by Anya Nowlan
Still, as much as she tried to distract herself from that particular thought, the grinning face of Pran the delivery guy, or “pilot” as he’d claimed to be, kept popping up in her thoughts and she smiled privately to herself at that. It was only when Miriam, the middle Callahan sister, stormed in through the front door that Kelly’s attention was properly diverted for a moment.
“You won’t believe this. I almost got squashed when two idiots in trucks tried to ram one another,” she said with a huff, unwrapping her long scarf from around her neck. “One guy with a big-ass red truck slammed down on his brakes to avoid hitting the truck in front of him and came this close to running me over. Can you imagine that? Dad would lose his mind if I ended up at the hospital before St Paddy’s with a cast on my damn leg.”
Miriam scoffed loudly, shrugging out of her jacket and throwing it on the barstool next to the one she climbed up on. She was definitely a Callahan, with the same red hair and green eyes, though she had less freckles than Kelly did and looked more like their mother, with her rounder face and button nose.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping, dear sister?” Kelly asked casually, glancing over her shoulder to see if their father was anywhere close.
He’d freak out if he heard some dolt in a truck had tried to run over one of his daughters. He’d probably go looking for the guy with a baseball bat and a promise to break his kneecaps, even if in reality it would mean that he’d give the guy a stern talking-to and then come home to tell tall tales of his mighty conquest. The whole ‘and its eye was this big!’ thing really stuck with a certain generation of Irish-Americans as far as Kelly could tell.
“Helping? Sure. As soon as I can catch my breath. I did almost die, after all,” Miriam answered, slouching on the counter and propping her chin on one hand. “So what are you looking so dreamy about? And get me a latte, will you? I need some caffeine to stay awake this weekend. Did the order come in?”
“It did,” Kelly said, dropping the rag and moving to fix the coffee. “And I think that might have been the guy who you narrowly avoided bumping into.”
“Yeah? How do you figure?” Miriam asked, receiving her coffee and reaching over the counter to grab a bottle of brandy and pour a small dollop into her sugary, caffeinated concoction.
“Red truck. And he looked like the disoriented kind. Almost stumbled out of here,” Kelly said with a shrug, though a warm smile came to her lips again at the thought of the fumbling fool.
“Oooh, was he cute? You look like he looked like he was cute.”
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked, scowling at Miriam who was pouring sugar into her latte now in great big helpings.
“You got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The ‘he’s so dreamy’ look. You know the one.”
“I do not!” Kelly protested, averting her eyes and focusing on the glass she’d been working on before, though the smudge that she was trying to buff out certainly wasn’t going to budge if she hadn’t gotten it out in five minutes.
She could feel a pink blush coming to her cheeks and she groaned under her breath before Miriam could say another thing. Meeting her sister’s gaze, Kelly narrowed her eyes slightly, though she couldn’t pretend to be peeved for too long. Soon enough a smile broke out on her lips and she shook her head.
“Fine, okay. He was sort of cute.”
“Knew it!” Miriam said triumphantly, throwing one hand up as she took a big sip of her drink. “Was he Irish?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, a forbidden love-affair,” Miriam teased, grinning impishly.
Now both of them checked to make sure their beloved father was nowhere in hearing range. For some reason, the brothers bringing home girls who weren’t distinctly Irish remained not a problem at all, but her and Miriam? No way.
“Right. We’re a regular old Romeo and Juliet, me and the delivery guy I’ll probably never see again.” She paused for a moment, glancing toward the back area of the pub again, remembering that Pran had left his handtruck. “Well, almost never.”
“Sounds like an epic love story to me,” Miriam said with a shrug of her shoulders, offering Kelly a drink as well.
She declined with a shake of her head, hanging up the heavy stein and grabbing for another from the drying rack.
“One down, a hundred more to go. I could really use your help, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it. You don’t have to be such a nag,” Miriam grumbled, downing her coffee and slipping off the seat, grabbing her jacket and disappearing into the depths of the still mostly-empty pub.
Tonight it would be calm enough, people only starting to get ready for the festivities as it fell on a Thursday this year. But starting the next day it would be all-out madness until Monday morning, and even then they’d probably end up sweeping a good number of people out of the door. It happened every year.
The pub would be filled with screaming, laughing, singing, and joyous people, all thrust together in some crazy brotherhood-of-man sort of thing where every guy standing next to you and humming the right tune would immediately be dubbed your long-lost brother. It was a dizzying array of friendship and alcohol and as much as Kelly loved watching it all, she also didn’t mind participating, though that rarely happened as she was needed at the bar. It was going to be all hands on deck for the next few days, with the whole extended Callahan clan showing up to serve, bus, and keep the peace.
But still, in the back of her mind, Kelly sort of got the feeling that she was going to be thinking about the cute delivery guy with the cocky grin and the awkward mannerisms far too much of the time. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
CHAPTER THREE
Pran
“We need to go in here,” Pran yelled over the cacophony of noise blasting on the street that led to Callahan’s Shamrock.
“Are you sure? Place looks packed,” Jake called back, the bear shifter looking at the brightly lit and absolutely overflowing pub with some trepidation.
