Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance

by Norinne, Rebecca

  Nor did I foresee many parties in my immediate future.

  Grabbing my phone, I checked to see if I had any new messages to distract me from my malaise. A few junk emails, but nothing worth reading. As I scrolled through various newsletters, my mind wandered to Declan and I wondered what he was up to and whether or not I’d hear from him again any time soon. He’d told me I could call him to chat, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. Not yet.

  I might not be ready for much where he was concerned, but I could use some cheering up and his texts had made me laugh. I could use a whole lot of that right about now.

  Chapter Ten

  Declan: Want to grab lunch this weekend?

  Sophie: Well, well, well. Speak of the devil.

  Declan: You were talking about me?

  Sophie: No.

  Declan: Liar. I think it’s cute. You miss me.

  Sophie: I admit nothing of the kind. I was just wondering what you were up to.

  Declan: So you were *thinking* about me. That’s much better. And I bet they were dirty thoughts, weren’t they? It’s okay, you can tell me if they were. I won’t think any less of you. In fact, it might make me like you even more.

  Sophie: You’re incorrigible.

  Declan: That’s what they tell me. *wink*

  Declan: So, food?

  Sophie: A girl does need to eat. What did you have in mind? Should I plan to meet you somewhere?

  Declan: Name your poison and I’ll bring it to you.

  Sophie: I’m not picky. Whatever you want is fine.

  Declan: Oh Sophie. *shaking my head* You make this too easy.

  Sophie: Oh be quiet! You know what I meant.

  Declan: I do, but that doesn’t mean a guy can’t wish.

  Sophie: That’s pretty much all you think about, isn’t it?

  Declan: Yes. Pretty much.

  Sophie: Did I already say you’re incorrigible?

  Declan: I think this might be the third time.

  Sophie: Well you are. And you shouldn’t say these kinds of things to me.

  Declan: Why not? You know you like it.

  Sophie: That’s neither here nor there.

  Declan: Aha! So it’s true. You *do* like it when I tease you. You just don’t *want* to like it. Duly noted.

  Sophie: How have you not been strangled to death by some exasperated women before now?

  Declan: I wouldn’t mind you wrapping your hands around me. ;-)

  Sophie: Goodbye Declan.

  Declan: Goodbye Sophie.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sophie

  I sat at the long copper counter that ran the length of the back half of the pub, reading through another article about how to successfully transition an old restaurant into a hip, new one. It wasn’t entirely applicable, but I hoped I might find some kernel of knowledge that could prove the tipping point in my ongoing negotiations with my grandparents. I was chewing on the end of my pen, my brow furrowed in concentration as I tried to devise a way for them to raise their prices without offending their customers, when a shaft of light broke through the dimly lit interior.

  “Sorry, we’re not open yet,” I called out without looking up from my computer.

  Checking the time on my screen, I saw we still had an hour before opening. A time, mind you, that was noted quite legibly on a plaque flanking the entrance.

  “I come bearing food that isn’t on your menu,” the visitor replied jovially.

  I turned in my stool to see Declan standing a few feet from me, a brown paper bag in his hand.

  “Hey there, stranger,” I said, smiling as I stood.

  He passed me the bag and when I opened it I was enveloped by the salty, succulent scent of corned beef on rye, the waft of warm steam from the piping hot sandwich making my mouth water.

  “It smells divine.”

  I groaned in appreciation and his gaze fixed on my mouth, his jaw clenching.

  “Thank you,” I started to say but the words came out a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Um, Thanks.”

  I was thrilled when my voice didn’t crack that time.

  Declan adjusted his stance and the hard edge of his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Not a problem.”

  His voice came out strained, gravellier than I remembered. The moment was broken when he blinked and smiled down at me, all trace of the heat I’d seen in his eyes cloaked behind a placid mask of friendliness.

  “Your granny’s a great cook but I thought you might be tired of pub food after eating it nonstop for a few weeks straight.”

