Blame It on the Bet

by L. E. Rico

  “Then that’s where my life is from now on, Hennessy O’Halloran. Because you’re my home, and I’m never, ever leaving home again.”

  Even as I look up to see his face as he utters these words, he’s lowering his lips to mine. I welcome him, sighing with relief at the feel of his hands on the bare skin under my robe.

  He’s not wrong. Right here, right now—this is home.

  …

  He’s so warm and soft—and I’m so emotionally exhausted—that I fall asleep in his arms for hours afterward. I barely register it when he gets up just long enough to shoo away the irritated movers, placating them with a ridiculous tip and the promise of a move somewhere in the very near future—destination to be determined.

  When my eyes flutter open around noon, he’s back in bed, his body wrapped around mine, clutching me as if he’s afraid I’ll levitate and float away from him.

  “You haven’t said it,” he murmurs without preamble.

  I don’t need to ask what it is he’s talking about.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper without qualification.

  This makes him smile. It’s a smile that makes his entire face soften while filling it with light… And all at once I feel as if I’m the luckiest person in the world to have someone smile at me like this. But then something unreadable dulls it.

  “What?” I ask, desperate for him to look at me like that again. “What is it, Bryan?”

  I’m startled to see his eyes fill with tears.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save it for you, Hennessy. I tried… God, I was so arrogant. If I’d just done it differently, you’d still have your father’s pub…”

  Well, now I’m just plain confused. I prop myself up on my elbow so I can get a good look at him.

  “What are you talking about? You did buy the pub, didn’t you? Isn’t that what all this fuss has been about? Letting us continue running it? Staying all anonymous?”

  He shakes his head solemnly.

  “No, Hennessy, it wasn’t me,” he says miserably.

  I stare at him for a long moment before reaching up to touch his face.

  “Bryan, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

  He starts to protest, but I put a finger to his lips.

  “Don’t you get it? It’s like you said, when we’re together, it’s like we’re home. I don’t need the building to have the memories. It’s just a building—a thing. And, in the end, it brought us together, didn’t it?”

  “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known,” he says, swiping at the rogue tears that have escaped to roll down his scruffy cheeks. “What…what do you think you want to do now?”

  I can tell it’s not an easy question for him to ask, seeing as how he’s just committed himself to go wherever I want to go. Which, by the way, is no longer Boston.

  “Right now I want to get up and eat some of that pie and have a cup of coffee. Then I want to crawl back into this bed and sleep the day away in your arms.”

  “I’m liking it so far.”

  “Yeah, I thought you would. Beyond that, I’d kinda like to have you all to myself for a little while. So how about we just hang here for a few days or weeks or whatever, and we can take our time figuring the rest of it out together?”

  “Whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.”

  For a second I’m stunned.

  “I’m sorry, did you just quote the book of Ruth to me?”

  “Uhh… Leonard Cohen, actually. But he probably borrowed it from Ruth.” He smirks, and I roll over on top of him, digging my fingers into his sides to tickle him until he’s begging for mercy and the tears running down his face are tears of joy.

  My God, it feels so good to be home at last.

  Epilogue

  Bryan

  Truittism No.1: The thing about always getting what you want is that you don’t always know what you want…until you get it.

  “Can’t you drive any faster? We’re going to be late,” she whines from the passenger seat.

  “We won’t be late,” I assure her, grinning like an idiot.

  I do a lot of that lately. The fact is, I just can’t stop smiling. For the last two weeks I’ve gone to sleep with this woman and woken up with her. She’s been by my side almost every moment of every day. I even paid to have Walker’s Jeep shipped back up to Mayhem so that we could make the drive up from St. Paul together in her car.

  Spring seems to have finally arrived in Mayhem, melting away all but the most stubborn clumps of snow, and I’m shocked to see how different the town looks as we roll down Main Street. There’s a line out the door of the Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop, and I spot a shadowy figure in long skirts and wild hair in a scarf flitting around inside. A few doors down, three cats are basking in the sun of Kelly’s Books, and if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, they’re wearing matching yellow sweaters.