“Yeah, if we get off the main streets we might actually find a place where we could get to the bar before morning, you know,” Tate added in, the fox shifter crossing his arms over his chest.
All three of them had been partying all day, moving along with the parade and stopping at by now an uncountable number of pubs, bars, and holes in the wall, drinking something green and questionable wherever they went. Only Tate was local—and Irish-American to boot—so for most of the day, Pran and Jake had been following his lead. But this time Pran was putting his foot down.
“No, we have to go in here. Trust me. It won’t be long, okay?”
Okay, so that was totally a lie. If he found Kelly and if she could spare him any attention, or he could capture hers, then he would be perfectly happy with not going anywhere for the rest of the night. Hell, the rest of the weekend!
“Fine,” Tate said, throwing his arms up in exasperation and drudging to the door with the other two trailing behind him.
Pran pulled a hand through his hair nervously, smoothing back his unruly, though short- cropped mess of dark hair. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a black button-up beneath his black bomber jacket, and somehow he’d managed to evade the constant onslaught of green wreaths and beads that seemed to be in abundance in the fine city of Boston that evening, in the hands of boisterous partiers more than happy to share them with anyone who wasn’t dressed quite right.
Tate was wearing a green jacket and T-shirt underneath it and even Jake had seen the wisdom of putting on some green, leaving Pran the only standout naysayer. As soon as they got to the door, they were met by a solid wall of bodies, twisting and laughing and conversing, looking completely impossible to muscle one’s way through.
“So what now, smartass?” Tate asked with some grim humor to his words, making Pran sigh.
It was like being out with his brothers all over again.
“Watch and learn,” Pran said, stepping up to the plate.
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He tapped the closest guy to him at the door on the shoulder opposite of where Pran was standing so when the guy turned, Pran got to step in. Tate and Jake followed, cramming themselves in as Pran led the way in a series of twists and jabs and halfhearted jokes shared with groups who let him walk through after a round of shoulder clapping and boisterous roars.
Whatever, it got the job done.
It wasn’t too long until Pran was standing at the bar, feeling accomplished and seasoned even though the only thing he’d done was to travel fifteen feet from the front door to the bar of Callahan’s Shamrock.
“Told you it could be done,” he yelled to Tate, who rolled his eyes in short response.
Pran ignored him and turned his attention to the barmaid closest to him, spotting a wild mane of red and feeling a quick flash of hope go through him. When the girl turned to face him though, his good mood dropped a little. While she looked a lot like Kelly, she was definitely not Kelly.
“What can I get you?” she yelled, as no normal conversation could be held when the place was packed and finding room to stand was becoming more and more difficult by the moment.
“Hey. Is Kelly working?” he called back, making her lean in to hear better.
When she pulled back though, Pran could see her giving him a long, judging look, before she grinned a mischievous smile.
“Sure thing, loverboy. Give me a moment!”
She disappeared around the bend of the bar and the wait was excruciating. When Kelly finally appeared, being pushed by the other redhead like she was a lamb being led to slaughter and her cheeks red with a blush, Pran grinned. This night was getting better and better.
“You called?” she asked, quirking that judgmental brow at him again.
“I did! And you came running! I’m touched, I didn’t know we were so close yet,” he said with a sly smile, leaning forward on the counter.
“I think you need to get your eyes checked. I was pushed here!” she protested in the cutest little way, making her nose scrunch a little.
“Hey honey, can I get a refill here?” some jock practically screamed in Kelly’s face, shoving a beer stein in her general direction and almost bumping it into her face.
Pran caught his arm fast and yanked it back, making him put the stein back on the bar.
“Cool it, buddy. The lady and I are having a conversation. She’ll get to you in a minute, okay?”
“Watch it, asshole,” the guy growled and Pran could see a couple more pairs of eyes turn to him, glaring.
The lughead’s friends, probably. Pran ignored them, but likely the only reason he didn’t get decked by a drunken local was because Tate distracted them at that moment, waving over the other bartender and buying them a round of those shots that had been so proudly advertised on the door.
“So where were we?” Pran asked, smoothing the annoyance off of his expression. “Oh right. You were about to tell me how you can’t wait to go out on a date with me and I was going to enthusiastically accept your sweet pleas to save you from this mess of green joy.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” Kelly said, handling the beer order of a set of other guys next to her.
“What do you mean? I’m standing right here!” Pran said with a scowl, glancing over his shoulder for a moment to make sure that Tate was still keeping the gorillas at bay with whatever it was that the fox shifter was doing.
“You’re not wearing any green, buddy,” Kelly said, pointing at a sign above the bar.
It read “No green, no beer.” Pran groaned out loud.
“Seriously? This is what I’m getting blocked by? My unwavering sense of style?” he asked, pulling the zipper down on his jacket—it was hot as hell in there, as marked by the delicious-looking beads of sweat rolling down Kelly’s neck right now—and pointing to his black shirt. “Isn’t there anything you can do for a man in such dire circumstances? I’m an out-of-towner! I didn’t know!” he pleaded, trying that puppy dog face of his again.
