Proper Irish (Jaded Lily #1)

by Zeia Jameson

  “Holy crap! Wow! I can’t believe I made this!” I say with a mouth full of warm soda bread that’s just come out of the oven.”

  “It’s excellent,” Padraig exclaims. “There’s hope for you yet.” I swat at him, but his stealthy reflexes cause me to miss.

  “I told you it wasn’t that tough. Just takes a little patience and love,” Moira says, smiling and tasting a slice for herself. “You did wonderfully, love.”

  “Thank you for teaching me.”

  Padraig claps his hands together once. “Great. Now that the bread lesson is done, can I steal her away, Mam?”

  “Well, only if she wants to be stolen.”

  I continue eating my slice of bread and shrug indifference. Padraig lunges at me before I know what’s happening and throws me over his shoulder. “Trust me, Mam, she wants to be stolen,” he says as I playfully beat my fists against his back. “Love you, Mam. See you later,” he says.

  “Behave yourself, Padraig. She’s a good one,” Moira says to us as Padraig makes his way toward the door with me draped over him. Moira blows me a kiss, and I wave as I bounce slightly with each of Padraig’s steps.

  “Bye, Moira. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Once we’re down the steps, Padraig sets me down. “D’ya want to go for a walk?” he asks, overly excited and slightly out of breath.

  “Sure. You seem really happy today. Any particular reason?”

  He takes my hand, and we begin to walk toward the river. “What? I can’t be excited about spending a glorious spring afternoon with the most beautiful woman in the city?”

  “You absolutely can.” I glance at my watch. “But you better hurry. It’s getting late. You might miss her…”

  He pokes me in the side with his elbow. We continue to walk hand in hand, not saying much else until we reach River Street. As we travel down the cobblestone road, we exchange a few stories about the restaurants and shops we pass. There are two candy stores among the collections of other stores that attract hundreds of thousands of tourists to this street every year. They are famous for their salt water taffy and praline confections, both staples in Savannah. Each also makes homemade caramels, fudge, and a variety of other goodness that you can smell the entire length of the street. It’s absolutely heavenly. I explain to Padraig why I prefer one store over the other—because the taffy is chewier—and he tells me I’m ridiculous. Then he proceeds to go into my favorite one and buy me more taffy than I could ever possibly eat.

  As we stroll, we laugh and nibble on cookies. We come up to a saxophonist who’s belting out Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night.” Padraig stops at him, pulls out his wallet, takes all of the cash he has, which looks to be at least two hundred dollars, and places it into the pocket of the man’s jacket hanging on the back of his chair. The saxophonist nods graciously, and continues playing, never missing a beat. I’m beginning to wonder if Padraig fills his wallet full of money every day for the sole purpose of giving it to the artists. What if he sees more than one a day? Is his wallet ever empty when he comes across one? I table those questions for later.

  We take a seat on a bench not far from the musician, his beautiful playing still in earshot. We’re facing the water, and the breeze is blowing sweetly through the trees and my hair. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, listening to the water flow and the saxophone in the distance.

  “I love it out here so much. I don’t come out here as much as I used to when I was in school. I’m always too busy.”

  “Sounds like you need a better job,” Padraig says, rubbing his hand lightly over my leg.

  “Well, I’m going to have to find a new one regardless. I pretty much told Rachel today that I quit.”

  “After all the hard work I did to get you your job back? I thought you’d be impressed with my superhero maneuver.” Padraig pretends to be offended and then winks.

  On some type of instinct, I lean in and kiss him. He immediately puts his hand in my hair and kisses me back. We lose ourselves in each other for a heated moment, and then I pull back. I look into those beautiful eyes of his that once scared the crap out of me. “Thank you. That was pretty superhero fantastic.” I give a half smile.

  “Anything for you, the most beautiful woman in the city.”

  I clasp my hands and move them to the side of my tilted face. I bat my eyelashes in dramatic fashion, making Padraig chuckle.

