Oh Danny Boy: A Sweet Contemporary Romance

by Josie Riviera

  She’d shopped at the thrift store in town, thrilled to snag a new, fitted multi-colored paisley top that she wore over a bright-red tank. Charcoal-grey cotton slacks completed her outfit. She’d secured her hair from her face in a thick, wavy ponytail.

  The heady effect of their anticipated afternoon in Dublin combined with Danny’s male nearness, the tangy scent of his cologne, prompted her to say, “You’re gorgeous, too.”

  A wide grin lit his face, lending him an endearingly youthful appearance. She couldn’t help but smile at his response.

  Clara leaned her head against the luxurious headrest. Seamus and Anna were seeing an afternoon matinee, and Ian was stopping by Anna’s flat afterward. For the first time in a long while, she’d be able to enjoy a worry-free afternoon. As her entire body lightened, her eyes drifted shut.

  When she opened her eyes, afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows of the sedan and trees went by in a blur. A Celtic harp solo strummed delicately on the CD player. She blinked and took a second to consider where she was. Danny’s arm was firmly around her. She sighed with contentment, settled deeper into the sedan’s comfortable leather seats and snuggled nearer his warm, strong body.

  His fingers brushed her cheek. “Clara, we’re nearing Dublin. Time to wake up, luv.”

  She offered a weak grin. “I slept the entire trip?”

  “All two hours of it.” His chuckle was muffled against her hair. “You fell asleep so quickly, I didn’t want to wake you. This week has been exhausting for you.” He pulled his arm from around her and sighed. “I have some work I should review.”

  In the serene haze that comes after sleeping so soundly, she studied him while he leafed through a stack of documents he’d extracted from his briefcase. His spiky dark lashes offset the brilliant crystal-blue of his eyes. His face was all strong angles and chiseled features.

  His entire demeanor changed as he reviewed his paperwork. Even his voice, when he said he had some work to review, had taken on a more professional tone. No longer was he the relaxed guitar player who’d sung “Oh Danny Boy” in her Farthing flat. He’d transformed into a man firmly in control, his mouth set, his posture strong. His straight coppery-brown brows drew together as he shuffled papers scribbled with numbers. He caught her staring at him and offered a rueful grin.

  She let down the window and the wind whipped her hair, the air smelling of mustard-yellow blossoms and freshness. She breathed in and slowly exhaled.

  “You haven’t coughed,” Danny noted.

  “The brilliant weather and bit of sun eases my symptoms.”

  “Perhaps you should move somewhere exotic and sunny?”

  She shook her head. “I love Ireland and would never leave.”

  As they entered the city, she saw sprouts of glade-green grass lining the cobblestone sidewalks, and people walked at a brisk pace, smiling and talking to one another. Dogs barked eagerly, running after rubber balls and wagging their tails with excitement. Everyone was having a love affair with the vibrant spring day. Clara lifted her face to the sun shimmering through mere wisps of clouds, brilliant streams of light. Dublin was exactly as she’d envisioned, vibrant and energetic.

  Near the city centre, they drove past the famous Molly Malone statue on the corner of Grafton and Suffolk Streets.

  “Tart with a cart,” Danny provided with a laugh.

  “Please don’t start singing ‘Cockles and Mussels,’” Clara warned.

  Too late. He’d already begun. Clara couldn’t resist joining in.

  She admired Trinity College, and even the ashen-grey smoke from dilapidated smokestacks that dappled the sky. Pearls of sunlight sparkled on the River Liffey, and silently, Clara thanked Danny for the opportunity to see Dublin.

  As they neared Pearse Street, Danny knocked on the window partition between the front and backseats, and instructed the chauffeur to park in a side parking lot.

  “This is my flagship store.” Danny pointed to a brick cornerstone building. “All my stores are set up with the offices located on the third floor.”

  “And a flat for you?”

  “Aye.” He clicked off the harpist. “Oftentimes, I work late. Otherwise, I drive to my house in Howth.”

  “You own a home in Howth? I’ve heard lots of famous people live there, including my favorite Top 40 Irish singer.”

