by Jo McNally
“Okay...” She tried to rein in her scattered thoughts. “Okay. No harm, no foul. I’m sorry if I hit you...” Her shoulders fell. “It seems all I do is apologize to you. It’s been a tough month. Winter. Year. Or two.” Saying that out loud deflated her.
Finn paused, and his voice went soft. “Have you cleared things up with Maura?”
“Not yet. But I will. I’m just...tired, like I said. I’m worn out, and I took that out on you.”
They both bent to pick up her laundry from the floor, nearly bumping heads in the process.
Bridget pulled back. “I’m sorry...”
“You really need to stop sayin’ that.” Finn’s voice was firm, but not angry. More like...insistent. Concerned.
“I know. I’m...” She caught herself with a short laugh. “Oh my God, you’re right. I don’t know what... Oh, no! Give me that!” She snatched a silky pink bra with molded cups out of his hand. Good Lord, the man was picking up her dirty underwear! Her cheeks went hot. “Look, I promise to never say the s-word again if you’ll please stop handling my underwear!”
His right brow rose at that sentence, which came across more suggestive than intended.
“I mean,” she stammered, “I’ll pick this up. I don’t want you—or any man, for that matter—touching my dirty undies.”
Nonplussed, he kept tossing items back into the basket. “I grew up with a wee sis who left her dainties hanging over the shower bar every damn day. It’s just cloth, Bridget.” He picked up a fistful of panties in a rainbow of bright colors, rendering her speechless. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he seemed to think better of whatever he’d been going to say, and put them in the basket. That was the last of it, and they both stood.
He’d piqued her curiosity. “Do you miss your family? Are they all in Ireland?”
He leaned back against the dryer, hands in his pockets. She’d figured out that was something he did when he was thinking through what to say next. It was a tell of his. The fact that she’d picked up on it meant she’d been paying a little too much attention to the man.
“My mum and dad are in Sallins, outside o’ Dublin. My sis and her fam are in Kildare. I have aunties and uncles and cousins all over—Spain, London, Australia. But somehow I’m the only one who landed in the States.” He hesitated. “And yeah, I miss them. I’m heading home this fall for my parents’ fiftieth anniversary, but that’ll be my first trip in two years.”
“Why?”
“Eh, the divorce, mostly.” He stared at his feet, his voice low. “Money was tight. And I wasn’t the best company for a while. I shut out a lot of people, the good along with the bad.” He straightened, pulling his hands from his pockets and clearing his throat. “And most important was goin’ back coulda’ messed up my visa application. Especially while I was...between jobs.”
She stuffed her laundry into the washing machine so it wasn’t out on display.
“You want to become a citizen?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I just want some stability for now. I...I made a mess at my last job, and your government frowns on switching visa sponsors when you’re going for a green card. I wanted to avoid any hassles.”
“A green card? Can’t you just marry someone for that?”
He grinned. “Why? Are you offering?”
Her laughter sounded high-pitched and nervous in her own ears.
“Hey, you already got an office out of me. Don’t go asking for marriage, too.” She tipped her head to the side. “Even needing a green card couldn’t keep your marriage together?”
His green eyes cooled. “For one thing, marrying your way to a green card is a lot more complicated than it looks in the movies. And I didna’ marry Dori for a green card. I loved her.”
Bridget’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “What happened?”
“There are a lot of things I can forgive, but shaggin’ another man and throwing it in my face isn’t one of them.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh...ouch. I know from experience that a cheating partner can really mess you up.” He gave her a curious look, and—as always around this guy—she spilled the story. “I didn’t find out until after he dumped me that my so-called fiancé had been sleeping around. With pretty much everyone on the West Coast.”
“What an arse.”
“No argument here.” The washing machine was gently tossing her lingerie back and forth across the glass door. “Well...I’ve got stuff to do.” She turned for the stairs and went back up to the main floor, with Finn following. Instead of going to her place, she stopped by the big staircase, not eager to leave his company. He seemed to feel the same, because he stood there beside her.
“Is that why you came back here from California then? You found out he was playin’ you?”
She sat on the steps and looked up at Finn. “No. My dad died unexpectedly and left me the bar. And the house. And his debts. Yay, me.”
He looked around the hallway. It was clean, but outdated and tired. Just like her.
“If you need any work done, I’m fairly handy,” he said, still looking around. “I could help around here if you’d like. Seems you’re under a bit of stress...”
That was the understatement of the century.
“Not necessary, but thanks. I’ll get to it eventually. I can handle it.”
He sat on the step below hers, resting his arm on his knee. “It’s not a matter of what you can do, it’s a matter of letting someone else share the load. Your fiancé didn’t come back to help when your dad died?”
“Nope. Turned out my commitment to the relationship was very different than his. He acted like I suggested he move into a cave somewhere when I told him I had to come back and asked him to come with me. Dropped me like a hot rock, and I never saw it coming. I guess he actually left the relationship a year before, and just forgot to tell me. You know what they say—love is blind.”
