My Christmas Goose Is Almost Cooked

by Eliza Watson

  I’d be getting a bonus after all!

  If I didn’t screw up my second shot with Finn.

  “It’s a two-hundred-euro gift certificate for O’Brien’s restaurant.” I left out the part about us seeing each other the next time I was in town.

  “Aren’t those beautiful,” an older woman said, admiring the roses. “He’s a keeper.” She smiled at Declan, telling her husband how much roses meant to a woman as they walked off.

  “Do they?” Declan quirked a curious brow. “Mean a lot to a woman?”

  “I’d rather have a guy change the oil in my car than give me flowers.” If I had a car. I slipped the gift card into my pocket. I offered the bouquet to another passing couple. “Happy Christmas.”

  The man gave me a suspicious look. “How much?”

  His wife shot him an annoyed glance.

  I smiled. “Free. Just spreading holiday cheer.”

  “Why, thank you, luv.” The woman accepted the flowers, and they headed toward the elevator.

  I quickly changed the subject from Finn to my dad’s accident and Rachel going home rather than to Killybog.

  Concern creased Declan’s brow, and he took a step toward me. “I hope he’s okay. I’ll drive you there. No problem a’ tall.”

  A sense of relief washed over me. I wouldn’t have to drive, and Declan hadn’t heard me in the restaurant bathroom, if he was willing to chauffeur me around Ireland. I had to tell him. I didn’t want Rachel to slip up and mention Shauna. It should come from me. However, now wasn’t the time, when I was trying to get Declan to confide in me.

  He smiled. “I have something that’ll make you feel better.” Instead of kissing me senseless, he led me over to the towering Christmas tree with twinkling red lights and four green backpacks lying on a red tree skirt. He unzipped one and revealed the contents—colorful pairs of earmuffs, mittens, wool scarves and socks, a McDonald’s gift certificate, Christmas candy, and small wrapped gifts. “Happy Christmas. Let’s go find some mothers in need.”

  “Omigod,” I muttered. “I could kiss you right now.”

  With a mischievous smile, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Go ahead. Rachel knows about us after our hug in the restaurant.” He drew back slightly, a daring glint in his eyes.

  Heart racing, I nodded. “Yeah, so we really need to remain professional.” This also wasn’t the time to mention Rachel’s role in setting me up with Finn. “But I’ll thank you when we get outside.”

  Declan’s playful expression turned serious. He glanced down at the backpacks, then peered up at me. “I, ah, felt bad in Paris after I told you not to give those women money. I’m sorry I was such an arse. And that I didn’t apologize sooner. It’s been bugging me.”

  He’d been a bit judgmental in Paris when I’d given women money after he’d loaned me the cash. However, one filled backpack had to have cost well over a hundred euros.

  I spontaneously leaned in and kissed Declan. Not merely a quick peck before anyone saw us, but our lips lingered several moments. I slowly drew back, holding his gaze rather than frantically glancing around for Rachel. He smiled.

  “Thank you. This is the sweetest gift ever.”

  Both his apology and the backpacks.

  Last Christmas Andy had given me Tiffany diamond-stud earrings, which I’d recently sold on Craigslist—a popular online advertiser—for three hundred bucks, a fraction of the original cost. His assistant had undoubtedly picked them out. These backpacks made me feel better than diamonds ever could. Declan made me feel better about myself and the future than any man ever had. And the fear of losing him made me realize I was ready to take the next step in our relationship.

  I was ready to sleep with Declan.

  Chapter Six

  The following morning, Gracie and Bernice entered the lobby from the elevator instead of the front door, where Declan and I were dispatching airport departures.

  “We won’t be needing our shuttle to the airport,” Bernice said. “We’ve decided to stay for New Year’s. Our dates went quite well.” She winked. “We’ll send you links for all our contest forums and copy you on the ones we enter you in. And we bought you a subscription to Ancestry.com so you can research our McKinneys. We’ll send you what Scottish family history we have after the holidays.”

  I smiled. “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.” The research site might also help me find more Coffey rellies.

  “I don’t want to know if you learn anything bad, though,” Gracie said.