  As we pull up to O’Halloran’s Pub, a sign posted in the window reads:

  CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY

  I park around the corner and we walk to the front, hand in hand. When she pulls the door open, the bell jingles, and a long tableful of friendly faces looks up, shock and delight filling their expressions.

  Jameson jumps up and rushes to embrace first Hennessy, then me.

  “We were beginning to think you’d absconded back to L.A. with Henny!” she chastises me, giving me a playful smack on the chest.

  “Well, I’ve brought her back to you now,” I say, kissing her on the cheek.

  We repeat the process with Bailey. Even the dark and brooding Walker O’Halloran deigns to give me a fast, noncommittal embrace.

  “Glad you came back. And thanks for getting all that stuff fixed on my car,” she mutters and slips away before I can even offer a “You’re welcome.”

  Hennessy grabs a couple of glasses of wine and pulls us closer to the crowd. I realize that someone has pushed several smaller tables together to make one long one, and it’s overflowing with food from end to end. I spot Father Romance, who gives me a discreet nod and a thumbs-up.

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting your office back then?” King Colby calls out.

  “I would. And I’ll need a space for Helen.”

  “Who on God’s green earth is Helen?” he asks.

  “Our new office manager, King. She arrives in two weeks, and you’d better get ready, man, ’cause she’s gonna kick your backside into the twenty-first century, whether you like it or not!”

  King scowls. Or maybe it’s a smile. It’s hard to tell with him.

  Sitting quietly at the farthest end of the table is Big Win. He’s cutting a piece of ham for Jackson, who’s seated in a high chair next to him happily singing bits and pieces of the alphabet song. Until he catches sight of me, that is. The little guy’s green eyes grow huge, and he gives me a gummy, slobbery grin, pointing at me with one chubby finger.

  “Brybry dooooooooosh!” he yells so loudly and so clearly that everyone stops and looks at us.

  Suddenly the room erupts with laughter.

  “Okay, okay, listen up, please,” Hennessy says, trying to get everyone’s attention.

  When Walker grabs a spoon and starts to tap on a wineglass, the room quiets again, and Hennessy takes over.

  “Well, clearly Bryan was successful in his search and recovery mission,” she jokes, looping her arm through mine. “And I’m thrilled to report that Mr. Bryan Truitt…and I…are both returning to Mayhem. Permanently.”

  The applause that follows this statement is much louder than I’d have thought possible from a small crowd like this one. As they show their enthusiasm, I feel a wave of well-being wash over me.

  “The Truitt Group is going to reopen its headquarters here, offering a different kind of service,” Hennessy explains. “The development of new properties that fit the aesthetic of the community. Small, old-time movie theaters instead of multiplexes, supermarkets that look like quaint country stores, and a commitment to solid infrastructure
with environmental considerations as a top priority.”

  When they start to hoot and holler, I feel my face redden. This is all her. Countless hours of late night brainstorming over wine, building a wish list of what we’d accomplish if we had the time and the resources. Now they’re going to be a reality…and she’s going to be there, by my side, to see them come to fruition.

  Hennessy nods and smiles, holding up her hand one last time to quiet the ecstatically unruly crowd.

  “And finally, as we’ve all heard by now, the anonymous purchaser of this building has put it back into our family’s hands, and we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to the man who saved our father’s legacy. He could have loaned us the amount we were short. He could have maintained a controlling interest. He could have sold the darn thing out from under us for a profit. But he didn’t.”

  “Yeah, Bryan!” Bailey yells out, while Walker hoots loudly. They obviously think I was lying when I told them it wasn’t me.

  Hennessy continues, ignoring the outburst.

  “He purchased the pub before it could go to sheriff’s auction, and then he turned around and gifted the deed back to us, the Whiskey Sisters.”

  Another outburst of clapping has Hennessy smiling and rolling her eyes while she tries to wrangle everyone back.

