Killian
My phone buzzed on the back bar. I finished pouring the first half of a pint before I checked it. It was a text from Josie.
WHEN ARE YOU OFF?
I clicked my response and went back to top the Guinness and serve it. The phone rattled again.
MEET ME AT 232 W. FIFTH STREET
I tipped my head with a smile, puzzled by the strange request. What could my little bird be up to?
When my shift ended I clocked out, fed the address into my GPS and followed the directions. She was on the sidewalk when I arrived at the address in the middle of downtown.
I got out, speaking to her as I came around the front of the car. “What are you up to, Miss Josephine?” I kissed her. “Mmm. I missed you today.”
She hopped around like she truly was a bird. “So what do you think?”
Oh, shite. She’s done something to her hair? A new dress?
I stood back to get a better look. It didn’t reveal anything to me.
“Uhh…I love it.”
She frowned. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”
“What? Yes…no. Haven’t the foggiest.”
She extended her hand. “This building.”
It was an old brick bank building. On the elaborate, but dirty, glass doors was a FOR SALE notice.
“Are we in the market for a bank?”
She swatted my arm. “No.” She moved toward the door and I saw now she had a key in her hand. “Let me show you the inside.”
I surveyed the building again, then looked at her. “I repeat, what are you up to, Josie?”
Without answering she entered the building, giving me no choice but to follow her, shaking my head. Were we checking something out for Dani, or Sam, or one of the other girls? What was I missing?
Her heels rang on the dusty wood floors as she crossed to a huge construction lamp and switched it on. The place was a disaster. Saw horses were set in three different spots with odd bits of two by fours spread randomly on the floor, and some particle board. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust, saw dust, and plaster powder.
She spun around in a circle with her arms outspread, palms up. “How about this ceiling?”
That, at least, was a beautiful piece of artistry. A black tin ceiling with elaborate scroll work and geometric shapes. I whistled. “She’s a beaut.” I looked at her. She was smiling to beat the band.
She stomped her foot. “Come on.” Looking at the wall to the left as you came in the door, she put her hands out in front of her, then spread them wide. “Can’t you just see it?”
I stuck my fisted hands on my hips and was about to ask her what the devil she was talking about when it struck me. I looked again. “Yeah!”
She turned. “And I was thinking the stage over here.” She indicated a corner, banked by windows, that was the perfect size for a stage.
“How long have you been looking into this?”
“Since the first time we went to McGillicutty’s.”
I took her arms. “Jo, it’s a grand idea. But do you know how much a place like this would cost?”
She drew some papers out of her coat pocket. She unfolded them and handed them to me.
I took a glance. “I can’t afford this.”
“Yes, you can. With an investor.”
I chuckled. “You’re so sweet to do this, and I really, really appreciate it but, honey, no one is going to want to invest in me. I don’t have any track record as a business owner.”
She walked away a bit, still looking around, her hands clasped behind her back. “That’s where you’re wrong. I already have an investor.”
“Who in the world would—”
“Me.”
I folded the papers again and tried to hand them to her. “Oh, no. That’s not happening. I’m not risking your life savings on a dream of mine.”
She swung around. “I have quite a bit of money in the bank. That’s what happens when your college loans are paid off and your house is paid for. I guess there is some advantage to not having a life.” She walked toward me slowly. “What else am I going to spend that money on? My parents won’t let me help with their bills, and I don’t know anything about stocks and bonds. I—”
“You’ll need to save for retirement.”
“I already have a plan in place for that.” She tilted her chin. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
I laughed at that and surveyed the area again. “I don’t know. What would Mick say?”
She smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.” She extended her arm in the direction of the doorway.
“Wow. This is great, Josie.” Mick McGillicutty stood inside the doorway. He looked as excited as Jo was. “You should do it, Killian.”
“Are you pure crazy? I’d be takin’ your business.”
He shrugged. “There’s plenty to go around.” He walked over and gave Josie a kiss, then rested his arm on her shoulders. “Besides, like your Jo here, I have more money than I know what to do with. Sorry, Jo. I couldn’t help but overhear.”
She pressed him to her side. “No problem.”
“I don’t know. Can you imagine what the utilities would cost in a place like this?”
“Page two.”
“What?”
She pointed at the papers still in my hand. “Page two.”
I stared at her for a second, then opened them, shuffling the front page to the back. “Hmm.” Could this actually work? “Repairs would cost a pretty penny.”
She nodded at me.
Mick spoke. “I’m guessin’ those would be on page three.”
“Three through eight.”
I looked through the numbers.
