To Blake, With Love

by KT Webb

  Blake nods once before dropping down to show Sarge some more love. Once she’s decided he’s been sufficiently loved on, she sighs and follows me back into the pub.

  “What’s that?”

  I follow her pointing finger to the one thing I didn’t want her to notice. On a top shelf, surrounded by cobwebs and covered in a thick layer of dust, is the bottle of whiskey I shared with Madigan the day she left. I should have dumped it out years ago, but there’s something that’s always kept me from taking the plunge. Maybe part of me has tried to hold onto the possibility that she would come back, we’d pull that bottle down, and finish the conversation she stormed out on years ago. Mads is never coming back, I’ve known it for years.

  “Gannon?” Blake gently touches my forearm.

  There go the chills again. I bring my attention back to Blake and try to shrug off the question. “It’s just a bad memory that I haven’t had the strength to leave behind me.”

  I’m not sure if that was enough of an explanation for her or if she’s going to want more information. Luckily, even though she stares at the bottle for a few silent minutes, she ultimately lets the subject drop. It surprises me that she’s so easy-going. There are a lot of things I don’t know about her, but I guess that’s all part of beginning a new friendship. It’s been a long time since I’ve even tried to get to know anyone outside of the people who shaped me from childhood.

  “So, it’s Saturday. Will this place be busy again tonight?” Blake asks, leaning against one of the shelves.

  “Oh yeah, it always is. I’m also introducing my newest brew tonight. This place will be packed,” I try not to sound like a braggart.

  “That sounds fun. Maybe I’ll have to check it out,” Blake offers me a shy smile.

  I don’t know what’s got her acting shy all of a sudden, but I can’t deny how adorable it is. Before I can tell her I’d like it if she would come to the pub tonight, Blake interrupts me.

  “Gannon, I wanted to thank you. I know things got a little out of hand here last night, but I really appreciated your help today with Roald.”

  “It’s no problem. Isn’t this what friends do? Help each other out, and defend one another.”

  Blake tilts her head to the side for a moment, then closes the distance between us. I don’t have any time to react as we collide. Her lips are on mine in an intense moment that I didn’t anticipate. All too soon, it’s over. I open my eyes to find myself staring into her deep emerald eyes. Shite, shite, shite. I’m screwed.

  “Now we’re even,” Blake whispers.

  She’s waiting for me to say something, anything. I don’t even know how to form words. I never saw Blake Molloy coming, but I don’t know how I’m going to feel if I have to watch her leave.

  It doesn’t do me any good to deny my attraction to Gannon. Attraction doesn’t automatically mean we’re going to be in a relationship, right? From the way he’s looking at me, I can’t tell if he thinks of this the same way I do or if he’s terrified of me. I feel the sudden urge to bolt before he can react negatively to my kiss. “Now we’re even”? What was I thinking? I don’t know why I did that, maybe it’s the idea of being in a completely new place and trying to be a new me. Perhaps I just see something in Gannon that I haven’t seen in anyone for a long time.

  “I better go,” I tell him while trying desperately to keep my voice from quivering.

  “Blake? I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to say right now. I can’t quite figure you out,” Gannon says while keeping me firmly in place.

  “You don’t have to figure me out. Many have tried, few have succeeded,” I roll my eyes.

  Gannon catches my chin with his hand, turning my face toward his again. “Would it be weird if I told you that I’m a little afraid of you?”

  I can’t help but laugh out loud at his question. Gannon is at least six inches taller than me, he’s perfectly toned, and built like a Greek god. My laughter is short-lived when I see his expression hasn’t changed. I should have known he didn’t mean he was physically afraid of me; he’s scared of what I might represent if we give in to our chemistry. To be honest, that’s what I’m so afraid of too. I don’t want to get hurt again. Gannon has no idea how my last relationship ended, and I’m not ready to share that with anyone. My eyes twitch involuntarily toward the partially drained whiskey bottle sitting on the top shelf. If I had to guess, I’d say Gannon’s been hurt too.

  “Okay, I have an idea,” I grin up at him. “Let’s make a pact. We’ll take things slow, snail's pace. Help me get to know this place, be my road-trip buddy, my late-night movie watching partner, my guide to all things Kinnitty. If things progress on their own, we’ll address our fears then.”

  Gannon thinks about my proposition, never removing his arms from around my waist. I love looking at him. After appearing to have a silent argument with himself, he finally leans forward and gently kisses my lips. His mouth moves achingly slow against mine. The tingles I get from him ripple through my body, pooling in my stomach to perform an acrobatic act. This isn’t going to be easy, but I think if we’re going to move past our physical attraction, we have to get to know each other. What if his surliness is a constant affliction, and the sweet guy I see is just an act? The kiss ends, and he leans his forehead against mine.

  “I’ll accept your deal, sealed with a kiss,” Gannon winks.

  Damn, he’s good.

  “But now you’ve got one up on me,” I say with a fake pout.