  Danny placed his paperwork in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “I haven’t met my neighbors. I’m so busy traveling, I don’t get home often.”

  As the chauffeur pulled into the parking lot, Clara gaped at Danny’s flagship store. The large stone building extended across an entire street corner. Burgundy-striped canvas awnings ran the entire length. An outdoor seating area featured moss-green wrought iron tables and chairs. Emerson lightbulbs were strung in private alcoves, and outdoor heaters stood waiting to be used.

  Danny assisted her on with her coat, then captured her hand as they exited the sedan and walked to the main entrance. Barring a lone security guard stationed in the lobby who respectfully stood and touched the brim of his cap as they passed, the building was empty. Danny explained that his shops were closed on Sundays in order to give his employees the day off. The scents of strong coffee and sugary caramel lingered in the lobby’s air.

  “Any decorating suggestions?” Danny asked. “Since this was my first store, it probably requires updating to your trained eye.”

  “I’m hardly trained, though I love decorating.” She crossed to the far end of the lobby and looked around. “I’d strive for a cozy, contemporary feel. Concrete floors are trendy, and salvaged-wood walls would add contrast. Mix the old with the new. Antique velvet furniture could create more inviting seating areas.”

  “Can I hire you as my interior designer?”

  She waited for him to walk over and touched his sleeve. “At present, two jobs are all I can handle. You don’t get my life.”

  “I get more of it than you think, and the offer is open if you ever change your mind.”

  They spent the next hour touring the coffee shop while he explained that hundreds of fresh pink roses, one for each table, would be delivered on Monday morning.

  “I sincerely appreciate all my customers.” He inspected a row of enormous glass jars filled with chocolate-covered coffee beans that stood behind the counter, ensuring that they hadn’t been placed in direct sunlight.

  She lifted the lid of one of the jars, filling her nostrils with the rich, tangy aroma, then popped a chocolate-covered coffee bean in her mouth. The taste was surprisingly sweet and bitter, and she enjoyed the different, creamy flavors mixed together. Perhaps, she thought, she might grow to like the taste of coffee after all.

  Her fingers stole into the jar for another coffee bean, and she savored the intense bitterness on her tongue. “If you remodel, place the pink roses in galvanized buckets on each table.”

  “Aye. Good idea.” He seemed to want her to keep talking about her ideas, so she did.

  As he showed her the enormous kitchen stacked with commercial coffee grinders, flavored syrups, condiments, and numerous coffee supplies, she could hear the pride swell in his voice. He selected two Irish ham and cheese sandwiches topped with Dijon mustard from the cooler as well as bottles of water, and grinned at her approval.

  As they rode the lift to the third floor, she asked him what the benefits of international franchising were.

  “Do you want the short or long description?”

  “Short.”

  “Typically, it involves a franchisor, in this case, me, granting an individual or company, the franchisee, the right to run their business using my business model, identified by my trademark. ‘The Ground Café’ will be used for logos, and our coffees and recipes will be provided. In return, I’ll receive an initial upfront fee.”

  “And my lemon scone recipe?”

  “I’ll feature the scones daily.”

  “Have we negotiated what I’ll receive in return?”

  His chuckle was impenitent. �
�Aye. My undying devotion and lots of euros.”

  She fell in with his teasing mood. “Is that all?”

  “We can negotiate the details in my office.” His eyes gleamed with a sensuality that made her catch her breath.

  His hand firmly on her elbow, he piloted her from the lift when they reached the third floor. She paused at a bold-stroked painting. “Francis Bacon hangs here too?”

  “Aye. Besides greatly admiring his work, I’m also known for quoting his sayings.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Francis Bacon said, ‘It is impossible to love and be wise.’”

  She absorbed the saying delivered in Danny’s husky voice, and navigated through her emotions by trying to ignore the heat radiating through her body. “You’re a shameless flirt and a true blue dub, Danny Brady.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He led her to a large mahogany-paneled office and hung their coats by the door. At one side of the office sat a trio of potted philodendrons next to an enormous bay window. The window offered an unobstructed view of the city of Dublin. A Tuscan-bronze wastebasket sat neatly in the corner. An acoustic guitar stood on a stand nearby.