“Of course, you may want to make some changes to the plans. But we could do the work ourselves, for the most part.”
“Would you be ownin’ the whole buildin’, or only this floor?” Mick asked, walking with Josie toward the huge staircase in the back of the room.
“Whole thing.”
“And where would the kitchen go?” Their voices faded away.
My own place? Was I ready for that? Uncle Seamus’ voice emanated from the dusty corners of my mind. “You have to do your own growin’ lad, no matter how tall your father was.” I went outside so I could picture the front. We’d need a cool logo. Maybe Dani’s Zoe could design something like that for us. She was good with graphics. When I came back in, Mick and Jo were coming down the stairs.
“So?”
I grinned. “What do we have to do next?”
“You’ll do it?”
I nodded.
“You’ll do it?” she squealed, running toward me.
I swept her off her feet and swung her around. “I’ll do it.” I kissed her.
Mick came over and clapped me on the back. “That’s me lad. Let’s go to my place and celebrate.” We followed him out. “I’ll be expecting an invitation to the grand opening, though.”
I shook his hand. “You’ll have it.”
I was sweatin’ like a priest in a brothel, and not only because it was the grand opening of Pint Well-Taken. At the moment, all of our rooms were filled to the rafters—which we actually had in our upstairs sports bar, Extra Pints. That room featured fifty taps, thirty-two of which were provided by local breweries and named after the counties of Ireland. My personal favorite was the Kildare Ya, which, of course, was “Good for what ales ya.” The four walls featured four ginormous flat screens, each with a flag of one of the four providences of Ireland draped behind it. The square bar in that room had been one of the biggest challenges for Jo and me, inlaid with sixty tiles with raised trinity knots.
Halfway through renovating the space, the building next to us became available. We sold Jo’s house and purchased that building, adding to our loan on Pint Well-Taken, but it took care of what turned out to be a problematic kitchen design. Plus, Besides The Pint had additional seating for sixty-six patrons—more if people were willing to smash in a snug—and an added stage. The second floor we turned into a savage living space. We were stayin’ at my place at the moment, but my hopes were it would be shared by Jo and me. I’d know the answer to that question soon, and that’s what was really causing the turmoil in my stomach.
I lifted my head as I added money to the till behind the bar. Me granddad’s hat hung in the alcove above, and it was like he was watchin’ over us. Across the room, me ma’s bodhran, or celtic drum, hung with an Irish harp in a nook beside it. It made the place like home. And on top of that, we had music on all three stages and Irish dancers who rotated between them.
Jo was doing a hell of a job bartending. Amazed the devil out of me. Plus, she looked way too cute in her uniform. Short, pleated, green plaid skirt that hung low on her waist, a velvet vest embroidered with Celtic knot-work around a low neckline, a white linen blouse beneath it with short, puffy sleeves. I wanted to throw her on the bar and take her, but I figured that would be breaking a few indecency laws, so I better wait until after close.
She must have sensed me ogling her, because she turned. “Are you hungry?”
Is it that obvious I want her? “What?”
“Have you eaten anything yet?”
“Oh. To tell ya the truth, Jo…I could eat a reverend mother.”
“Hmm. Well, we’re fresh out of reverend mother this evening. How about ham on rye, or Irish stew, or….”
“A sandwich would be grand.”
She smiled. “Back in a flash.”
A few minutes later, a shout rose over the crowd noise.
“Killian.”
I turned to find Kyle and Tucker had fought their way to the bar.
“Ho! There’s my lads.” Reaching through an opening, I shook their hands. They’d dressed for the occasion, wearing outfits similar to our uniforms for male employees, tweed vests, collarless linen shirts, and dark green or brown trousers (or jeans during the day). “My. Aren’t ya fellows looking fine?”
They looked each other over with smug expressions. “We think so,” Kyle joked. “Man. This place is great. Congratulations.”
I dipped my head. “Thank ya kindly. And Zoe did a helluva job on the logo.”
Tucker jerked his thumb toward the front. “Is that it on the window?”
“The very same.” She’d designed a complicated Celtic knot with Pint Well-Taken below it in Celtic letters, only the “I” was a pint glass.
“Well, I don’t want to brag or anything, but I have to agree with you. That’s sharp.”
Kyle pretended to shine a star on his chest. “I taught her everything I know.”
Tucker slugged him. “Sure you did. Clearly she gets her talent from me.”
I cut in before Kyle could retort. “Do the ladies know you’re here? They didn’t mention you coming.”
They exchanged a grin. “Nope,” Kyle offered. “We’re surprising them.”
