by Magan Vernon
“Not the bar, but the market. Ever been? Not like the Portobello market in London, but they do have a few local food sellers and a book market.” I glanced at her puzzled face.
“I’ve never been to the Portobello market, or this one. I don’t know how either qualifies as work,” she muttered.
I nodded, keeping my tone light as we walked in step down the cobblestone street. “I thought about what Lacey had said with her presentation. About using local sources and having them be a signature at the pubs.”
Grace wrinkled her nose, and I laughed.
“That doesn’t mean I’m stocking her wines in our pub, but maybe something else.”
We headed underneath the large, white retractable umbrellas that created a roof canopy over the array of food booths.
My stomach growled, taking in the smell of freshly baked bread and melting chocolate.
Grace laughed. “I take it this is the booth we should stop at? Thinking about switching up the soda bread?”
“I’m hungrier than I thought. Should have maybe eaten the croissants I brought this morning.”
We approached the first booth we saw. I bought us a loaf of bread, some goat cheese, and two cups of coffee. Then we took our bag of goods and settled on a park bench.
“You know this still doesn’t feel like any business meeting I’ve ever been to,” she said before sipping her drink.
I scoffed as if she just said the most ridiculous thing, then dug into the bag of food. Though she was absolutely right.
“I really am here to test out the products. I needed the possible new head of purchasing with me to tell me if these were worth the investment.”
She wrinkled her forehead, slightly turning her nose up. If we were playing poker, it would be a definite tell.
“I know that look on your face.”
“I don’t have a look,” she quipped.
I smirked, putting my arm on the back of the bench as I faced her. “It’s the one where you’re rightfully pissed at me for bringing up the job. You won’t say anything. But today, that’s not going to happen.”
I leaned in close, her lips slightly parting and letting out a soft breath. “So is this just about the job or are you going to tell me what else is giving you that look?”
She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands instead of meeting my gaze. “What do you want me to say? That this is all well and grand, you taking me to the market and pretending this is all for work. But we both know that your endgame is finding a wife and mine is to get another job in publishing or something to use my experience.”
She blinked and then took a large gulp of her coffee as if she didn’t mean to spit out the words and now was trying to take them back.
I waited until she looked at me again before I spoke. “So that’s your end goal here? Just working in publishing or editing? Not opening your own publishing house? Maybe even one in Dublin City Center?”
She looked at her cup, her shoulders falling. “If you must know, my pipe dream has always been to open my own boutique or small press. I’d love to be able to pick the stories I want to see published and help bring them from the author’s head to the shelves.”
“Then why aren’t you doing this? Why come here with your mum and take the job with me?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Many reasons.”
“Such as?” I leaned forward, resting my arm on the back of the bench.
“I worked for one of the biggest publishers in Europe, hell, the world. Then they laid me off. I tried freelancing, but that fluctuates so much I couldn’t depend on it for the bills. I applied for every job I could in publishing, but openings are few and far between. And don’t get me started on my personal life.”
I quirked an eyebrow, intrigued.
She shook her head. “I mean, not that it’s anything crazy…just…”
Then she finally looked up. “You need a wife, Jack. I’m not a wife. I don’t ever want to get married. And it’s not because of a bad breakup or swearing off all men. It’s…well…my parents’ divorce was awful. I watched them fight it out for over a year and in the end my mum ended up with nothing, and that’s the real reason we moved here. Though she’ll never admit that.”
I swallowed hard. Just as I was getting closer to her, she found a way to put a wall between us. One that should have stopped my need for her. But my racing heart had other ideas.
My hand crossed the small space between us and I took hers in mine, interlacing our fingers.
She didn’t push me away, but instead her eyes trailed from our interlocked hands, over the buttons of my shirt, and up to meet my gaze.
My chest tightened from the one little touch, and I sucked in a breath, trying to keep my composure. I focused on her light breathing and her warm fingers intertwined with mine. “I’m not about to pull out a ring and get down on one knee in the middle of the market. I’m just here with you, right now. That’s it. Maybe you’ll never marry and maybe one of the many lawyers I’ve had working on the will can find something to get my brothers and I out of this clause.”
I brought her hand to my lips, brushing my mouth against her knuckles. Everything about this girl sparked new feelings inside of me. “But we can’t worry about maybes.”
I leaned in close.
“Pardon me, are you two almost done with this bench?” An old woman asked, staring at us and our barely touched food with her basket full of sweets.
Well, I was just about to kiss my assistant.
“Yes. We were just about to head to the book market,” Grace said, quickly standing and scurrying toward a small row of tents with old books stacked as far as the eye could see.
Feck.
Well, if we were here for business, then that’s what I would do. Make this about business.
I stopped where she stood in front of one of the tables, running her hands over the well-worn spines. “Did you read this book?”
I glanced at the faded green cover reading The Jungle.
“I did read this one and Animal Farm for our literature class.”