He huffed a soft laugh. Seated above him, she could see the swirling curls in his dark hair. She closed her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching them. Then he looked up. “I missed the signs, too. Late-night classes and meetings. The furtive looks and touches between them. I didn’t see any of it until all of a sudden I saw all of it. I felt like a dunce.”
She nodded, knowing just how he felt. They sat there in silence, and it was...nice. Comfortable. As if she was finally still, letting the rest of the world spin without her for once. Finn cleared his throat.
“Have you thought any more about taking my help with updating the pub with a more Irish feel?”
He’d jumped the tracks on their conversation topic, but she went with it. Things had been getting a little too intimate. “Right now, I’m just trying to get ready for our busiest month. March has St. Patrick’s Day, and things get crazy. Besides, I told you before that just because you’re from Ireland, that doesn’t make you a bar expert.”
“Have you been t’ Ireland?” Finn’s right brow arched, telling her he’d guessed the answer.
“No, but...”
“Then yes, just because I’m actually Irish, I know enough to help at least a little on things Irish. Oh, and did I mention my sis and her husband own a pub in County Kildare?”
“Uh...no. You might have led with that, you know.”
“Just to be clear, I’m not looking t’ tell you what to do. I’m just saying I can answer questions on decor and food and such.” His face screwed up. “For example, unicorns aren’t Irish.”
She cringed. Nana loved unicorns, and they were scattered around the pub—posters, figurines, and there was even a Unicorn Cocktail on the menu, with edible glitter on top.
“But that song...an Irish group sang it, about how the unicorns were playing around and missed Noah’s ark. It’s one of Nana’s favorite Irish songs!”
Finn scrubbed his hands down his face, then gave her a
pointed look. “You see? This is what I’m talking about. You Yanks think that song’s Irish. Sure, it was written by the famous Irishman, Shel Silverstein.”
She laughed. Damn, it had been a while since she’d belly-laughed like that. “Really? I mean, I knew it wasn’t an ancient traditional song or anything, but I thought it was at least Irish.”
Something shifted in his expression as he watched her laughing. Did she see a flare of heat there? And why did something flutter inside of her at the same time? She blinked and looked away. Her laughter faded, but not her smile.
“You’re saying if I want to make the place more sincerely Irish in food and decor, that I should come to you for guidance?”
He nodded. “I’m happy to help, Bridget. By the way, did you know you were named for an Irish saint from County Kildare?”
She nodded. “I’m glad to hear you confirm that at least that story is true. St. Bridget is the patron saint of beer, right?”
Finn chuckled. “Yeah. She turned a whole lake into the stuff, according to legend. Did you know she was named for a pagan goddess, Brigid?”
“No way! A goddess? Nana never told me that.” Which made sense. Nana wasn’t one to talk about pagans of any sort. Father Brennan would never approve.
His smile deepened, and so did the heat in his gaze. Had he moved closer? Or was it her leaning toward him? Her leg was almost brushing his arm. He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Such a sweet, intimate gesture. Her heart skipped a beat. Or three. His voice lowered.
“Aye, makes sense, really. Brigid was the Goddess of Fire and Hearth. Appropriate for a chef and pub owner, right? And someone who acts just a bit like a goddess herself?” His fingertips lingered on the soft skin behind her ear, and she didn’t mind it at all. His touch was warm. Comforting. Inviting. And then it was gone.
He seemed surprised to realize how close they were, clearing his throat and standing abruptly. She stood too, refusing to acknowledge her irrational disappointment at his move. She was one step above him, leaving them eye to eye.
“Just to be clear,” she said, “I do not act like a goddess...I’m just...”
“Wanting everyone to do what you say without question?” His crooked smile told her he was teasing. She gave a playful shrug. Things had grown weird there for a moment, but she’d regrouped.
“I can’t help it if I’m just...right...most of the time. It’s a lot easier for all concerned when people don’t test me.”
Now it was his turn to laugh out loud.
“Well said, goddess.” He turned and picked up his laundry from where he’d set it on the steps. “I’ll leave you to your busy day ruling the world.”
She sat there a long time after he left, wondering at how his touch made her feel. How he’d made her laugh. Their relationship, for lack of a better word, had gone from adversarial to...friendly? With a hint of chemistry? She scoffed at herself. She had to be imagining that part.
But when he called her a goddess, there was something in his voice. His gaze. Something that almost made her believe she was one.
CHAPTER SIX
“SO, ARE YOU getting settled in at your new place? It must feel good to have an actual address again.” Howard Greer glanced up over the rim of his glasses at Finn. Greer was going over the draft of Finn’s article for the European Historical Review publication. Finn knew the research was solid, but Greer had a reputation for micromanaging everyone, and it seemed especially true with Finn. The man’s suspicious nature was starting to grate on Finn’s nerves, but he also had half a hunch that’s exactly what the old man wanted—to test Finn to see if he’d lose his cool.
It was Finn’s own damn fault. He’d created a reputation for himself that was the polar opposite of how he’d lived his life right up until the moment he discovered his wife was sleeping with his best friend and coworker. That sort of thing tended to push any man to act out, right? Eh...maybe punching Vince in the face at commencement was a step too far. Or at least too public.
“Finn? Your apartment? You’re not having trouble there, are you?”
