Chapter Twelve
Gabe
Instead of going straight home, I stop off at a nearby coffee shop for some caffeine and a raspberry scone. After I left the office and the shock wore off, I realized I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. I’ve been so torn up about the case that food lost its appeal. Taking my order outside, I grab a bench in the shade and take a few bites. Then I pull out my phone to get caught up on all the texts that have come in this morning.
Mom: Byrne, darlin’, it was so nice to see you last week. Any chance you’ll grace us with your presence again before I die of old age? Also, still thinking about that lovely teapot.
Ciara: Hey G, Mum said you’re already shopping for her birthday. Are you trying to make me look bad? You’re already her golden child. Cut it out already or I’m dropping my kids for a weekend at their uncle’s apartment. ALL of them. Even the biter and the one who hides behind the couch to do his business.
Alexis: Hey babe, I know you were planning to come over tonight, but this case is kicking my butt. I’m basically only going home to shower and change. Sorry. #missyou
Is it wrong that I’m relieved not to be going over to Alexis’s place tonight? It definitely makes me a coward because it means putting off telling her what I did at the office today.
Me to Mom: My evening just opened up. I’ll pop over after work.
Mom: Saints be praised, the prodigal son returns!
Audra has been oddly quiet in the text department, so I’m not surprised when a message from her pops up.
CrazySister: Guess what? The lifts were a hit! Zay left this morning without me having to physically drag him to the subway. I just wanted to thank you.
Me: No problem.
CrazySister: Are you still in Hell’s Kitchen?
Me: Not at the moment, but I’m going there this evening.
CrazySister: Is there any way we could meet up to talk about my career? The hotel gig didn’t work out and I’ve been thinking about what you said. I really do need to be proactive if I want to make my dreams come true.
Might as well meet her. It’ll be a good distraction from the mess I’m making of my life right now.
Me: Sure. Can you meet me at The Salty Nuts Tavern around seven?
CrazySister: I sure can. This is so cool! See you then!
I spent the afternoon at loose ends. I scrub my bathroom, go for a run, have a long, cool shower, and then head off to The Salty Nuts. I’m still in shock about the stance I took at work, and being here is exactly what I need. It’ll help to be somewhere where things feel normal. Well, as normal as they can around my parents.
I arrive at the tavern just before seven, relief flooding through me as I step into the familiar world my parents have created. “There’s my beautiful boy!” my mom calls across the room.
“Hello, Mom,” I say, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I hope this’ll be a new thing, you showing up here every week,” she says.
“I’d come every day if I could,” I tell her.
“Liar,” she says, pouring a glass of house white. “Now, be a love and go take this to the beautiful girl at table five.”
“Sure,” I say.
I’m just about to table five, when I finally notice who the beautiful girl is. It’s Jennifer, the fun receptionist with the dirty paintings. I stop short, causing the wine to slop onto my Yankees T-shirt just as she looks up. Of course, she saw that.
“Mr. Daly?”
“Jennifer,” I say. “What are you doing here?” I should tell her to call me Gabe, but color me a pervert, I’m getting a weird little thrill hearing her call me Mr. Daly.
Her cheeks turn a bit red. “I’m meeting a friend. Well, sort of. I don’t actually know what he looks like.”
Disappointment fills my veins, even though I’ve got no business having any reaction at all to this news. “Blind date?”
She shakes her head. “No. No, not a blind date. It’s not … a romantic thing. Unless I wanted to become a nun, but even then …”
“What?” I ask, trying to follow her train of thought but completely missing it.
“Nothing, inside joke, as in it should have stayed inside my head.” She glances at the wine in my hand. “I ordered a white wine too, but she seems busy. Maybe I should go get it myself and save her the trip.”
I hold it out to her. “This is for you. Well, it was until I spilled half of it on my shirt. I’ll get you another one.”
She scrunches up her eyebrows in a way I can only describe as adorable. “The bartender asked you to hand out drinks?”