  “Well, depending on how bad,” Bernice added.

  “How bad is bad?” I was curious, since I was debating telling Mom if I confirmed Grandma had been married in Ireland, along with any other family secrets I might uncover.

  “Like if you find a murderer in the family,” Gracie said.

  “But what if he was a famous murderer?” Bernice asked.

  Gracie nodded. “I suppose if he was a famous killer like… James Bond famous but certainly not Jack the Ripper famous.”

  Bernice pondered that a moment. “I think James Bond was English, not Scottish.”

  “He was an English agent, but in Skyfall he went back to his childhood home in the Scottish highlands.”

  Bernice nodded. “That’s right. He was Scottish.”

  He was fictional.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  Gracie sniffed the air, top lip curling back. “What is that smell? It’s not the hotel’s cedarwood…it’s more spicy…”

  Bernice nodded, sniffing with the determination of a hound dog. “Lavender…” Her nose crinkled. “And…”

  “Vanilla,” I said. “It’s my purse. I doused it with the hotel’s signature vanilla-lavender-scented spray.”

  Bernice’s nose was still crinkled. “Well, I think they need a new signature scent. No offense, dear, but it’s a bit…exotic.”

  “Because I was trying to cover the smell of goose curry in my purse.”

  Gracie gasped in horror. “You threw up in your purse?”

  “No, it just smells like it. I stuck my apron in there.”

  “Ah,” the ladies said, nodding.

  Declan joined in their nodding, having obviously been wondering about my stench.

  “Well, it doesn’t really smell that bad,” Gracie said.

  Bernice and Declan shook their heads reassuringly, but not real convincingly.

  “It had a nice aroma when you were cooking it,” Bernice said.

  “Which reminds me, could you please delete that video of me choking on the goose?”

  “I already did, dear.” Bernice gave me a sympathetic pat on the arm.

  Phew. One less thing to worry about.

  We exchanged good-bye hugs. I almost had to pry Gracie’s arms from around Declan. We promised to stay in touch.

  Curt and Derik were late for their airport transfer. Our last departure. No way was I delaying our trip to Killybog because those idiots were passed out in a drunken stupor, hopefully in their room and not under a Christmas tree. Curt finally answered his phone, sounding groggy and disoriented.

  “Your airport shuttle is leaving.” I used my stern motherly tone. “If you aren’t down here ASAP, you’ll be responsible for the additional hotel nights and rebooking fee, which will be massive. Flights are sold out until after Christmas.”

  “Shit.” The line went dead.

  Eight minutes later, they came down reeking of stale smoke and booze, hair uncombed, and clothes spilling out of their half-zipped suitcases.

  Curt tripped on his untied shoelaces. He glanced down at his brown tennies, then at the red ones on his buddy’s feet. “Dude, we have the wrong shoes on. Your feet are way huge. I can’t walk in these.”

  “You can switch in the car.” Declan grabbed Curt’s elbow and steered him toward the door, his suitcase wheels bouncing against the marble floor.

  Curt almost tripped again walking out the sliding doors.

  My mind flashed back to me racing out these same
doors and my backless shoe flying off, my phone shooting from my hand as I fell flat on my face in front of Brecker’s CEO. He’d disconnected his call to peel me off the ground. I’d been even more mortified when he’d noticed my dancing leprechaun socks from the hotel’s gift shop—I’d forgotten to pack socks. Declan had witnessed the entire episode. Within minutes, he’d had me laughing rather than crying, sharing a story about him tripping down the stairs of a moving bus filled with attendees. I smiled at the thought of Declan’s tale, rather than cringing at the memory of my embarrassing moment.

  We stuck the idiots in a black sedan and slammed the doors.

  “If they’re denied boarding or miss their flights, it’s the airline’s issue. I’m not answering my phone.”

  We returned to the lobby as Rachel exited the elevator pulling two large rolling suitcases. She wore her usual travel attire—black yoga pants, black T-shirt, a black jersey cardigan, and flats. Her hair was pulled back in a clip. She often went casual when traveling. Or did it mean she’d spent another steamy night with Gerry Coffey?

