Oh Danny Boy: A Sweet Contemporary Romance

by Josie Riviera

  Ian pushed a sturdy hand through his thinning, honey-gold hair. “Boss, you were unloading supplies, then one of the employees said you’d disappeared.”

  “I didn’t have time to let you know that I’d gone to the front of the shop.” Noting Ian’s inquisitive grin as he glanced at the two women, Danny continued, “I’d like you to meet Clara Donovan and her sister Anna. They live in this charming town of Farthing. Ladies, Ian is my … bodyguard.” He grimaced, knowing another explanation was in order, yet preferring to skip the subject altogether for fear of sounding arrogant.

  Clara nodded a greeting, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

  “Hi, fella. What’s the craic?” Anna cocked her head and laid a hand on Ian’s shirtsleeve. “Your boss was looking for you because walking through that crowded coffee shop with all those photo flashes going off was murder.”

  “I’m here now,” Ian said with a laugh. His eyes sparkled, a brilliant hazel, the center a warm, reflective brown.

  “And I’m relieved,” Anna rejoined, fanning herself. “Clara turned scarlet because everyone stared at us. She loathes that sort of thing after that awful newspaper article written about her.”

  Danny rubbed his chin. “What newspaper article?”

  “Nothing of interest,” Clara said, glaring at her sister. Anna didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she lingered by the lift and chatted animatedly with Ian.

  “They’re hitting it off well,” Danny said.

  Clara fastened the buttons on her coat. “And I’m going home.”

  “Please stay,” Danny said, gesturing down the hall to his boardroom. “I want the privilege of treating you and your sister to lunch.”

  “The privilege?” Clara came to a standstill. “Don’t use my sister as an excuse, you good-for-nothing bowsie.”

  He lifted a brow. “If I ever grow overconfident, I’ll know who to turn to for a set-down. Will you accept dinner as my apology for the deception?”

  She tossed her luxuriant hair over her shoulders. “I won’t be coming back here.”

  “I’ll deliver it straight to your door because I know where you live.” He winked. “In fact, I can walk to your flat from the coffee shop.”

  She plunked her hands on her lean hips. “Don’t threaten me.”

  “With dinner?” He pressed a forefinger lightly to her lips, silencing her protest. “My offer isn’t a threat, it’s an olive branch.”

  Her gaze seemed to warm, although she jerked her head away from his touch. She toyed with the strap of her purse, then resumed her pace, keeping one step ahead of him. “I accept your olive branch. Nevertheless, you’re still a bowsie,” she called over her shoulder.

  He began singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” and she rewarded him with an exasperated head shake. “You’re singing so off-key, it sounds like the tune the old cow died of.”

  “I’m more in tune when I’m strumming my guitar as accompaniment. Or when I play my Celtic harp,” he told her.

  “Should I be impressed?”

  “Absolutely not. I don’t play either instrument very well.”

  She stopped at the closed door, and he took a moment to admire her shapely calves and graceful bearing. Aye, she was appealing, quick to temper, quick to forgive. As he took out his keys, he glanced back to see where Ian and Anna were. Anna had stopped in front of a collection of Waterford crystal vases and was talking about them with Ian.

  Danny opened the deadbolt lock on the door, and, with a smile, led Clara into his boardroom. A tall fern stood by the entrance. The room was sparse and masculine, exactly the way he liked his decor, the walls lined in richly carved mahogany. An espresso-colored leather sofa and coffee table were placed beneath a large picture window. The window offered an unobstructed view of the southern bank of the River Farthing, as well as the entrance to the coffee shop. In the distance, the ruins of an old Norman castle stood atop a steep cliff.

  “Very high-end,” she said. “And your view is picture-perfect. You might consider rearranging your furniture so that the view is the focal point rather than the sofa.”

  “Thanks for the excellent decorating tip.” He accepted her coat as she slid it off, signaling, he assumed, that she’d be staying for lunch. He hung it on a coat rack by the doorway and then seated her at the boardroom table in the middle of the room. After pouring two glasses of water from the pitcher on the table, he perched carefully on the narrow arm of her chair.