He wasn’t really expecting it to work, but when Kelly’s expression twisted into a smirk, he knew he’d been playing at least some of the cards right. She turned her back to him and he watched as she stepped to the central island, the bar making a full circle in the middle of the pub, and then rose up on her tiptoes to grab a big, floppy green hat with a yellow buckle and a soft shamrock attached to it off of a big bottle of rum.
She returned with a smile and plopped it on top of his head, though he had to bow down a little so she could do it. Pran rolled his tongue along the front of his teeth for a moment, shaking his head as he adjusted the ridiculous hat on his head.
The things I do for this woman, he thought with some amusement.
“Okay. So, now are you desperate to come out with me? I mean, I’m ticking all of the boxes, right? I care about what you want me to do, I come find you in impossible odds, I bring you all the wares you need,” he counted with a flourish of his hand, pointing at the well-stocked shelves behind her. “As far as I can tell, I’m a real prince. Don’t you agree?”
Her green eyes were twinkling with mirth and it took everything he had to keep from leaning over the counter and capturing her lips in a long, delicious, drawn-out kiss. Even standing there in the neon light, dressed in a tight green V-neck tee and some jeans, looking perfectly casual if a bit frazzled, she was the most gorgeous little thing he’d ever seen. In fact, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, which was why he was probably babbling half the time instead of landing decent lines and reeling her in.
Or maybe he simply wasn’t as big of a player as he thought he was and the presence of the right kind of woman could reduce him into a fumbling mess.
Either-or.
“That green hat isn’t making our little problem go away any faster though,” she said with some mock-sadness, pouting back at him. “Now are you going to buy something or can I move on?”
“Fine, fine! Give me three of those green monstrosities that you’re hawking with the posters, okay?”
“Coming right up!”
Pran slumped on the counter, leaning on his elbows with a stormy look in his eyes. It couldn’t be that damn difficult. This was the twenty-first century after all.
“You know, I could talk to your father. Charm him, make him see that having a Frost as a son-in-law would be the best thing that’s ever happened to him,” he said while he watched Kelly prepare the shots, a complicated exercise of plentiful bottles of good alcohol and syrupy madness.
He was sure the shots were going to taste like shamrocks and firewater. It would have to do; he needed something to make his humiliation here easier to swallow.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she said with a laugh.
Finally, she set the three drinks in front of him and Pran gave her the money, holding his hand up when she moved to give him back the change.
“Nuh-uh. You promise me that you’ll at least consider going out with me and I’ll promise to drink and keep down whatever this vile concoction is that you’ve prepared. Deal?”
She quirked a brow at him and holy hell, she looked even better when she was a little bit annoyed. Stuffing the tip into the big tip jar, she sighed and then finally nodded, which lit up her face.
“Fine, I’ll consider it.”
“Good! I’ll come pick you up on…” he started with a wide grin on his face, trailing off so she could finish his sentence.
“You’ll show up here after the weekend, we’ll see how you hold up in the morning light, and then I’ll see about making my final decision, okay?” Kelly answered with a laugh, mostly drowned out by the raucous noise level of the pub.
“Yes, ma’am!” Pran said, saluting.
He waved over Tate and Jake, making them abandon their posts on the daring mission to keep the oafs distracted while Pran talked to Kelly. He handed each of them a shot and gave them a stern look when they questioningly eyed the concoction, before turning to Kelly and raising the glass in a toast.
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br /> “To a beautiful weekend,” he said, winking at her. “Slainté!”
All three of them threw back their shots and to his personal surprise, Pran didn’t even cringe too hard. He was happy to have a couple of beers every now and then, but with their lifestyles, none of the Frost brothers drank much. This was definitely the most elaborate thing he’d consumed in a while.
Kelly just watched him and shook her head with mild amusement, though he was glad to remark that there wasn’t a shred of annoyance to her. He must have been making headway and it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“I’ll see you around, Kelly!” he told her with a smile as Tate began tugging him through the crowd, evidently more than a little annoyed at that point with the less-than-excellent air and space situation.
“Sure thing, delivery guy,” she hollered after him, before getting swamped with orders and disappearing out of sight the moment Pran took a step away from the bar.
That could have gone worse, he thought with a self-satisfied smirk, pushing past one of those big lugheads who’d almost smacked Kelly in the face with the glass before.
The guy gave Pran a glowering look but he shrugged it off, perfectly content with riding his happy, fuzzy feeling a while longer. While he was loath to leave her there, as he would have vastly preferred taking Kelly by the hand and going somewhere far less crowded and with an actual chance of conversation, he was content enough with the headway he’d made. After all, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome.
But that didn’t mean he was going to be able to stay away all night…
CHAPTER FOUR
Kelly
“Get outta here you louts,” Dean snarled, kicking out the last three guys who had been evading the “you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here” call for the last forty-five minutes.
Kelly watched with mounting exhaustion as her brother slammed the door shut and locked both of the locks, waving his arm at the guys to get off the steps leading up to the pub and go loaf around somewhere else. When Dean turned around, he looked as exhausted as Kelly felt. It had been one long night, and it was only the first of several to come.