  Gannon’s laugh comes easily, and I feel as though the tension between us disappears completely. I can’t wait to see where this goes. My first mission is to get to know Kinnitty. I’m confident that if anyone can help me with that, it’ll be Gannon. My grandpa left me at a bit of a disadvantage by not telling us more about his life in Ireland. All I know right now is that I’d better avoid Roald at all costs.

  “I’d better get out there and finish helping Patrick with the setup. We only have an hour or so before people start arriving. Do you want to come see how it is tonight?”

  I consider it for a moment, “No. Not tonight. I think I should probably meet more people before I dive into the pub scene. No need to get rumors started about the American party girl.”

  “True,” Gannon pauses before offering me a smile. “I think you’d find that the people of this town would be more accepting of a girl who spends some time in a pub, especially a pub owned and operated by one of Kinnitty’s favorite sons. Think about it. No pressure.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Gannon gives me a quick hug. I hear him inhale when he plants a kiss on top of my head. When we exit the storage room, I catch him taking another look at the infamous whiskey bottle. The hurt reflected in his eyes tells me everything I need to know to understand that we have more in common than either of us really know. Whoever was tied to that memory was someone he loved, and she hurt him.

  “So, Blake, what’d you think of the place?” Patrick asks with a wink.

  “It’s great! I think my favorite part of the tour came in the form of a fuzzy puppy,” I grin.

  “Oh, yeah, Gannon shows all the girls his fuzzy puppy.”

  The burst of laughter that springs from my mouth surprises Gannon. I can’t help it. I’m worse than a pre-pubescent boy when it comes to innuendos. From the look on both men’s faces, I’m not sure it was meant as an innuendo at all. Oops. I clear my throat and mutter an apology. God, why am I this way?

  “Sorry, I just thought of something funny,” I just need to play it cool.

  Patrick and Gannon both grin at me. Oh, thank God. They were picking on me. Soon we’re all laughing, and the awkwardness disappears. I bid them both farewell and head out the front door. I can feel his eyes watching me until I round the corner to head up the side road that leads to Molloy Bed and Breakfast.

  I wander along the road, taking in the beauty of the Kinnitty countryside. Beyond the B&B, I find brilliant emerald pastureland as far as the eye can see. It’s breathtaking. Fr
om reading Grandpa Molloy’s Will, I know this land is probably mine too. Molloy Dairy goes beyond the farm I can see. It’s all family-owned and operated, but I now know there’s a cheese factory somewhere nearby.

  The task I have in front of me seems impossible. If my encounter with Roald taught me anything, it’s that the Molloy family has been letting their grudge ruminate for nearly fifty years. I have no idea how far or how deep it’s spread through the generations of Molloy’s that still proudly work at the dairy. That’s where my real problem lies. If they all hated my grandpa, they’re not going to like me any better.

  Then there’s Kinnitty itself. How many of the people who live in this town work for the business I now own? It’s such a small community, and I’ve already gathered that many people feel personally impacted by things that didn’t even involve them. How many of those people think the same about me as they did about my grandfather? Regardless of the answers to those questions, I’m going to do my best to show people that I mean them no ill-will. I may be my grandfather’s favorite, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to cause the kind of hurt he did.

  The fact that I understand why his family was upset with him only makes this more difficult. I was the one who walked away from my family, but I was also the one who was hurt by their actions and lack of care regarding those actions. Of course, it’s precisely that reason that I’m probably not the right person to try to get them to heal and forgive. I haven’t forgiven my family, but they haven’t done anything to earn that forgiveness. As far as I know, Vince and Maeve are still together, and my parents spend a lot of time with them. It’s like I was never part of the equation. At least I’m here trying to acknowledge the pain my grandparents caused.

  The early evening sun is disappearing behind the horizon as I begin my walk back to my cottage. I think I need to contact a lawyer to find out what my options are. I didn’t ask for any of this, but I don’t want to let it go without reason. Obviously, grandpa thought I should be here. I want to find out why.

  My hand is throbbing. I can’t sleep. As I roll over to turn on the bedside lamp, I can practically feel the bones in my hand grinding in unnatural ways. Roald hit me pretty hard, but could it have been hard enough to break my hand? With the light on, I can see the swelling is out of control, and the spot that had been red and bruised is now an ugly purple lump. Shit.

  It figures that I’m stuck in a foreign country with a broken hand. I don’t even know if there is a doctor in Kinnitty. A quick glance at the clock tells me I’m going to have to wait a few more hours before I can ask anyone for a doctor. If I can take some ibuprofen, I may be able to get a few more hours of sleep. The floor in the cottage is cold against my bare feet as I pad to the bathroom in search of my over the counter drug collection. Of course, the cold tile makes a straight connection from my feet to my bladder, so by the time I get to the bathroom on the other side of the tiny cottage, I can barely hold my urine. After I go pee, I try to wash my hands and temporarily forget that one of them hurts like hell. It doesn’t take much to remember. Just the feeling of the water running on the swollen skin is enough to bring tears to my eyes. My vision is a little blurry when I finally find the pill bottle I need. Curse those stupid child-safety caps! There is no way I’ll be able to grip the bottle well enough to get the pills I so desperately want.

  “Motherfucker!” I yell as I throw the stupid bottle through the open door of the bathroom.