  I laughed over his idea that I’d been subsisting on pub grub. I’d get scurvy in no time at all if that was the case.

  “You do know that my grandma cooks more than fish and chips, right? So far she’s made me spaghetti and meatballs, meatloaf, something called a Dublin coddle, and all the scones I could ever possibly eat.”

  “Are they the same scones she won the baking contest with?” he asked, smacking his lips as he rubbed his hands together greedily. “Because if so, I demand a trade.”

  “She didn’t say anything about them being award winning, but she did say they were her secret recipe and if I ever divulged the special ingredient to Mrs. McNamara she’d lock me in the closet and never let me out.”

  “Oh yeah, those are the ones,” he chuckled. “She and Mrs. McNamara have a long-standing competition to see who’s the best baker in Ballycurra. Your granny winning as often as old Bonnie McNamara is a sore point since the McNamara’s own the bakery down the road. Can’t have her livelihood being upstaged by the village publican, now can she?”

  “Aww, poor Mrs. McNamara.”

  I briefly wondered if theirs was a friendly rivalry or something more sinister. Small town politics could be terribly dramatic.

  “My grandma said she makes the best pie in three counties so hopefully there aren’t too many hard feelings.”

  “Oh, that she does. And the best brown bread, birthday cakes, pastries, and meringues as well. Don’t you worry, Mrs. McNamara is doing just fine, despite your granny’s excellent scones.”

  With our easy banter, I felt like I could stand there and chat with Declan all day without tiring of him, or of learning all the little ins and outs of Ballycurra from him. Whereas Cian’s insights could be biting, Declan provided me with an insight into the village that made it sound like a lovely, happy place to be. His knowledge might prove invaluable as I worked through the next evolution of Fitzgerald’s Pub.

  “Anyhow,” he muttered before I could ask him what he was doing later so I could pick his brain. “I don’t want your food to get cold. Why don’t you sit and tell me what you’ve been doing to keep yourself busy?”

  Sliding into a red leather banquette in one of the snugs on the far side of the room, I removed the sandwich and unrolled the greasy white paper.

  “What’ll you have?” Declan asked, walking behind the bar and pulling down a glass.

  “Um, are you allowed to be back there?”

  I wasn’t sure how my grandparents would feel about him waltzing in and making himself at home behind their bar. They were fine when Cian did it, but he also worked here. A few free beers for an employee wouldn’t make or break them, but how would it look if everyone they knew helped themselves to a pint whenever they felt like it? Hell, maybe that’s where they were losing cash.

  “Oh, sure,” he said as he pulled the tap to fill his glass. “I’ve been back here a ton. A couple years back my mate Cian and I did a charity event where we pulled pints for a few hours. A ton of rugby fans came from all over the county and we made a lot of money that day.”

  He let the liquid settle and put another glass under the tap. “You met Cian yet?”

  “Oh, I’ve met Cian all right,” I answered, keeping my voice flat.

  I was still feeling weird about him almost kissing me. I hadn’t seen him since which I was happy about.

  Now I found it odd Cian hadn’t mentioned he was still friends with Declan. H
e’d had the perfect opportunity to do so that first day when we’d talked about their childhood teasing. For some reason, though, he’d kept quiet. I wondered now why that was.

  “Cian Kelly—your childhood shadow—and I have worked a couple of shifts together.”

  “Don’t let him hear you call him that.” His face grew serious.

  Ah, I thought, the plot thickens.

  When we were kids, everywhere Declan went, Cian followed. Had there been some sort of rift between the two since the night Declan just recalled? Was that why Cian hadn’t mentioned their friendship?

  “Why’s that?”

  “About him being my shadow.”

  “Not what. Why?” I clarified, wondering if he’d intentionally misunderstood. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  He was quiet for a few moments and then, eyeing me as he inhaled deeply, came to a decision. “Cian used to play rugby, professional like me. We came up through the system at the same time, billed as the next wave of future superstars.” He made air quotes with his fingers.

