no time imparting that nugget of information. To avoid inheritance tax, Mary signed over a few of her properties to Jonas. I highly doubt he’ll want me as a tenant, do you?”
“Probably not. Any luck finding another place to rent?”
“Not so far. I have less than two weeks to find one.” She’d checked a few places online, but they were either too small or too big for her needs, and they were all out of her price range. The cottage had been perfect: great location, right size, and affordable.
In spite of herself, her gaze was drawn back to Jonas. He hadn’t moved a centimeter since she’d arrived. He appeared to be lost in his own world and oddly morose for a man who’d just acquired a valuable piece of real estate. What did he have to worry about? He had a place to live and a successful writing career. Was it something to do with his kid? Fiona had said the boy was autistic.
“We can go somewhere else if you prefer,” Jill said, cutting through her ruminations.
“Where? This is the only place in town with decent music…unless you’re in the mood for techno-filled fun at O’Dwyers.”
“Perish the thought. I’d rather go to bingo night at the town hall.”
Olivia laughed. “You’re on your own if you do. My grandfather and Bridie Byrne are regulars.”
“If we are staying here, you need to stop glaring daggers into Jonas O’Mahony’s back.”
“All right. Point taken. I was hoping I’d be able to tell Aidan to stick his job and his stinking guest room where it hurts. If I have to work with that man much longer, I swear I’ll kill him.” A couple of people at the next table turned to gawp at her in horror. She ignored them but lowered her voice a notch. “The tension between us is unbearable. He’s been in a foul mood ever since the shopping center project folded. He should have had more sense than to invest money in anything involving Bernard Byrne. At least Fiona and Bridie got the money Bernard owed them before this happened.”