  Huh, well, that worked out better than I imagined. By some miracle, the cap breaks just enough to pop off, and the tiny gel caps spill all over the floor. At this point, I would lay down on the floor and lick the gel from the tile. Luckily, I’m not She-Hulk, so the pills themselves didn’t burst on impact. The couch is next to the spot where the ibuprofen landed, so I should be able to use it to stand back up. If not, at least there are a few throw pillows and a wool blanket within reach. I have no qualms about lying on the floor until Aoife or Gannon come to check on me. I lower myself down to my knees, cradling my arm against my chest while using the other to gain support from the couch. With my uninjured hand, I snatch up four extra strength ibuprofen and toss them in my mouth. After staring at the other pills for a few more moments, I decide I’m not in the mood to clean up my mess. My head is spinning, my hand is throbbing, and I sort of want to vomit.

  It takes most of my remaining energy to hoist myself back onto the couch, and when I land there, I realize that the urge to throw up has now become an immediate need. A garbage can under the side table just became my new best friend. When my stomach has been emptied of what seems like everything I ate for the last few days, I decide I’d better try to find someone to help me. It’s one-thirty in the morning. I don’t know where Aoife lives, so my only other option is to walk down to the Wolfhound. Bars back in America usually close around two, I guess I’ll find out if that’s the custom here. If not, I think I’ll have to go bang on Gannon’s front door with my right hand. I’ve only been here for a month, and I’m already becoming a pain in the ass for people who hardly know me.

  Closing time can’t come soon enough. The music is terrific, the people are great, but all I can think about is hanging out with Blake. Now that I know there’s at least some interest from her, I can’t help but think about seeing her again. There are some friends I’d like to introduce her to, and I want to show her the pyramid-shaped tomb at St. Finnian’s. In the cemetery, she could see the final resting place of her Molloy grandparents. I think it would help her to connect to the past before she faces the present.

  “Hey, Gannon! I heard there was some commotion here last night, and a spot of bother at the B&B earlier today,”

  The voice behind me is none other than Roald Molloy III. He’s nearly ten years my senior and the resident small-town doctor in Kinnitty. The fact that he’s the grandson of the man who harassed and assaulted Blake is not lost on me. From what I do know about this Roald Molloy, he couldn’t be farther from resembling his grandfather.

  “I’m sure you did. Listen, I know he’s your grandad and all, but she’s your cousin. He has no right to mistreat her,” I tell him as I pour his whiskey on the rocks.

  “Can’t say you’re wrong. I’ve heard the story of my big-bad great uncle so many times that I can’t help but be interested in finding out if his granddaughter is here to finish what he started,” Roald laughs at the preposterous statement.

  “Blake is actually really great. Now that she’s all settled in, I’m hoping to be introducing her to more people in the coming weeks. I’ll make sure we stop by your office. You’d really like her.”

  He nods his head, “I’m sure I will. I don’t put a lot of stock into grudges. To be honest, I’m tired of hearing about how Brion Molloy abandoned his family. None of them can exactly complain. He may not have stayed here, but he made sure our family kept the dairy and B&B.”

  I’ve known most of the younger generation didn’t buy into the drama the older generation embraced, but those old geezers are certainly louder about their feelings. Roald and his wife head to their rowdy table of Molloy cousins. I glance at the clock, we only have an hour or so left before I can collapse in my bed. I’m more exhausted than usual. It must be the excitement of all that is Blake. Just thinking about her sends a tingle to my nether region. That woman has curves in all the right places and a mouth I’d like to kiss again. Now that we’ve blurred the line between friendship and something more, I can’t help but fantasize about her. As I automatically pour drinks for customers, I think about how it would feel to lose myself in her right on this old wooden counter. My vivid imagination is not doing the front of my jeans any favors. Thank God I’m behind the bar, or I’d have a lot of explaining to do to customers.

  The desperate need to trace kisses along her neck and nibble on her ear lobes is too much. If I’m not careful, I’m going to have to go grab a change of pants or take matters into my own hands, so to speak. Blake Molloy is more than a conquest, she’s the holy grail, and it’s up to me to overcome the
obstacles between us. While I’m busy imagining how it would feel to have her legs wrapped around my waist, I’m not paying close enough attention to the atmosphere in my pub. It’s always loud in here, but something is different now. The chaotic environment is suddenly quieter and more focused than a pub should be. When I look up from the drinks I just poured, I see why.

  As though she’s walked straight out of my fantasies, Blake is standing a few feet inside the pub in a thin pink tank top and flannel pajama shorts. Her nipples are visible through the delicate, form-fitting shirt, and all I can do is wonder why the hell she didn’t put some clothes on before she came here. There are tears in her eyes as she cradles her arm against her body. I quickly hop over the bar acting as a barrier between us and arrive in front of her in mere seconds.

  “Blake? What’s going on?”

  She seems dazed. Tears fall from those gorgeous eyes, trailing a salty path down her freckled cheeks. I place a hand on her shoulder and use the other to lift her chin up so that she’s looking at me instead of staring at the crowd.