  “We were the youngest starting players until the day he was carted off on a stretcher. He never played again.” He shook his head solemnly. “He’s my best friend, but he’s touchy as fuck about comparisons between us.”

  He fell silent while his eyes scanned mine from across the room. “He’ll never admit it, but he resents I’m where I am and he’s where he is. Hence, the no shadow thing.”

  Well, that certainly explained some things about Cian. Like why he was so moody and always looked slightly pissed off at the world.

  “I won’t bring it up,” I promised. “But otherwise, things are good between you two?” I asked, curious to hear how he’d answer.

  Declan shrugged and I didn’t have trouble interpreting the gesture. They were dudes who didn’t spend a lot of time discussing their feelings.

  Right.

  Switching subjects, I brought up the charity event he’d participated in, interested in knowing more about the types of organization he lent his name to.

  “It wasn’t much, but we made a few grand for the Temple Street Foundation so all in all it was a good night.”

  “And what do they do?”

  “They’re tied to Temple Street Children’s University Hospital which treats critically ill kids.” Shrugging his shoulder like it was no big deal, he added, “Anyhow, since then I’ve stepped behind the bar a couple of times when I’m here visiting my mam and Colm needs extra hands.”

  His humble admission surprised me. Every day I became more and more convinced Declan was actually a really good guy only trying to be a bad boy. I also decided my grandparents were lucky to have someone like him around. He couldn’t unburden them, but it made me happy to know they had people they could count when I left.

  Taking a good, long look at Declan behind the bar, his hands spread wide across the copper surface, an idea struck.

  “Hey,” I said, unsure how to proceed.

  “Hey yourself,” he answered, carrying two dark pints back to our booth.

  Setting them down, he slid into his seat and cocked his head, waiting for me to continue.

  I clasped the beer between my palms and twirled the cold glass, the condensation making it slippery in my grip. Before I accidentally knocked it over, I set it aside and leaned back.

  “So, umm, I was wondering … about this charity thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that something you do a lot?”

  “Yeah, here and there. It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a really big deal,” I said, sliding my hand across the table before realizing what I was doing and diverting it toward my glass. Cupping my hand around my beer, I added, “I’ve been surrounded by professional athletes my entire life and most don’t ever lift a finger to help others.”

  I downed the remainder of my Guinness to give me a bit of liquid courage. I didn’t know if I’d offend Declan by asking for a favor, but his shifty responses made me think he wasn’t entirely comfortable with people knowing he was a secret do-gooder.

  “So,” I said, draining the last of the foam.

  “So,” he echoed.

  “So, I was wondering if you’d, umm, be interested in, err, could possibly do, wouldn’t mind …”

  Declan reached across the table and put his large, warm hand on my wrist to stop my fidgeting.

  “Sophie.” His voice dropped, my name sounding incredibly sexy in his South Dublin accent. I could listen to him read the phone book and be a happy camper. “What is it you want to ask me?”

  He squeezed my arm and pulled away.

  Right. What did I want to ask him?

  My mind had gone blank and my arm tingled from where he’d touched it.

  Something about a charity and the pub. Maybe beer was involved, I thought.

  Shaking my head, I forced my thoughts back to the matter at hand.

  “So, I’ve been trying to come up with a way to raise money for the repairs the pub needs but every idea I put forth, they shoot down. Cost cutting measures, ways to increase overall revenue, ideas to use space that’s otherwise going to waste … nothing is good enough.”

  I felt disloyal for framing my grandparents’ responses in such a way, but I needed him to see how dire the situation had become.

  “That’s not entirely true. It’s not that nothing’s good enough; it’s just that they’re from a different generation and they’ve run this place successfully for decades and are stuck in their ways. They can’t fathom change.”

  “Go on,” he said, his shoulders rigid, eyes hard.