  The saxophonist ends “Strangers in the Night” and begins “Moon River.” Such an appropriate song for such a wonderful moment. Padraig kisses me again, tenderly, and then brushes the hair from my eyes. “The wind is swirling that honeysuckle smell of yours around, and it’s driving me crazy. Can I take you home?”

  I look at my watch and shake my head. “I have a meeting in half an hour. Is it okay if we sit here until then? Let me soak all of this in? I have missed it so much.”

  Padraig kisses the top of my head. “Aye. And I promise I’ll make you come down here more often.”

  I lay my head on his shoulder and look out at the water again. “And I promise that after this meeting, you can have me any way you’d like. I’m free the rest of the day.”

  Padraig doesn’t respond with words, but I can feel his cheeks rise into a big grin.

  “This setting is perfect, Rita. Just perfect. What is this pattern called again?”

  “Kilbarry,” Rita, one of Phillipe’s decorating assistants, replies.

  “Perfect,” I say again as I make note of the china pattern’s name. I’m at the banquet hall with Kerry, Phillipe, his crew, Moira, Matilda, and the florist, Julian. We’re a week from the party, and I’ve gathered all participating members of the event coordination together to make sure that all of the details are perfect.

  Matilda brought a sample of the marigold centerpiece, not knowing if we were still using them. Her sample is gorgeous. I decide to keep it. I could change it, since I now have full creative license, but Matilda has worked her magic to make the centerpiece as elegant as everything else.

  “You’ve done a fabulous job, Tild. I absolutely love it,” I say, hugging her.

  “I’m glad you like them. I did my best with marigolds. I hope it makes the mayor’s wife happy.”

  I shrug. “I don’t really know if Victoria’s opinion is allowed here anymore. The mayor told me to do whatever I wanted. And I haven’t seen or heard from Victoria since the day I saw the mayor.” I lean and whisper at a volume only Matilda can hear. “And I have no idea if she knows anything about Moira cooking here or not. The mayor knows, so I guess that’s all that matters. But I half expect Victoria to be lurking around a corner somewhere, ready to pounce on someone, if she does know.”

  As I speak of cooking, I inhale and smell the aromas coming from the kitchen. My stomach roils in anticipation of the tasting that we are all going to experience in about an hour. Moira and Phillipe are doing a test run of the menu, and everyone here participating in the setup of the ball gets to enjoy it.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Matilda says as she mimes zipping her lips with her fingers. “With the smells coming from that kitchen, I wouldn’t dare blow your cover. This ball is going to be a hit on the food alone.”

  “I don’t know. I imagine your centerpieces are going to be quite the topic of conversation.” I wink.

  Matilda pats me lightly on the back in agreement and moves over to the entrance of the ballroom. She pulls out a measuring tape and begins to measure the door frame. She’s in charge of not only the centerpieces for the evening but also decorating the miniature topiaries that will be placed around the room, as well as the gift bags the guests will receive.

  I have no idea why she’s measuring the door.

  I focus my attention to the stemware that Rita has set out. I pick up a wine glass and admire the intricate etching on the base, stem, and bowl of the glass. The designs are Celtic. Rita told me she found them at a wholesale outlet about a year ago. Remarkable.

  I turn the glass and notice writing scrol
led on the bottom. It’s not in English. I squint to try to make out the lettering. A hand touches my shoulder. I startle and drop the glass. I gasp. Before I can react to catch the glass, a tattooed arm reaches from behind me and catches the glass a split second before it crashes to the ground. My heart is racing, and my hands cover my mouth in shock. I look behind me to see Padraig bringing the glass close to his face, looking at the writing on the bottom.

  “It’s Gaelic. I’m not too brushed up on the language, but I think it says something about a Viking and a king.”

  “What?” Rita and I both say.

  He shrugs. “Where did you get these? You may want to have one checked out. These could be pretty valuable.”

  “Huh. I’ll let Phillipe know. Aren’t they stunning?”

  “Aye. That they are.” His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. “As are you.” He comes in for a brief kiss.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Heard there was a party. Thought I’d come join in.”

  I wag my index finger at him. “No, sir. If you don’t help, you don’t get to include yourself in the festivities later on.”