  Last night after giving away the backpacks to four very appreciative and emotional mothers, I’d wanted to pop by Rachel’s room and tell her about Declan’s thoughtful gift, but it’d been too late. I wanted her to think more highly of him on a personal level and to share the experience with her.

  She headed toward us with a somber expression. Declan took her luggage, and we walked in silence out to her waiting vehicle. I struggled to remain strong for both our sakes.

  “I’ll bring you back a souvenir from Killybog.”

  “Take lots of pics. I just put in for my spring vacation so I can join you here after the St. Paddy’s Day program.”

  Good to know she still had me working that trip. E-mailing her the encouraging note from Finn, and the impressive candid shots I’d taken, had helped smooth things over between us, professionally anyway.

  Rachel eyed Declan. “Take good care of her.” Her serious tone bordered on threatening.

  Declan nodded. “No worries. Of course, I will.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I mean it.”

  Declan stared her down. “So do I.”

  “I can take care of myself, thank you,” I said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood and prevent a brawl.

  Rachel and I hugged. Teary-eyed, she got in the car without looking back. The car disappeared down the street.

  Needing a good laugh, I turned to Declan. “Tell me about the claustrophobic client in the elevator.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  Declan wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me snugly against him. He held my gaze until his lips touched mine. I lost myself in the kiss. Besides an overwhelming sense of passion, a sense of freedom and adventure raced through me.

  I couldn’t wait to learn about Grandma’s past.

  And to take the next step in my relationship with Declan.

  Chapter Seven

  “My grandma might have shopped here.” I stood in front of a red butcher shop established in 1922. Blue and pink clouds streaked the sky over Killybog’s cheerfully painted buildings. “Take one with the sunset in the background.”

  Declan snapped several shots.

  I peered around at the pubs and shops, excitement zipping through me. I’d cruised Killybog’s streets via Google Maps dozens of times, but that didn’t compare to walking down the same streets Grandma once had.

  An old stone church stood at the edge of town.

  “That’s the church from my grandma’s photo.” I bolted down the sidewalk toward it. Behind the building, a stone fence surrounded a landscape of weathered Celtic crosses towering over smooth granite headstones. “Too bad it’s almost dark, or we could search for Coffey rellies.”

  A large evergreen wreath hung on the church’s arched wooden door. I stood in front of the entrance, glancing over my shoulder, moving to the right. Having memorized Grandma’s picture, I knew precisely the spot where she and her sister had stood in 1935. It sucked that Rachel wasn’t here by my side.

  After Declan snapped my pic, we tried to enter the church.

  “Strange,” Declan said. “Don’t find churches locked often in Ireland.”

  I grasped the round iron door knocker and banged it against the wood.

  “That’s a handle, not a knocker.”

  Using my shoulder, I pressed all my weight against the door.

  “Easy. Someone will think you’re trying to break in. Never broken into a church but did get kicked out of one once.”

  “What did you do to get kicked out of a church?”

  A sly smile curled Declan’s lips. “Got into a bit of a…disagreement.”

  “With the priest?”

  “No, some wanker who was wrong.”

  I wasn’t sure if me getting kicked out of the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, twice, was worse than being kicked out of a church.

  Across the street, a black-and-gold sign on the front of a blue building read Molloy’s. “Your friend Peter’s pub.” I ran over and posed for a picture in front of it. “This isn’t the pub where you and your friends hijacked the Guinness truck, is it?”

  “No, that was Carter’s up the road from my parents.”

  “Let’s see if Peter’s working so I can thank him for finding Sadie Collentine. Maybe a Coffey rellie is inside drinking a pint.”

  Declan opened the red door to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” A group of older men dressed in dark suits sitting at the bar gave us curious stares. Strangers probably didn’t often pop in to the rural pub. They didn’t appear to know Declan. I gave them a little wave, and Declan nodded hello. They nodded back and returned to the horse races on the TV behind the bar.

  Silver garland framed the bar’s mirror, and a sign read Full of Holiday Beer, instead of Cheer. The best decoration of all—red bags of cheese-and-onion Taytos. My mouth watered from chip withdrawal.