  “Do you play guitar often?” As she asked, she realized she’d never heard him play.

  His face fell a fraction. “Not as often as I’d like.”

  He gestured to a grey settee flanked by two cobalt-blue pillows. “Will this area be comfortable while I work?”

  She scanned the magazines fanned out on the end table alongside the settee. “Is there a copy of Entrepreneur in the pile?”

  “Business Weekly.”

  “It’ll do nicely.” She sank against the pillows.

  He pressed a kiss on her cheek, and set the sandwiches and water on the table. Then he straightened, strode to a large desk, and switched on a computer.

  “One of my tech geniuses is developing a software program to connect all my coffee shops to one program, allowing me instant access to financial information wherever I travel.” Danny typed in a password and waited. His brows knit into a frown when the computer wouldn’t fire up.

  An article in Business Weekly entitled “How to Start a Small Business with Little Capital” had caught her attention. When she finished reading the article, she glanced at Danny. He was still hunched over his computer and frowning.

  “Hopefully, no computer problems?” she asked.

  “I’ve been intending to change my password. Should’ve done it to begin with instead of spending so much effort trying to figure out what happened.” He anchored his attention on her, grinned, then went back to his computer. With a chuckle, he typed in five letters followed by numbers and special characters, swiveled to meet her gaze, and winked.

  “Problem solved?”

  “Aye, with a brilliant new password.” He propped back in his chair with his hands behind his head as his computer files opened.

  She didn’t hazard a guess. There was no need to. She’d noted the purposeful gleam in his eyes. Somewhere in that jumble of numbers and characters, he’d typed her name as part of his computer password.

  Clara.

  Now he’d think about her countless times a day, whenever he opened his computer files. She smiled, the smile of a woman who felt truly cared for. Although he was leaving Farthing soon, she was important to him.

  She gazed out the window, over asphalt and metal rooftops, and sighed heavily. The thought of never seeing him again sent a quiet sadness through her. They wouldn’t be discussing his departure; he’d made that point clear.

  She punched up the cobalt pillows and curled up on the settee. He was bent over his computer, his brows furrowed as he concentrated on a screen teeming with numbers.

  The afternoon sunlight flooded through the window, highlighting his hair’s deep cinnamon tones. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves. Crisp, reddish-brown hair glanced through the open collar of his shirt. Besides being devastatingly masculine, Danny Brady epitomized every inch of the wealthy Irish entrepreneur. He’d succeeded because of his drive, persistence, and aptitude for business.

  She could easily fall under his persuasive spell, the glamor and enchantment of the rich and famous, although she would never allow that scenario to occur.

  He swiveled his chair and slanted her a smile. “We’ll eat our sandwiches in a wee bit, all right?”

  “Yeh, no hurry.” She pulled her phone from her purse and texted Seamus. What’s the craic?

  Home from the picture show, he texted back. Ian’s here at Anna’s flat. R U in Dublin?

  Yeh.

  Busy with the boss?

  We’re sitting in his office. Danny wasn’t able to log into his computer so he changed his password. Now he’s working on franchise agreements.

  There was no response from Seamus for a full minute. How do you know he changed his password?

  The way he looked at me.

  Hope he’s hiring more dishwashers, though he hates to part with his money.

  Danny’s an absolute gent. You said he was grand.

  What time R U headed back to Farthing? Seamus texted.

  A few hours. Stay with Anna and Ian until I return.

  I’m a grown man and can take care of myself. See U later.

  About to text Seamus a rejoinder, Clara saw Danny was studying her. His hands were folded at his waist, his manner relaxed.

  She placed her phone in her purse. “How’s business?”

  He logged off. “Brilliant and, thankfully, done.” Seating himself beside her, he unwrapped their sandwiches. “I’m sorry we didn’t have time for a proper meal today.”