  “Would you care for some ice water?” He leaned over to nudge the glass in front of her. Her fragrance reminded him of lemon and wholesomeness, sensual and citrusy.

  She tensed, her frown pronounced. “I’ll wait for my iced tea and fruit, thanks.”

  “How is Seamus faring?” Danny asked.

  “He suffered dry heaves when he woke. I offered to cook eggs and rashers, but he refused. So I gave him some water and he went back to sleep. His friend Liam came to my flat to spend a few hours. I don’t feel comfortable leaving Seamus alone.”

  “Aye.” Danny placed his arm around her chair, earning another piercing frown. “I’ll send eggs and rashers along with herbal tea to your flat for them both. I’m well acquainted with hangovers, and Seamus will be hungry once he feels better.” He grabbed his cell phone from his shirt pocket and dashed off a quick text to one of his staff, acknowledging with some guilt that he should be available for his employees. Lunch hours were hectic, especially on opening day, and business could suffer from his lack of attention.

  “You’re experienced with hangovers?” Clara asked. “I’m surprised. You seem so, I don’t know, so in control.”

  “I haven’t had a drop in fifteen years, although I still remember the really, really bad headaches the morning after a night of drinking.”

  And the sadness and anxiety that had followed.

  Somehow, at twenty years old, he’d come out of his alcohol-induced haze long enough to realize that alcohol had destroyed those he loved most. His chest still ached at the image of Glenna, his toddler sister, and her cherubic laughing face. He’d nicknamed her his little leprechaun.

  The world hadn’t stopped spinning when both his parents had committed suicide soon after Glenna’s death. The short-term relief they’d sought in alcohol had ultimately killed them.

  Danny gripped his glass and sipped his water. As a young lad, he’d trusted his parents to take care of him and his siblings. Instead, they’d scorned him, then abandoned him.

  “Thanks for arranging to send lunch to Seamus and his friend,” Clara was saying.

  Danny set down his water glass and shook his thoughts back to the present.

  She was staring at him. “You looked like you were a million miles away.”

  “I was thinking about the past when I should be enjoying the present and your lovely company,” he said.

  She continued to study him. Whatever she was searching for, she wouldn’t find. He’d learned to keep his expression carefully neutral.

  “Seamus and Liam will enjoy the sandwiches,” she added.

  “No bother. Let me know if I can do anything else.” He didn’t mention that he could recommend a good rehab for Seamus, and that Seamus’s condition cried out for detoxification, which required medical supervision.

  Instead, he simply enjoyed the fact that Clara had allowed him to sit so near, even if she was treating his closeness with chilly formality.

  Kathleen swung into the boardroom ferrying a tray of chicken salad sandwiches, chocolate orange Guinness coffee cakes, a bowl of fresh fruit, and iced beverages laced with sprigs of fresh mint. She set the tray on the table beside a ceramic vase filled with pink roses, then arranged their place settings with gold-plated utensils, and snowy-white linen napkins.

  “The waitresses are all busy downstairs, so I told them I would help. You know I’m here to be sure that everything runs smoothly and that the new employees all know what they’re doing,” she said.

  “Thank you, Kathleen. You’re an excellent manager.” He indica
ted she could leave.

  She briefly pouted. “Aye, Mr. Brady.”

  “Kathleen’s been working with me since my shop’s inception,” he explained to Clara.

  In fact, Kathleen had insisted on traveling with him from Dublin to open the new Farthing store. She was a dedicated employee, and, in turn, had accompanied him to several company functions. Up until now, he’d enjoyed her lush beauty, as well as her dedication to his business, although today she lacked something. Perhaps it was because her eyes weren’t a deep, soft brown and her grin wasn’t infectious.

  He scanned the beverages on the table. “No coffee?” he wryly asked Clara.

  She granted him a mischievous smile. “Coffee’s too bitter, remember? My favorite is green mint tea.”

  “The coffee of the day is mild. And I have it on good authority that every cup of The Ground Café’s coffee is brilliant because the owner uses fresh coffee beans and local spring water.”