  He kisses me again. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help. I’m going to see Mam in the kitchen. She wants me to fold dumplings. Whatever that means.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders, turn him in another direction, and pat him on the ass. “Kitchen’s that way.”

  He turns and smiles a devilish grin. “I remember.”

  I blush. “Get to work.”

  He salutes me with two fingers. “Aye.”

  Everyone has run through everything. I think this party is going to go off without a hitch. Of course, I can never be too sure about anything. There is always a stirring in the pit of my stomach, screaming anything could go wrong. But I try to ignore it. I have so many great people working on this with me, and I know none of them would purposefully let me down.

  We all sit at a group of tables while Phillipe and Moira bring out large platters and bowls of food. Although it won’t be the case on the actual night of the ball, we are being served family-style. Hors d’oeuvres, soups, breads, and dishes full of all sorts of meats crowd the tables. It all smells delectable. My mouth waters in anticipation. Beside me, Padraig is holding his fork in one hand in a manner that makes him look ravenous and stabby. I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “What? I’m ready to charge in. There may be casualties, but I’m more than willing to maim for first dibs everything.”

  I pat his leg under the table. “Calm down, Scrappy. You’ve eaten your mother’s food all your life. Share and play nice.”

  He smiles, winks, and releases his fork from his tight clutch. He places it down on the table where it was before, drops his head, and sticks out his bottom lip.

  “Dear God, you are pitiful. And insanely adorable.”

  His poked-out lip turns into an impish smirk.

  “Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît,” Phillipe announces, hands clasped in front of him. Moira is standing by his side. They are both wearing chef jackets. Moira looks ecstatic to be standing there before us. “We are happy to have prepared this meal for you today,” Phillipe continues. “All of these dishes were conceptualized by this lovely woman to my right, Moira MacNamara. You are all in for quite a treat. I know you will enjoy. Please, dig in.”

  Phillipe and Moira take a seat at one of the tables nearby. Talking ceases for a moment, and the only noises are the clanking of silverware on dishes and rustling of napkins. Then the mmm’s and the ohhh’s begin. I look down to see that I’ve created for myself a mound of food on my plate. I look over to Padraig, who is shoveling food into his face as though he’s never eaten. I giggle at him and begin tasting what’s in front of me.

  My eyes roll into the back of my head with every bite. It’s one thousand times better than the first tasting. I cannot believe that food tastes this good. It’s almost orgasmic.

  I look around the room and see everyone’s faces. My little event-planning family that I’ve cultivated over the past three years. Me. My cultivation. Not Rachel’s. I don’t know what I’m going to do after I finish this ball, but if it doesn’t involve event planning, I am going to miss all of these people dearly. The time to think about that is not now, though. That discussion with myself is for another day. For now, we dine and have the time of our lives.

  A repetitive pounding breaks me of my slumber. For a moment, I’m completely disoriented. I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s a quarter after nine in the morning. I also notice I have a slew of texts and missed calls. I hear the pounding again. It’s intense and rapid.

  “What the bloody fuck is that noise?” Padraig grumbles beside me. I plunk my head onto my pillow, exhausted from the extended evening we all had. Too much wine and post-party shots with Kerry, Luca—who met up with us after he closed his shop—and surprisingly, Moira and Phillipe. They were both hesitant at first, but we swayed them with our showering of compliments and congratulations over their successful meal.

  Padraig and I didn’t end the evening with that either. After we stumbled home, we spent a few hours blissfully rolling around in my high-thread-count sheets. I think we’d only been asleep an hour or so. Padraig throws his arm over me and pulls me into him.

  “I love waking up to your smell of honeysuckles.”

  I turn to face him and put my nose to his chest. “I love the smell of your Irish, too,” I joke. We both chuckle lightly.

  “That’s still not a thing,” he says.

  The pounding resumes. I sigh and throw the sheets off of me. I go to my dresser and pull one of Padraig’s T-shirts that I stole from him from a drawer and toss it on. I walk toward my front door, the source of the pounding.