  Declan introduced me to Peter, standing behind the bar. Thirtyish, medium height, lean with short brown hair, his T-shirt read Lovely Day for a Guinness.

  “Well, it’s a Christmas miracle,” Peter said. “How are ya, mate?”

  Declan shook his friend’s hand.

  “Thank you so much for hooking me up with my Coffey rellie. I’m meeting her tomorrow.” I gestured to the men down the bar. “Any of them related to me, by chance?”

  “Any ya fellas related to the Coffeys, are ya?” Peter yelled down the bar.

  They all shook their heads.

  I hung my green coat over the back of a wooden barstool next to Declan, who was already ordering a whiskey. The pub didn’t carry Brecker Dark, so I ordered Flanagan’s cider ale and three bags of Taytos. Officially on holiday, I skipped my Brecker Dark sales pitch.

  Declan and I clinked glasses. “Sláinte.”

  “Ya still seeing Charlotte?” Declan asked Peter.

  He smiled, nodding. “For as long as she’ll see me.”

  “Smart man.” Declan studied the TV, then slid a bill across the bar toward Peter. “Put a fiver on Mattie’s Madness.”

  “You can bet on horses at a pub?” I asked.

  “Betting is Ireland’s favorite pastime,” Peter said. “Everything from ponies to tractor pulls. Declan ever tell ya about the time we raced tractors and he drove it into a creek?”

  I arched a curious brow. “No, he hasn’t. Do tell.”

  Declan rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to erase his guilty grin. He gestured to the money on the bar. “This race will be done by the time you call in my bet.”

  Peter waved away his sarcasm and snatched up the phone.

  “Have you ever bet on the ponies?” Declan asked.

  I shook my head.

  He gestured to the TV. “Which one do you fancy?”

  I scanned the horses’ names listed on the screen and studied the jockeys. “Paddy’s Sassy Lassy. Love the name and the jockey’s lime green and purple outfit.”

  Declan laughed. “You’re betting o
n an outfit when the odds are thirty to one?”

  I had no clue what that meant. “You asked which I liked.”

  He peered over at Peter still on with his bookie. “Put another fiver on Paddy’s Sassy Lassy.”

  Peter’s gaze narrowed. “Mad, are ya?”

  Declan shrugged. “It’s what this lass wants.”

  My horse started out way behind, then pulled ahead as they came around a bend. Cheering, I sat on the edge of my stool, leaning forward. Paddy’s Sassy Lassy was nose to nose with Declan’s horse in the homestretch. My Lassy won by inches.

  “Woo-hoo!” I punched a celebratory fist in the air.

  Peter placed 130 euros on the bar.

  Declan slid the money in front of me. “Fair play to ya. And that’s after paying the vig.”

  “Holy crap. Maybe I can earn side money on horse betting.”

  The men down the bar raised their pints in congratulations, giving me a thumbs-up and expectant looks. I bought them a round of drinks, then stuck my money in my wallet before I threw it all away on the jockey in the super-cute pink-and-black outfit. I would use it to buy a new purse. Although removing the satin lining had weakened the pungent floral stench, the smell of curry lingered. Maybe merely in my head, but it was there.

  Ten minutes later, Declan was placing another bet when a tall dark-haired guy, midthirties, entered the pub. Declan glanced over at him, and panic flashed in his eyes as his body tensed.

  “Hello, Declan,” the guy said, slowly approaching him.

  Declan gave him a sharp nod. “Liam.”

  Liam gave me a faint smile and nod.

  “Heard you’d moved to Cork,” Declan said.

  “Got married last year and bought a house just up the road.”

  “Ah, grand. Congratulations.”

  Liam glanced over at me.

  “This is Caity, a coworker,” Declan said.

  Coworker?

  Liam shook my hand. He sat next to Declan, who was staring into his glass. Liam broke the awkward silence by ordering a whiskey.

  Declan polished off his drink and ordered a double. “Be right back.” He disappeared down a dark hallway. I hoped he was going to the bathroom, not escaping out the back door and ditching me.