I nod conspiratorially. “Kind of weird, don’t you think? What kind of place is this, anyway?”
“Seems fun,” she says. “I like the wacky couple who owns it.”
“They must be the salty nuts the sign is referring to …” I tell her.
My mom walks up carrying another glass of white and puts it on the table in front of Jen. “This one with the butter fingers,” she tells her. “We had to send him to law school before he broke every glass in the place.”
Jennifer laughs, then looks at me. “They’re your parents?”
I nod and mutter, “Yup,” while my mom takes the glass from my hands, puts it on the table for Jennifer, and then presses a cloth to my shirt. I take it from her and dab at it myself. I don’t need Jennifer to see my mother treating me like a seven-year-old.
“Now, young lady, our loss is your gain. You’ve just got yourself an extra half a glass of wine on the house.” Nodding her head to my shirt, she says, “The rest’s on him.”
My dad comes out of the kitchen, his arms loaded with four plates. “Oh, Son, good, you’re just in time to settle an argument.”
Great. There’s never a winner in any of their insane arguments. Only a loser, and that’s whoever they rope into the middle of it.
Dad crosses the floor while calling to me, “Your ma here thinks that Audrey Hepburn was the most beautiful woman to ever light up a screen and I say it was Sophia Loren. You agree with me, yeah?” He puts the plates down and walks back without breaking his stride. “I mean, Audrey was lovely, to be sure, but Sophia? Come on. Those eyes, just like a cat, and those lips …” He shakes his head and closes his eyes like he’s in pain. “You can’t get better than that.”
My mom waves her hand at him. “He just likes her because she’s got those huge melons. Audrey had class.”
They both turn to me. “Well? Who’s right?” my dad demands.
“They’re both lovely in their own way,” I answer, causing both of my parents to groan loudly.
My dad shakes his head. “I raised a coward! You get that from your mum’s side.” He turns to Jennifer. “You look like you’ve got guts. Who’s prettier, Sophia or Audrey?”
I shake my head at her, but Jennifer grins from ear to ear and replies, “I think I have to go with Audrey. Classically beautiful.”
My mom cheers and leans down to wrap an arm around Jennifer’s shoulder. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re also smart as a whip. I could tell when you first walked in that I’d like you.”
Mom gives me a what about her? look that I ignore. “What’s your name, love?”
“Jennifer,” I say.
When Mom looks up in surprise, Jennifer adds, “Yes, it’s Jennifer, but please call me Jen. Your son and I have met.”
“And how do you know each other?” My mom is suddenly all ears.
“I met her at one of the hotels I represent,” I say, my gut tightening when I realize that description will be shifting to the past tense in another week.
“He saved my life, actually,” Jen says, giving me a playful smile.
I grin back. “But it doesn’t count because I’m the reason you almost died.”
My mom looks back and forth between us, her eyes lighting up at our exchange.
“I was choking on a hot dog—” Jen explains.
“Because I mad
e her laugh,” I put in.
“True,” Jen says. “But if I hadn’t tried to eat the whole thing in one bite …”
“It really was an impressive mouthful,” I tell her with a firm nod.
We share a moment that we definitely shouldn’t be sharing. Not in front of my mother. Or at all, really. I turn to my mom and say, “Jen here is an artist. She paints flowers.” Jen blushes while I tell her, “Show my mom your lily.”
Her face turns bright red now and she takes a big gulp of wine.
My mom slides into the booth next to her. “Don’t be shy, love. I’d love to see your lily.”
“Well, Mary, make yourself at home, why dontcha?” my dad says. “It’s not like we’ve got a busy tavern to run.”
“You boys take over for a few minutes. I need to get off my feet for a minute.” She turns to Jen and says, “My dogs are barking.”
“Uh, Mom, she’s meeting someone here,” I say, then remember I’m supposed to be meeting Audra. I glance around, relieved when I don’t spot her. I’d much rather spend time with Jen, just not while my mom is sitting with her.