  “Yeh, and the Irish latte is buttery smooth, based on the description,” Clara said.

  “Will you try a cup of my Irish latte? We add non-alcoholic whiskey.”

  She grinned. “After that fancy description, how can I resist?”

  He glanced at Kathleen, who was still standing in the doorway. “Please bring Clara a cup of Irish latte.”

  “Whatever you say, sir.” Kathleen’s smile was blatantly sensual. Wheeling on her heels, she sashayed out.

  Clara sniffed the flowers on the table. “Roses are my favorite. Why pink and not red? Did you run out of money because red is more expensive?”

  He laughed. “All the roses I purchase are the same price. However, a deep pink rose expresses gratitude. Every customer is important, and it’s my way of saying thank you.”

  “I’m impressed by your attention to detail.” She retied the belt of her ruffled blouse around her slender waist, and he felt his insides warm. She was so pretty, as pretty as a wild Irish rose. “I’m impressed by your courage, Clara Donovan.”

  She nodded sagely. “It’s not courage. I’ve simply learned to rely on myself.”

  “As have I,” he said quietly.

  At that moment, Ian and Anna entered. Anna shrugged off her biker jacket and handed it to Ian. He hung it with Clara’s on the coat rack near the door.

  “There’s plenty of room at the table for all of us to enjoy lunch.” Danny gestured for the pair to seat themselves around the nine-foot table. He kept his arm securely around Clara’s chair.

  “Then perhaps you should take your own seat,” she said.

  He waited several beats. This was his coffee shop, his boardroom, his chair.

  She glared at him, the flecks of gold in her brown eyes sparking dangerously.

  He complied and stood quickly.

  Chapter Six

  Danny hadn’t intended to break for lunch. He hadn’t intended to be sitting in his boardroom when a thousand decisions clamored for his attention. Instead, his mind was filled with Clara, and he couldn’t look away from her exquisite profile. What was it about this spirited woman? She’d saved her brother, disregarding the danger to herself. She was proud and brave, yet humble.

  He glanced at his cell phone, relieved to see that no employee had texted him. He’d allow himself fifteen minutes before focusing again on his business.

  “You’re obviously a guy who goes straight after what he wants in life,” Anna said. “I admire you.” She looked around, indicating a wall mounted security camera. “And you’re cautious.”

  Clara didn’t seem to ooze with the same admiration for him.

  The food sat uneaten as silence settled over the room. Ian lumbered to the mounted television and grabbed the remote. “Wonder if the soccer game is being televised?” Idly, he flipped the channels, groaned at the latest scores, and settled on the local news. He lowered the volume, glanced at his watch, then at Danny. “I’ll show Anna your famous painting in the hallway while we’re waiting for Clara’s latte, boss. Our lunch can wait a few minutes.” He glanced meaningfully at Clara’s pressed lips.

  “Aye, brilliant idea.” Danny silently thanked his friend for allowing him more time alone with Clara.

  “Do you appreciate fine art?” Danny asked Anna as Ian helped her from her chair.

  “Does fine art include graffiti, Danny? If so, I’m interested.” She looped her hand around Ian’s arm and fairly danced to the door with him. “Lead the way, you fine thing.”

  After Anna’s platform booties had clattered down the hallway alongside Ian’s heavy-booted shoes, Danny dragged his chair a hairsbreadth closer to Clara.

  She kept her gaze on her glass. “Tell me, do you lie to every woman you bring into your boardroom?”

  “Truly, I’m sorry for any deception regarding my identity.” He reached for his water and gave his brightest smile. “Aren’t you curious about my famous painting?”

  “I’m certain your painting cost more than my wages for an entire year.”

  “You’re probably right. And, I admit, one part of me is ashamed. However, the other part is proud that I’m able to afford a widely recognized painting that I consider an investment.”

  She was silent, nursing her iced tea.

  “The painting accompanies me whenever I open a new store.”

  “So your fancy, expensive painting is an investment?” Her tone held more politeness than interest. “Or is it a good luck charm?”