Finn straightened. “No, sir. Not at all. The apartment is perfect, and my landlord is...” He almost said a delight, but that might sound a bit much. But Bridget had brought a lightness into his life over the past few weeks, especially after their conversation in the basement. She was smart and funny under that sharp exterior, and he was starting to look forward to their almost chats in the neutral territory of the office he’d taken over across the hall. He liked working late at night. She’d made a habit of stopping by after the pub closed. “My landlord is kind and fair. We’re getting along great.”
Greer’s bushy gray eyebrows shot upward. “Bridget McKinnon? Don’t get me wrong, she’s respected and thought of fondly because of her family, but I don’t think I’ve heard the word kind used to describe her. More like tough and maybe even difficult.” The man sat back in his chair and stared hard at Finn. “Is there anything going on you want to tell me about, O’Hearn?”
“What? No! Bridget’s allowed me to make use of some vacant space downstairs to accommodate my books. She’s a grand girl, really. I mean...”
Greer huffed, and then his mouth flattened into a hard line. “I thought for a minute there you might be making some actual connections in Rendezvous Falls, Finn. Some friends. A social life. You know, like you were someone who really wanted to stay. I took a chance when I sponsored that work visa for you.” Finn willed his face to stay expressionless until he knew where Greer was going, but his back straightened just a little. Greer pointed at him. “The other candidate for your job may not have been as qualified, but he was more stable, with a wife and a family. He reached out to me last week to see how things were going.”
Yeah, Finn could just bet he did. His jaw tightened. “Are you threatening to give my job to someone else?”
“No. But I am reminding you that I have options. I like you, O’Hearn, but eventually the bigger schools will forget about your little...situation...in North Carolina. You’ll get offers. I’m just skeptical that you’ll want to stay at Brady College if you get a call from Yale or something.”
Finn started to relax. Greer didn’t have a grudge against Finn. He was just afraid Finn was going to bail on him.
“Okay. That’s fair. But right now I need you a hell of a lot more than you need me, so you don’t have to worry about me going anywhere. There is no way I want to switch schools again until I have a green card securely in my hand, and that takes time. Even then, I don’t know that I’ll want to go anywhere. I’m very appreciative of the chance you took on me, and I owe you. Truly.”
Greer stared at him, then nodded. “I’m glad you feel that way. I told you about that endowment we got for a new history building. We have to match those funds in order for the project to move forward, and I still think you’re just the guy to do it.”
“Me?” Finn put his hand on his chest. “I just got here. No one knows me.” The one thing he didn’t miss after teaching at a major university was all the glad-handing he’d been expected to do with donors and alumni. “I’m more of a desk guy.”
“Not anymore, you’re not. Look, people love that accent of yours. Chat up the locals, attend some receptions I’m putting together so you can meet the movers and shakers. But the local folks are going to want to see you somewhere other than just receptions. They want to see you in the community. Make some friends. Find a girl. Or a guy if that’s your thing. I don’t care. Just get out there and pour on some Irish charm for people. Let them get to know you.”
“I’ve only been here since before the holiday break.” Finn gestured toward the papers on Greer’s desk. “And I’ve been busy working on this article, working on class plans, finding a place to live. Besides, I have friends. Rick Thomas. Uh...Bridget, of course. And Luke Rutledge. Give me more than a minute living here, and I’ll have a whole circle
of pals.” Agitation simmered under Finn’s skin. Would he always be dancing so hard to manage other people’s expectations of him? “To be honest, sir, I scheduled this time to discuss my paper and my possible tenure. Not my personal life. I’m a private man.”
“Before I can talk tenure, you’re going to have to step up. Like I said, I did you a favor bringing you here.”
Finn threw his hands up. “I get that you took a chance, and I’m grateful. But let’s not forget that your college landed a tenured professor from a major university. Why can’t I get tenure here?”
He saw the chill settle over Greer. He knew better than to snap at the old guy. His boss stared down at his desk, brows gathered together, not saying a word. The tall clock in the corner was tick-tick-ticking in the silence. Finn waited.
“I know you want more, but like you said, you haven’t been here long. Finish the semester. Secure us some funds for that building. After that, we’ll talk tenure.”
Greer hesitated, his gray eyes fixed on Finn. “I know you think I’m being a pain in your ass just for the pure hell of it.” The language made Finn sit straighter. Who knew Old Man Greer could swear? “And yes, you’ve told me your side of things, but that doesn’t change the fact that you used a colleague down in North Carolina as a punching bag on stage. During graduation. Whether you like to admit it or not, you’re just going to have to tolerate my suspicions, even when they involve your so-called personal life.” Greer removed his glasses and started cleaning the lenses with a tissue. He seemed to be settling into this little lecture of his.
“Because it seems to me it’s your personal life that keeps interfering with your professional one. You’re not the first man to be cuckolded by his wife, O’Hearn. But you need to decide if you’re going to let someone else’s actions define who you are, or if you’re going to start living your own life again. You know what they say about all work and no play, my boy. Closing yourself up in that apartment with a pile of books isn’t doing a thing to inspire my confidence in your commitment to this town or this college.”