“But isn’t it ladies’ night out?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah,” they said at the same time.
“Well, then. I hope you two know what you’re doing. Let me come around and show you to the VIP area.”
“Ooh. Nice.”
When I got to them, they introduced me to a fella named Peter, who was the girls’ boss, Tara’s, husband. Seemed like a nice enough fella. They followed me to the vault room we’d named The Pint of Honor. Dani, Sam, and Tara were having a roaring good time there.
“Ladies, these three hooligans appeared on me doorstep.”
“Oh, you all are here?” Tucker said in an exaggerated fashion. “What a coincidence.”
Dani sat forward. “I told you where we were going.”
He looked at Kyle, the picture of innocence. “Did you?”
Kyle sat on the arm of the chair Sam had sunk into. “I didn’t hear them.”
“You are so full of shit.” She hauled him in by his vest. “But I do like this outfit.” They kissed, and after a few minutes, I snuck out.
I stopped by Quinn’s stool as I passed, leaning in. “You ready, old man?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I’ll give you the signal.”
Quinn insisted on having a prominent role to play in me plans for the evenin.’ It almost caused bad blood between he and Mick when Mick found out, but they arm wrestled for the privilege fair and square and Quinn—who was near ten years Mick’s senior—came out on top, sealing his right to the part he was about to play.
I swung behind the bar and got things in place. Then I noticed my sandwich on the back bar and dug in.
What a woman.
I was so busy chowin,’ I almost missed giving Quinn the high sign when she came near.
“Josie, m’dear?”
She whirled around. “What can I do for you, Quinn?”
“I’d fancy another pint, if you have the time.”
Her voice was tender in response. “For you, my friend, I will always have the time.”
I watched on from the corner, holding my breath. She poured the first part of the Guinness exactly as I’d shown her then left it to settle. But she wasn’t paying attention to it as she was talking to Quinn. I was on tenterhooks and my palms began to sweat.
“So what do you think of the place?”
His rheumy eyes scanned the back bar. “I think…” he leaned in “I’ve found me new favorite stool.”
She nodded her head sharply as she wiped the bar in front of him. “Good. We’ll have your name carved into the seat back.” He thought she was kidding, but I knew her well enough to know it would be done within the month, if not sooner. I snuck through an opening to the opposite side of the bar so I could watch her face. She went to top off his pint and froze.
Thank, Gawd.
I waved my hand and the band stopped playing. Our friends snuck in from the Pint of Honor. She stood and stared at it for such a long time, I thought something was wrong. Then she looked at Quinn with her eyebrows furrowed.
“I think someone has a question to ask you.” He swiveled on his stool in my direction.
She turned to me, her lips parted, eyes questioning. My heart swelled, and all my worries left me. Without saying anything, I reached over the bar for her hand and led her to the opening, then out onto the floor with me. Out of the corner of my eye I detected Quinn lunging over the bar to untie the green silk ribbon on the tap. I got on one knee and she drew in a deep breath and placed her free hand, fingers splayed, on her collar bone.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Make an honest woman out of her, Killian!” me Uncle Seamus shouted.
“Stick a pipe in it, Seamus,” Mick demanded.
Quinn handed me the ribbon, and I slipped the ring from it.
“Oh, my God,” Josie said with such awe, it melted my heart.
“Josephine. I knew something was different about you the first moment my eyes landed on you at that kip I used to work at—no, offense Jack.”
“None taken,” replied the owner of Paddy’s, to a murmur of laughter.
“Over the last six months, I’ve come to understand the difference and fall madly, crazily in love with you.” My throat tightened. “You believed in me when I did not dare believe in myself. You poured your own sweat and blood—Sam can attest to that—” Sam took her to the hospital to get stitches when she cut her finger open on some tile.
“Yep,” Sam called out.
“You worked by my side, to make this,” I looked around the room, “my dream of dreams, come true. Your selflessness makes me want to be a better man. Josie, pulse of me heart, I’m on my knees askin’—no, I’m beggin’—for the opportunity to spend the rest of my life trying to become the man you deserve. I love you, my sweet, with every ounce of this Irishman’s heart.” I swallowed.
Gawd, I hope she says yes.
“Would you, Josephine Compton, do me the undeserved honor of becoming my Mrs. Murphey?”
She didn’t make me wait a breath. “Oh, yes. Yes! Yes!”
I don’t even remember rising. I only remember throwin’ me arms around the girl and squeezin’ the livin’ daylights out of her while a roar rose from the crowd. One solid sound of approval. I made them wait to congratulate us, and may have embarrassed my Uncle Seamus, because I couldn’t stop kissing her.