“Not a date, I hope,” my mom says to her.
“Mom!” I hiss.
“What, love?” she asks innocently.
Before I can answer, Jen says, “Not a date.”
“Oh, good,” my mom says. “That means you’re free for this one.” She lowers her voice, but I still manage to hear, “He’s got a girlfriend, but don’t hold that against him. He’ll come to his senses someday.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I grind out.
My mom waves to the front door and orders, “You get going. There’s a group that’s just come in. They’ll need a table and some menus. My friend—what’s your name again?”
“Jen Flanders.”
“Flanders? Are you Irish then, my love?” Mom asks, clearly losing the thread of her thought.
“My great-grandparents were from England actually.”
“No matter, we won’t think less of you just because your ancestors were barbarians.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I say, rubbing my face.
“You’re still here?” my mom says.
So, I do what any independent adult male would do in this situation. What my mom tells me to.
As I walk away, I hear her say, “Now, I really would love to see that painting of yours. I’ve got a birthday coming up, ya know …”
Chapter Thirteen
Jen
I love Mr. Daly’s parents. I only wish mine were as kind and loving. When I open my portfolio, the first page is a photo I took of my lily painting. Mrs. Daly takes one look, makes the sign of the cross, and whistles, “Sweet Jaysus, that’s quite the picture! Are you sure it’s a lily, love?”
“I painted it as a lily, but that’s the great thing about art. It’s subjective so it can be anything you want it to be.”
Mrs. Daly fans her face with a cocktail napkin. “Okay, then. Well, good job, you.” Then she takes a sip of the half glass of wine sitting on the table and points to her son. “Tell me what you think of my Byrne.” Ah, finally I have a first name for Mr. Daly. Byrne. I like it!
“Oh, well, I …” I feel a blush come to my cheeks that I’m hoping is camouflaged by the darkness of the pub. “He’s a lovely man. Truly.”
“His da and I think so, that’s for sure. But I’ve got to tell ya,” she leans in conspiratorially and adds, “I don’t think that lass of his is on the same page. She’s a cold one.” She offers a theatrical shudder to emphasize her point.
“Really?” I don’t want to act too interested, but I still want to know more.
“Been together since law school, they have. Joe and I thought it would blow over after they graduated, but they just kept on going. She’s like a bad habit, like biting your fingernails until they’re so low they’re bloody.” That’s quite a visual.
“Well, if they love each other …” I start to say but Byrne’s mom interrupts by crossing herself again.
“Don’t say it! Do not invoke that word when referring to that girl. My poooor mother’s heart can’t take it!”
I can’t suppress the laughter that overtakes me. Then, getting more serious, I say, “But if they’ve been together since law school, that has to be what? Six, seven years?”
“Eight,” she practically spits.
Eight years and they don’t live together? That’s kind of telling. Maybe Byrne isn’t really as taken as I’d thought.
“You should make a play for him,” his mother says like she’s reading my mind.
“Oh, well, ah … you know, I’m not the kind of girl to go after someone else’s man.” I start shaking my head like I’m trying to gain enough momentum to fly out of my seat.
“You think he’s cute though, dontcha?”
I look across the room as Byrne takes drink orders from the large party that just walked in. I thought he was handsome in a suit, but in jeans and a tee, wow. I might have to borrow Mrs. Daly’s napkin to fan myself. “Yeah …” I sigh, sounding like I want to jump his bones right here and now. Totally forgetting that I’m saying this to his mother.
“That’s what I thought. Good girl,” she says. “Now the trick is, you have to find a way to spend more time with him.”
“That might be a problem,” I tell her. “I lost my job today.” My stomach flips over again at the knowledge. God is going to be so disappointed in me. Maybe even as disappointed as I am. I glance around, wondering where he is. “I actually got fired. This sweet little old man—who turned out not to be so sweet after all—pulled a money changing scam on me. Took me for fifty bucks.”