She raised an eyebrow but a small smile still stayed on her lips. “Really? I don’t think I even read Animal Farm. Skimmed that one.”
I laughed. “You missed a good one, from what I remember. Or was that the other one about the pig and the spider?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re getting Animal Farm confused with Charlotte’s Web.”
“There are a lot of similarities. Animals working together and learning literacy.”
“You’re stretching, but I would give you at least a C for effort,” she said with a laugh.
“That’s B worthy bullshite right there.”
Turning toward the book seller, I stretched an arm out, getting his attention. “Sir. Do you think Animal Farm and Charlotte’s Web are similar stories?”
The man adjusted his glasses. “Well, I guess on the surface they can appear that way. Fan of pig stories?”
“My grandda did have a few sows on his land when I was younger. Didn’t think much of them.”
The man nodded and moved to the other side of the booth where a few wooden crates were stacked. “I have these old photographs that we acquired from some of the Northside’s deceased bookshops. Hold on. Let me find the one I’m thinking of.”
He thumbed through a few yellowing photos in clear plastic cases before stopping on one and pulling it out. “Ah-ha, here’s the one I was looking for.”
I glanced at the black-and-white photo of a derelict farmhouse with a few sows and chickens begging an old woman for some scraps.
The image brought me back to my grandda’s old stories he used to tell us. Much like when Grace and I went whiskey tasting, the old books and photographs brought back dozens of memories.
“I love the imagery in this. Kind of makes me wonder if that pig could be Snowball or Wilbur,” Grace said, leaning into me, her silky brown hair brushing against my cheek.
Whatever shampoo she used smelled hea
venly. My senses were filled with the sweet scent of coconut and I wanted to hold onto it and never let go.
Never? Feck.
“Thinking you want the photograph?” she asked, knocking me out of my scent-haze.
“Do you like it?” I asked, wanting her opinion. I trusted her completely. She never put on a front and always told me how it was.
“I like the imagery of it. That it shows the past of Dublin yet the future at the same time. Like those animals don’t know that maybe that woman can’t afford to keep feeding them, but she keeps trying. She keeps going to secure something more for them.”
I didn’t know if we were still talking about the photographs or if there was something deeper. A million thoughts swirled through my mind. I never thought talking books and photographs with a woman could make me smile this much. Or enjoy my time.
“How many more photographs do you have like this?” I asked the seller.
He whistled low then bent over the box, thumbing quickly through them, then looked skyward, counting on his hands. “Exactly like that, maybe half a dozen more. Pictures total, I have about fifty here and maybe like twenty more back at my flat. I think some of the other sellers might have some more, though, if you head down to the lad selling mystery novels in the blue tent.”
I nodded. “I have one hundred new pubs going up in the U.S. within the next few years and could use more photos like these, so I’ll take all that you have.”
His eyes practically bugged out of his head as he adjusted his glasses. “All of them? I’d have to do some math and I’d need cash since I don’t have a credit card reader.”
I smiled. “Name your price and I can get to the first ATM or bank, and then point me to the next seller. And if you have any more books like this,” I stopped and picked up the brightly colored copy of Saorstait Eilean Handbook. “I’ll take those as well.”
His head bobbed up and down. “Yes, sir.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Grace whispered once the man was out of ear shot, thumbing through the books and putting them in an empty crate under his table.
“You were the one who brought up local sellers. What better way to honor Murphy’s then use original artwork and pieces of Dublin’s history?”
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, seeing her wide grin. The biggest I’d seen her have. “If this is all to impress me…”
I shook my head. “If I wanted to impress you, I would have probably just tried something like a fancy restaurant. We’re just having some fun. Is that such a bad thing?”
She opened her mouth to say something but jumped when the seller cleared his throat. I turned toward him, and he stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets as he rambled off a price.
I nodded, pulling out my wallet and a few notes. “That should be about right. I have to grab my car and I’ll be back to load them in the boot.”
The man nodded, his wide eyes locked on the notes. “Yes, sir. I’ll be here until we close at six.”
“I’ll be back before then,” I said, shaking his hand before Grace and I headed toward the next stall.
“How did you get into literature and editing anyway?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Her face fell and my chest tightened, wishing I hadn’t ruined that beautiful look on her face. “I think it was the only way my mother could figure out how to keep me busy when I was home. When I was actually at the house and not away at school or sent to stay with Granddad and Grandmum for the summer. She would get me stacks and stacks of books and I’d spend my entire holiday wrapped up in fictional worlds.”
“She tried to get you something you cared about. It ended up being a career for you.”
Her shoulder slumped. “Sorry that came off very brat-like of me, didn’t it?”
“I’ve always been about work and ignored everything else. Made me terrible with my social life,” I added, eyeing another table of worn vinyl records. It wasn’t what we needed for the pub, but the brightly colored covers still caught my eye as we passed.