  “Both. This particular painting is one of Francis Bacon’s most praiseworthy. His boldness inspired me.” Danny caught her inquiring expression. “Bacon’s life was as chaotic as mine was.”

  Her eyes widened. “I assumed you were born into wealth and lived a charmed life.”

  “Me?” He laughed, the idea so absurd.

  She glanced down. “I shouldn’t have judged you.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “I don’t manage apologies well.”

  He accepted her explanation with a brief nod. “My aunt brought me to the Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin every Saturday afternoon. I should backtrack. After my parents’ unexpected deaths, my elderly aunt and uncle took me and my two siblings, Erin and Eamon, to live with them. We were chiselers.” Clara looked up. Danny avoided her scrutiny, preferring to study the mahogany paneling on the opposite wall.

  “I am very sorry.” Her gaze strayed to her glass, her voice heavy with sympathy. “Were your parents’ deaths unexpected?”

  Absently, he plucked a pink rose petal from the vase and rubbed the smoothness between his fingers. “Long story,” was all he could manage.

  Suicidal depression and alcoholism were signs of a serious mental illness. Nonetheless, his parents’ deaths had hit him like an unexpected punch to the stomach. He should’ve heeded the warning signs after Glenna’s death—his parents’ withdrawal from family and well-meaning friends, their loss of jobs, their loss of interest.

  Danny dropped the petal onto the table and focused on his response. “My younger sister died a few months before my parents.”

  “Care to talk about it?”

  He stared down at his hands and shook his head. He still couldn’t say Glenna’s name aloud. The weight on his chest and limbs would press too heavily and crush him with guilt. He should’ve been home the afternoon Glenna died, to attend to her, instead of sneaking off to get drunk with his teenage friends.

  “Do Erin and Eamon live near you?” Clara asked.

  He noted the softness in her voice. “Both of my siblings live in Dublin.” Danny had learned, though, that proximity had nothing to do with how close you lived to one another. Eamon, his brother, was too busy establishing a successful medical practice in Dublin to care about anything or anyone except himself. And Erin, his sister, well, she drifted from one bad relationship to another.

  Danny reached for the water pitcher and topped off his glass. “And that’s enough questions about my family.”

  “Indulge me.”

  He usually resisted answering questions regarding his personal l
ife, but Clara’s interest seemed genuine. He held up an index finger and relented. “One more question.”

  “How was a poor kid like you able to gain entry to fancy art galleries?”

  “The galleries were free. My aunt and I had to take a bus to the city centre because we lived too far away to walk.”

  “I’m not familiar with Dublin. I only visited there once when I was a child.”

  He inclined his head slightly away from her. “We lived on the north side.”

  The run-down, seedy section where people living in four-room tenement buildings were buried in dirty grave plots in Glasnevin Cemetery.

  Not anymore, he amended. His parents now rested in peace inside an Italian marble tomb, quiet and serene beneath a mature oak tree. And Glenna’s little cemetery plot sat beside theirs. He’d added a pot of gold and a rainbow to the top of her headstone.

  He leaned closer to Clara. “I’d like to know more about your adoption if you’re comfortable talking about it.”

  She returned her gaze to her iced tea. “There’s little to tell. After Seamus was born, my adoptive mother and father said they’d wanted the sound of girls’ laughter to brighten their home, so they adopted two girls from abroad. And Anna and I were those two little girls. We provided the laughter my parents sought, and topped it off with female drama.” Pensively, Clara swirled the ice in her glass. “In his teens, Seamus was often on a drunken tear. So, my parents got more than they bargained for raising the three of us.”

  Danny chuckled. “Have you revisited your Italian orphanage?”

  “No, and I won’t be able to afford the trip anytime soon. I might have an older brother who was also born in Italy. I’ll probably never meet him. He’s long-lost to me now.”

  “I’ll take you to Italy, luv. The country is magnificent.” He stopped himself from saying more, surprised that he’d offered her a trip without thinking it through first.

  She was a complete stranger. Nevertheless, he felt like he’d known her a long time. He reminded himself that they’d shared a traumatic experience rescuing her brother, and that people in those types of situations often felt a closeness to one another afterward.