  “Hold on a damn minute. Fuck!” I peep through the hole and see Kerry, her face tear-streaked and red.

  “Shit,” I mutter as I hurry to unlock the door. “What happened?” I pull her into a fierce hug, cradling the back of her head. “Are you okay?” I feel her nod into my shoulder, and then she begins a high-pitched, undecipherable mumble. I take her by the hand and move her to the sofa. “Hey, slow down. Slow down.” I hand her a tissue. “Take a deep breath, and tell me what’s going on.”

  She inhales sharply and wipes her eyes. “Rachel fired me.”

  “What? What the fuck?”

  Kerry nods and continues. “The historical benefit I did by myself a few days ago. Rachel said the chairwoman of the board, Mrs. DeLoach, called and said they wouldn’t be offering Rachel business anymore because I was acting unprofessional and flirting with the waitstaff.” Kerry takes a hitched breath. “Rachel said I was losing business for her, and she told me to clear my desk and not come back.” After her last word, Kerry begins to bawl. I pull her in for another hug. “What am I going to do? She said she wasn’t even going to pay me for the event. I busted my ass over that benefit! And I wasn’t flirting with anyone. I tried to explain that to Rachel, but she wouldn’t listen. I’m going to lose my apartment!”

  “Okay, calm down. It won’t come to that. I promise. You are insanely talented and extremely professional. You’ll find something else in no time. Until then, you’ll continue to help me with the St. Patrick’s Day ball, and I’ll pay you from my own pocket.”

  “No.” She shakes her head emphatically. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I’m not asking. That’s just how it’s going to be, okay?”

  She sniffs and nods. “Okay.”

  “What is all the commotion out here?” Padraig emerges from the bedroom, scratching his fingers through his hair. He’s wearing nothing but boxer briefs, which he’s filling out quite nicely.

  “Holy shit, Stella! How do you ever leave your house?” Kerry exclaims while ogling Padraig. He smiles at her and gives her a wink without skipping a beat and heads to the sink for a glass of water. Kerry continues to stare. I join her in admiring the six feet two inches of nearly naked hotness leaning against my kitchen counter.


  “It’s tough. That’s for sure.”

  He catches us, mid-sip, and gives us a huge adorable grin before setting down his glass and walking back into the bedroom. A few moments later, he returns, covered in jeans and the button-down he had on last night. He sits in a chair next to Kerry and me and crosses one leg on top of the other. “Everything okay, Kerry?”

  “Rachel fired her for allegedly flirting with the waitstaff.”

  “You cheating on my boy Luca?”

  Kerry rolls her eyes. “Luca and I aren’t dating. We’re not doing anything.”

  “Sure,” Padraig and I say in unison. Kerry rolls her eyes again and crosses her arms. “Can we stay focused here? I got fired!”

  “Rachel sounds like a real twat,” Padraig says.

  Kerry snorts. “You can say that again.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me, seeing as she hangs around with the whore bitch with no brains,” he adds.

  “What do you mean, ‘hangs around’? She just works for Victoria.”

  Padraig shakes his head in disagreement. “She’s spent many afternoons cackling with whore bitch at Dad’s house. They could win a record for how much wine they drink.”

  “Are you sure you’re talking about Rachel, my ex-boss?”

  “Aye. She introduced herself to me once. Said she was organizing the ball.”

  I look at Kerry, confused. “Something’s not right about that, K.”

  “I don’t disagree.”

  My mind is spinning. Why would Rachel be casually spending time with Victoria? It didn’t add up. Perhaps I should do some snooping. The curiosity will kill me.

  With the lack of sleep and a hangover, I cringe at what I’m about to offer Kerry, but I’ll do it if that’s what she needs. “Do you want me to bring out the tequila? Fire up Netflix? Catch up on some Orange Is the New Black? My schedule is wide open today.”

  She smiles. “No. I know you’re exhausted from last night. So am I. Hell, if I’d known I was going to get fired as soon as I walked into work this morning, I wouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed. I think I’m going to go home and crash.”