After a bit, though, Kyle started a cheer, “To Josie and Killian!” Then folks swarmed in on us, extending their congratulations.
Dani
We were applauding ourselves on outlasting Quinn and Seamus when Killian and Jo made their way to the back, looking tired but happy. The bar’s doors were locked and we were the last ones standing. But we were sitting.
“Here the happy couple are,” Tucker called out. We had purchased champagne, and he was handing the flutes out.
“Let me see that ring!” Sam hollered. She grabbed Jo’s hand. “I knew you guys would get together all along. That’s why I brought you into Paddy’s in the first place.”
“You, Mrs. Scofield, are a shameless liar. But a cute one,” Kyle corrected, laying a finger on her nose.
It was such a Sam thing to do, to grab credit where no credit was due. If someone brought treats into school and was complimented on them, Sam would immediately say. “Oh, I made those,” even though she was, in her words, “a piss poor cook.” Once, she put salad dressing into a cake instead of salad oil, thinking they were the same thing.
Jo showed off her ring, then found a seat in Killian’s lap, as he was in the last oversized armchair.
When everyone had their drink, Kyle raised his glass. “My turn this time Killian.” Our bar owner nodded. “May all your ups and downs…” he paused for dramatic effect “…be under the sheets.”
We all cracked up.
Sam squeezed his knee. “That was perfect, baby. I’m so glad you crashed lady’s night.”
“Thank you, sugar plum.” Kyle took another drink of champagne.
Tucker sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees, both hands on his flute. “Speaking of which, have you guys ever noticed there’s a certain dynamics to girls groups?”
Peter played along. “Yes. I saw a study done on it in the Harvard Review.”
“Ahh.” Tucker motioned at him with his glass. “Must have been the same article I read.” He continued. “It contended that in each friend group there’s a naughty girl….”
Sam did an elaborate bow.
Kyle beamed. “I’m so proud.”
“There’s a good girl who acts like a bad girl.”
“Dani,” all four guys said at once. We all laughed.
“And, finally, there’s the girl who actually is a good girl.”
Killian put a hand on Josie’s chin to tip it up. “My Josie.”
Tara piped in. “What am I, then?”
Sam swallowed her drink quickly so she could answer. “Mmm-mmm.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re the designated driver.”
“Gee, thanks,” Tara said wryly.
“No, wait.” Sam changed her mind. “You’re the extra friend who always gets killed off first in the horror movie.”
Tara laughed. “I think I preferred being the DD.”
We chuckled again.
I set my empty glass on the table. “No. Tara’s the Daphne of the group. Doesn’t add much intellectually. Just there for looks and odd moments of sexual tension.”
Tara sat forward and clapped her hands. “Ooh. I like that better.”
Sam waved her glass around. “No. No. No. You’re like the drummer. You keep the beat, but no one knows your name.”
Tara, who was used to Sam’s snark by this time, was not taken aback. “Oh, yeah. Well, I’m Ringo Starr, then. Everybody knows his name.”
Sam grimaced. “Do you really want to be Ringo Starr? He’s the conductor on some children’s train show.”
Tara tilted her head. “Conductor’s a respectable occupation. At least he doesn’t have dishpan hands.”
I leaned back into the cushioned embrace of my faux leather armchair, letting the champagne do its work. I tuned out the conversation, but listened to the music of their voices, and their laughter.
With these people’s help, I would put the nightmares about Thomas James behind me. I would tell them about my growing concern over Zack and Zoe’s relationship—even though they were back together at present—and they would listen. Sam and Kyle, and Tucker—their voices had brightened my days for a while. But these others—Tara and Peter, Josie and Killian, they were new additions to our circle. New additions I hoped would stay a long time. I looked around at each face in turn and felt that particular warmth and tug of love each individual brought me.
I came to Killian and Jo last. They, too, had faded out of the group conversation and were mostly kissing each other and sharing private words. What a sweet, loving couple. And to think we’d called her Satan at first. Sam still called out “Satan, line one,” whenever Jo called the kitchen. It had just become a thing, and it still amused us for some reason. Someone narced us out, though. Last week when Sam answered the kitchen phone, Jo said politely, “This is Satan. Can I please speak to Tara Devine?” As it turned out, we needed to look beyond the pitchfork to see the real person inside. The person Killian discovered without us.
The End
Page ahead for an excerpt from
Pitchfork in the Road
Book 5 in The Devilish Divas Series