  She heard the sincere regret in his tone and nodded.

  “My business is pressing because of these international franchises and my imminent travel schedule. America will open vast and unlimited opportunities, and I’m a wee bit nervous. Can I admit that?”

  “Of course,” she said. A man like him was actually nervous. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “There’s a new restaurant in Dublin,” he continued, “the Ballyburren Smokehouse, set in a traditional thatched roof cottage. And you wanted to visit Teresa’s Irish Dancers, the dance academy. I checked and they’re not open on Sunday. Next time for both dinner and the dance academy, all right?”

  Clara concentrated on her sandwich, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time. Danny was simply making small talk to avoid an issue that neither of them wanted to broach. Soon, he’d be miles away, and he’d offered no promises of continuing their relationship. Their worlds were too far apart.

  She swallowed. No matter. She’d visit the dance academy and the Ballyburren restaurant on her own.

  “I’d invited my sister, Erin, to my office today because I wanted you to meet her,” Danny was saying between sandwich bites. “She’s the proud mother of Brady, my six-year-old nephew. However, my sister’s out of town because she’s visiting her latest boyfriend.”

  Clara detected a note of sarcasm. “You don’t approve?”

  Danny swigged some water, polished off his sandwich, and shoved the wrapper aside. “Erin can date whomever she chooses as long as her boyfriend takes care of her and her son properly.”

  “And does he?”

  “I wouldn’t know. She’s never allowed me to meet him. She said I’m too judgmental.”

  “I’m certain Erin is a grown woman who can make her own decisions. I can’t imagine your sister’s life requires your help.”

  “You are trying to run your brother’s life.”

  His remark made her cringe.

  She arranged the Business Weekly magazine, fanlike, on top of the others. “That’s different. Seamus needs me in order to get better.”

  “Or maybe you want to think he needs you. Maybe he needs more than you can offer.”

  She pushed to her feet. “He’s an alcoholic who’s vowed to stay away from the drink because of the long cozy chats I’ve had with him.”

  “He’s suicidal.”

  She rubbed a hand over her face, a
s if she could scrub away Seamus’s troubles. “He’s suicidal because he drinks. If we solve that, then all Seamus’s other problems will go away.”

  “Until he realizes that he actually has a problem and he sincerely wants to fix it, he won’t relinquish the drink no matter how many ‘cozy chats’ you have.”

  “Thanks for your unasked-for opinion.” She picked up the discarded sandwich wrappers and tossed them into the wastebasket.

  “Do you always organize and clean when you’re uneasy?”

  She saw the quiet tenderness in his gaze and regretted her outburst. He was well-meaning, truly interested and trying to help. Danny had given Seamus a job, hadn’t he?

  Clara softened her tone. “I don’t like to see anything messy. Blame it on my orphanage days when everything was chaotic in my life—meals, bedtime, caretakers. In spite of that, the woman who ran the orphanage screamed for order. So I was pulled in opposite directions at a very young age.”

  Danny’s dark brows rose. “Consequently, you like to control your surroundings and don’t appreciate any interference?”

  “Yeh. So occasionally when I’m upset, I tend to straighten things. It gives me something to do.” She looked down at her hands. “Once, when Jack left me home alone in our flat all day, I felt so isolated. He’d forbidden me from seeing or talking to my family or friends. So I alphabetized all the spices in the spice rack. It didn’t take long. We only had salt and pepper.”

  “Do I upset you upset because I want to protect you?” Danny asked quietly, ignoring her attempt at humor.

  Her vision blurred. This strapping, powerful man had a way of tapping into her emotions when she least expected. And nothing broke down her guard as effortlessly as kindness.

  She braced herself for another of his sympathetic remarks.

  A few seconds passed. When one didn’t seem to be forthcoming, she offered, “Yeh, my spine goes up because I can take care of myself. I was duped once before into believing I should depend on someone. I wasn’t strong enough. This time, however …” She balled a discarded napkin she’d overlooked and threw it into the wastebasket.

  Danny came to his feet. “Don’t ever do that.”

  “What?”