  “Hold on, hold on! I’m almost done.” She laughs. “My family, my friends, my…love.” She leans over and gives me a quick kiss when she says that last word. “Please, join me in raising a glass to the man who saved O’Halloran’s Pub, who will forever be a part of our family, who gave so generously and humbly under the cloak of anonymity. Until now…”

  They’re all looking at me, grinning and nodding appreciatively as they prepare to toast me.

  “Our thanks and our love and our hearts go out to… Mr. Winston Clarke Senior. Cheers to you, Big Win!”

  There is a moment of absolute stillness and silence. Not so much as a breath can be heard as a very uncomfortable looking Big Win finds a dozen pairs of shocked eyes on him. And then it all explodes. Everyone is talking at once, and rushing to embrace the older man. The girls are fawning over him and pressing kisses to his scarlet cheeks. He looks embarrassed and happy at the same time.

  Win Jr. appears to be irritated at first, likely with the dawning realization that his father has shown him up—and that all of these accolades could’ve been his had he done the decent thing in the first place. But even he can’t scowl in the face of his father’s reluctant joy at this moment, and he gives his old man a begrudging slap on the back.

  Now that the attention has shifted away from us, I pull Hennessy to me, her back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her from behind. She smells of lilacs and snow and sugar cookies…and everything warm and good that a person could wish for. I lean down and put my cheek against hers, watching what she’s watching, taking in the beautiful, loud, chaotic scene unfolding all around us.

  “I love this,” she whispers so only I can hear.

  “What?” I ask, wondering which part of it has imprinted itself on her heart.

  She turns her face toward mine, and I follow suit. We’re so close that I can feel her warm breath on my face when she whispers her reply.

  “The mayhem,” she breathes, as her sweet lips find mine.

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  Acknowledgments

  When my editor first suggested I write a romance set in a “quirky” location, I flashed upon the years I spent living and working in St. Paul, Minnesota. I’m an east coast girl, born and bred, and I found the Midwest to be a totally different and wonderful experience. I was welcomed immediately and embraced by my community until the day I moved away to marry my husband. So my first and biggest acknowledgment goes out to the wonderful people of Minnesota who made a young, scared girl from New York feel welcome for nearly a decade.

  As always, my love and thanks to the people closest to me…

  My dear husband, Tom.

  My sister, Vanessa and her family, Frankie II, Frankie III, and Ursula.

  Aunts and uncles Janet and Kwaku, Karen and Michael, David and Kim, Bonnie and David. Robby and Great Uncle Robby.

  My grandparents, Mike and Crucita.

  Cousins Laura, Michelle, Jessica, Cheryl, Jeremiah, Nathan, Joshua, Hannah, Angel, and Noah.

  My wonderful in-laws, Cathy, Danielle, Mike, Steven and Mason; Pat, Bob, Tricia, Bill, Gabrielle and Addison; Rob, Cara, Cailyn and Aiden; Meredith, Rob, Lauren and Jennifer; Ralphie, Lisa, Rob, Jen, Brandon, Justin, Krystin, and Brianna.

  Kelly—you let me vent and then you help me problem-solve. THANK YOU!

  Jennifer Mishler—thank you, thank you, thank you for being my editor through five (!) books!! I miss you, but I know we’re not done working together yet!

  Stacy Abrams—I’m so grateful to have landed so well! You’ve been a great addition to my team at Entangled and I can already tell we’re going to do great work together!

  Moe Ferrara—I feel so blessed to have you in my corner and I look forward to building my career with your guidance, support and friendship.

  Stacey and Ernie—There aren’t words to tell you both how grateful I am for you.

  And, as always, my greatest and most humble gratitude to my Heavenly Father who gives me the inspiration to create, the courage to pursue and the faith to believe.

  About the Author

  L.E. Rico didn’t set out to be an author. In fact she’s made a name for herself as a classical music radio host—doing her best to make the music and the composers relevant by putting them into a modern context. It was just a few years ago that she discovered a passion for writing that blossomed into an entire novel. And then another. And another. And, while she still spends plenty of time on the radio, telling the stories of the great composers, she spends even more time composing her own great stories.

  Also by L. E. Rico, writing as Lauren E. Rico

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  L. E. Rico, Blame It on the Bet