Her lips quirked, nose wrinkling. “I don’t have much of a social life either. Work and Jane Pawsten. Well I guess if afternoon tea counts, as well. I’ve been putting that off now that I’m not staying at Granddad’s. My family can be a bit interfering at times. I mean, I love them. But, you know.”
“They mean well,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
She straightened her shoulders. “I guess you can say that.”
I took her hand in mine and interlaced our fingers. A shiver ran through me that I wasn’t sure if it was from the blowing fan in the nearest booth or her touch.
She looked down, her cheeks a light crimson color as I turned toward her and stopped.
Feck, she was beautiful. And smart. And witty. The first woman who, in a long time, I could see more than a night with.
What was I thinking?
This was Grace I was talking about.
A family friend. My brother’s best mate. And now my assistant.
Yet the more I thought about pushing myself away, the harder I pulled myself forward.
I smiled. “Let’s pick out some more photographs. Then we can stop by the butcher and grab a bone for Jane Pawsten before we head back to your flat.”
I brushed my thumb along her knuckles and watched the shiver run through her. “While we meet some more of the vendors, you can tell me what else I’ve missed all of these years of not spending time with you.”
She let out a deep breath. “Not much to say, really. It’ll be a short convo and there’s a lot of market left.”
“How did you happen to end up with the little furball then? Seems like she’s quite a story herself,” I asked.
A look of glee returned to her face. “She actually started out as my grandmum’s. She learned how to use the internet and went on a spending spree. Aside from a new sofa set and BMW, she also ordered a set of Brussels Griffon puppies.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips, making my cheeks hurt from smiling this much. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed, grinned, or enjoyed someone’s company like with Grace. “Really?”
She laughed, nodding. “I can’t even make this up. When my mum found out, of course, she had to find a place for the puppies to go since she couldn’t return them. I wound up going home with a little brown bundle who hasn’t left my side the past few years.”
“She is a grand dog.”
I turned with her, walking the path in front of the book stalls. “She’s a little shite is what she is, but I’m attached to that little shite. I couldn’t imagine my life without her.”
As we continued on, I found myself staring at this beautiful woman. Even though we’d only been reacquainted for a short while, just like with the dog, I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I wanted to spend nights curled up on the couch with her and the little dog. Waking up to feast on this beautiful woman’s skin before work.
I had to find a wife. She didn’t want to be one.
Instead of running, I walked with her hand in hand through the market.
“Stop at this one?” I asked, pointing at the booth full of worn out romance novels.
She laughed. “I guess if you want to add some Highlander romance to the pubs it could really spice things up.”
I laughed. “Never read one. Think you can give me the Cliff’s Notes?”
She huffed but the grin broadened on her face. “I knew you didn’t actually read the books.”
“Only the good ones. The others, I’ll have you tell me about.”
She picked up one of the books from the table with a man and woman embraced on a ship. “Want me to read you the synopsis on this one?”
I smiled, thinking I could listen to this woman read me the phone book. “That would be grand.”
Chapter Thirteen
Grace
I loved reading because it gave me an escape from the real world, especially romance novels. The men were usually gentlemen, even the bad
boys, who could bring a girl to their knees.
Even though I still wasn’t sure that books were his thing, Jack talked literature with me.
I found that sweet. I never thought of him as a guy who would do something like that. He was so businesslike.
This was the softer side of Jack. As we went through the market, he spoke with every vendor like they were an old friend, letting them explain the photographs or Celtic books.
Damn he was sexy when he pushed his hair back and laughed as he talked to the sellers.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I couldn’t be falling for my boss. Or Sean’s brother.
Guilt riddled me even more about the entire situation when I got a text from Sean.
Sean: What’s up? Wanna grab a bite after practice today?
Me: I would, but I’m working today. I don’t know for how long.
Sean: Work? On a Saturday? Do I need to talk to Jack about this?
Me: No. It’s totally fine. I’ll message you later, though.
“That my brother?” Jack asked.
“No. Just checking my email,” I said quickly, tucking my phone back into my pocket.
“Funny, because he just messaged me asking what I was doing keeping you at work on a Saturday morning.”
“Blast,” I muttered.
After we loaded the last of the boxes in the back of his car, he turned toward me. “I have to take these to Murphy’s. Then you can get back to Sean so he doesn’t think I have you locked in a dungeon or something.”
His lips quirked, flashing those damn dimples. “But I don’t want you to give Jane that bone without me. I want to see how excited she gets for it.”
I wanted to lean forward and kiss those dimples. “I think you like my dog more than me.”
“I like you, Grace. Not for your dog or because you’re a family friend. But because of who you are. All those books and you didn’t get yourself a single one.”
“I didn’t need another book,” I muttered, trying to change the subject and not think that I could be equally falling for this man.
He smiled, opening the door and pulling out a small plastic sack on top of the box, handing it to me. “I’ll just keep these for myself then.”