“The wee bastard,” she says, shaking her head. “Was there a huge lineup at the time?”
“Yes,” I say, wondering how she knows.
“Yup, that’s when they hit. Lots of niceties and apologies?”
“I take it you’ve had this happen to you.”
“Hell no, but it’s happened to Joe, six times.” She takes another sip of wine and settles deeper into the booth.
I glance at Byrne’s dad, deciding he must be the softy between the two of them. I let out a sigh. “It’s so embarrassing. I’ve never been fired before. Plus, a friend got me the job in the first place, so I’m really worried he’ll be upset with me.” Mrs. Daly nods and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t you worry, I’m sure your friend will understand.”
“I hope so. I don’t know him well.” I nod.
“So, you’re back on the hunt for employment then?”
I let my shoulders drop, feeling the weight of my financial woes. “I guess so.”
“Have you had your supper yet, darlin?” she asks me.
“I haven’t, Mrs. Daly,” I tell her. “But eating out isn’t in my budget right now. I promise to come back once I get paid though. The food looks wonderful.”
“Oh, now”—she sits upright—”don’t talk nonsense, love. I’m going to go get you a bowl of Joe’s famous Guinness stew. It’ll be a gift from me to you. And call me Mary.” She stands up and walks away before I can stop her.
I look around wondering where God is, and I suddenly know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s not coming. Maybe he’s upset with me for being conned. But that doesn’t sound right. Would God really be mad at me for trusting a little old man?
Huh, now that I think of it, earlier today I told him, via prayer, not text, that I really wanted to get to know Byrne better—I feel a thrill of excitement at finally knowing his name—and what happens? He sets up an appointment to meet me at the pub Mr. Daly’s family owns. Could He be answering my prayers again? I wish I could talk to Zay about this, but I can’t bear to have him poke holes in my relationship with God.
When Mary comes back, she’s carrying a tray with two bowls of stew and a basket of bread. “I thought I’d join you, if you don’t mind.”
Her husband calls out from across the room, “Mary gal, what on earth are you doi
ng? We’ve got customers!”
She waves him off and yells back, “Tell your son. He can help you while I get to know Jen here.”
I look around to find Byrne. He’s staring right at me, which causes waves of heat to pour through me like I just stepped foot into a jacuzzi. His expression is almost one of longing, like there’s something he wants to tell me. God knows there’s something I want to say to him, which is, “Drop your girlfriend and ask me out!”
“He’s staring at you like a leprechaun looks at his gold,” Mary interrupts my thoughts.
Forcing my eyes away from her son, I reply, “I don’t think so. He’s just being nice to me is all.”
“Listen, Jen, I know of the perfect job for a girl with such a lovely disposition as yours. It'd be evening work, so you’d have time to paint your pretty pictures during the day.”
“Really, what?”
Opening her napkin and putting it in her lap, she says, “Joe and I have been meaning to hire some help around here. Tips are good and you get to eat all your meals here for free. Even on days you don’t work,” she tells me.
“Are you serious?” I suddenly feel so light and happy, I’m surprised I don’t start levitating.
“Of course, I’m serious. You’d be doing us a right favor, actually. I just hate the thought of hiring someone off the street that I don’t even know.” She digs into her stew. “Plus, I wasn’t kidding about my feet being sore. I’ve got bunions the size of grapefruits.”
Wow. Another visual I wish I wasn’t having. But a job here? Where people are relaxed and fun and kind? And there’s yummy free food? Heck, yeah! “Are you sure? You don’t really know me,” I tell her.
She waves off my comment. “I have a gift. I can tell who someone is just by looking in their eyes. Your eyes say that you’re kind and gentle and a heck of a lot of fun. Just the sort we need around here to sweeten up the salty nuts. Plus, my Byrne seems to think the world of you. What do you say? You want to start tomorrow night?”
The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2) Page 8