  Tilting my head, I considered the change in him for a few beats when it suddenly hit me.

  “Oh shit!” I blurted. “You think I’m going to ask you for money.”

  His jaw ticked.

  “I’m not, I swear. At least not directly.”

  “Uh huh,” he answered, crossing his muscular arms over his equally muscular chest, drawing my eyes to his … bounty.

  My eyes lingered for a few moments before I brought them to his face. I expected him to be smirking over my staring, but he wasn’t. He was looking at me with a hint of disgust.

  “I’m not asking you to pay for the repairs or to give me a loan or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Thankfully, his posture relaxed.

  “What I was thinking was you doing a signing or something with the proceeds going to a rebuilding fund. I don’t know the exact logistics of how it’d work because I’ve never done anything like this, but I could ask my cousin who runs marketing for our grandparents’ team. My Grandparents Newport, not Fitzgerald. Obviously.”

  Raising his glass, Declan eyed me over the rim for several long, uncomfortable seconds. Swallowing down the Guinness, he finally answered. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Sure?” I asked, making sure I’d heard correctly.

  “Yeah, why not?” He shrugged and took another drink of his beer.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over how relieved I was.

  “I could probably get a few of the guys to come as well. One of the younger lads is from here too, and my closest friends on the team have all met Colm. I’m sure they’d be up for it. Hell, Aidan might even volunteer to do it shirtless.”

  His smirk said he was joking but maybe he was on to something. If I could manage to pull off an event where a bunch of shirtless rugby players served beer all day, I could ensure both male and female fans driving all the way out here. Not wanting to press my luck, I decided to save that request for later.

  “That’d be amazing! I can’t thank you enough, Declan. This probably isn’t the way you’d want to spend your night off, so it means that much more you’re willing to do this for me.”

  “Eat your lunch Sophie,” he said, avoiding my praise. “Maureen and Colm have been good to me. If I can help them by pouring pints, I’m happy to repay their kindness.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to know my grandparents have people like you looking out
for their well-being.”

  As I spoke he chewed and since he couldn’t respond with a mouth full of food, I kept on talking.

  “I’ve been worried people have been taking advantage of them, but maybe I was overreacting.” I shrugged. “Anyhow, I bet you never thought you’d hear me say this, but you’re a good man Declan O’Shaughnessy.”

  “I’m not a good man, Sophie,” he responded, shocking me. Rubbing his hand across his shadowed chin, he held my gaze. “You don’t really know me.”

  “Oh please, you and I both know that’s a bald faced lie,” I remarked nervously, trying to ignore his ominous tone and heated stare. “You treat my grandparents well and even though I was a bitch to you, you’ve been a friend to me so that makes you a good guy in my book. I don’t know why you don’t give yourself more credit.”

  “Never mind,” he said, downing the last of his beer. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  The clench of his jaw paired with the finality of his words said the subject wasn’t open for discussion. That was fine by me because while I liked Declan, I wasn’t ready to take on his problems on top of my own.

  Wanting to lighten the mood, I decided a little light flirting was in order.

  “Anyhow, it turns out I’m shit at pouring Guinness and you seem to have it down pat. Maybe I can get you to show me how to do it perfectly?” I raised a coquettish eyebrow, daring him to decline. “I don’t want to run off any more regulars than I already have.”

  “Yeah, that’ll never happen.”

  When Declan joined me in a warm chuckle, I knew we’d moved on from that strange moment a few minutes earlier.

  “I think old Mr. O’Connor wants to be buried out back. And there ain’t no way you’re running off those who wouldn’t be caught dead going anywhere else. They might take the piss out of you, but that’s only because you’re family.”

  Sliding out of the booth, he extended his hand. “But come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Once I’d proven to be only somewhat inept, Declan slid a perfectly poured pint across the smooth copper surface and I took a sip. When I set it down, his eyes twinkled and it looked like he was stifling a laugh.