Page 52 of On The Rocks

After the roofie business a few years before and the subsequent discovery that the town’s mayor and his son were behind it all, the women had gotten spooked, and rightly so. They stopped going out partying, and if the ladies disappeared, it stood to reason the men did, too.

That was where our problems began.

Our takings were cut by at least half. We’d had to adapt, so we started concentrating on the early evening, stopping fora drink on the way home, single patrons, late-night shoppers, and the after-work crowds. We started offering food and snacks and made the place a stopgap so we could survive. It wasn’t as lucrative, but I thought it had kept us in the black. Maybe it would have if Da hadn’t gotten sick.

But I remembered the days before, the long, hot, sticky summer nights when the place was jumping, and people stood ten deep at the bar, baying for service. I remembered the Christmas parties, the music and dancing, the laughter, the fun, the electric atmosphere, and the shenanigans. But most of all, I remembered the cash registers ringing.

Thatwas the Shamrock I missed. Andthatwas the Shamrock I yearned for again.

“We’ll do some work to the bar,” I suggested. “Refinish the floors, paint the walls, redo the lighting, and build a stage. New chairs and tables, new couches, new furnishings.”

“It’ll beawesome,” Maeve breathed, her cosmic eyes sparkling.

My heart filled to the brim. “It will,” I agreed. “But it’s gonna take a lotta work.”

She nodded toward the equipment, “I can do the science part. It’ll be fun.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, dipping my chin to catch her eyes. “Everything will ride on this. I’ll be spending every cent I have left to get the bar ready and pay for what you need.”

“I have money—” she began, but I shook my head decisively, effectively cutting her off. “No.”

“Callum—” she went to protest. I placed my index finger gently over her full, pink lips and firmly repeated, “No,” before dropping my hand.

“We’ll get it right,” she assured me. “We’ll research everything, and if the band’s as popular as you say it is, that’ll help. We’ll make opening night an extravaganza. Invite everyonewho’s anyone. We’ll hire the best-looking bartenders and the sexiest waitresses and give the customers all the glamour they can take. We’ll sell them a lifestyle, Callum O’Shea.”

My lips quirked at Maeve’s use of my full name while wondering how I hadn’t noticed how pretty her skin was before. It was pale but clear—almost glass-like. The splatter of freckles across her nose reached across her bottom lip, and I felt the sudden urge to kiss every one of them.

Jerking myself from my stupor, I took a step back.

Maeve peered up at me through her thick glasses. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to gather my thoughts, but she was already turning toward the door, completely unaffected by me. “Where you going?” I called after her, forehead furrowing as she made for the door.

“Research,” she declared. “I have to start thinking about what we’re going to brew, how we’re going to do it, and what slant we can put on it to make it our own. Maybe we should keep it simple and stick to the Irish theme—people love that stuff. The sooner I hit the internet and familiarize myself with marketing strategies, the sooner we can get started.” She reached the door, and her steps faltered. “Are there any farms or orchards close by where we can get local produce? I think that could also be a huge selling point.”

“I’ll get a list together...” I went to tell her, but my voice trailed off as she swept through the door and past Donovan, who was about to step inside.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his neck swiveling as his eyes followed Maeve. “I had to take a call about the gym.” His thumb jerked after my wife. “What’s got her all fired up?”

I swept a hand around the room. “This place. Maeve wants to try her hand at making homebrew, craft ales, and boozy fruit ciders.”

Donovan slowly nodded his head, obviously impressed. “Good idea. They’re all the rage at the moment, especially amongst the ladies.”

“That’s what she said,” I concurred. “Maeve reckons it’s all she and her friends drank the last time she was across the pond. Reckons we can easily brew our own from local produce. Especially seeing as we have all this equipment gathering dust.”

“Well, it’s not like we don’t got a million farms and orchards around here. Your Mrs. could be onto something.” His eyes met mine. “She’s smart.”

“She also suggested a grand reopening the week before the holidays. Market the bar as the up-and-coming place to be. GetDischordiumto play. Make it a full-on welcome back to the Lucky Shamrock.”

Donovan grinned. “Genius idea. Rebrand the bar alongside the new drinks and make it the hottest place in Wyoming.” He eyed my contemplative look and folded his arms across his chest. “Seems it’s an ideal way to get us back in the black. So why do you look like somebody ran over your new puppy?”

“It’s gonna take everything I’ve got,” I told him flatly. “At the moment, I have a nest egg I could use as a chunk toward Paddy’s loan. But if we do this, I’ve gotta buy supplies and ingredients, pay to refurb the bar, and cover our overheads. Even buying bottles for the drinks will run into the thousands. It’s a risk, bro, and a fucking huge one at that. If it doesn’t work, I’ll lose everything, including my life, no doubt. Everything I own, including the shirt on my back, will be riding on it.”

“Weigh up your options, Cal,” Donny urged. “The cake you’ve got isn’t enough anyway. There’s not much we can do to raise the kind of green you need, and you know what they say: you’ve gotta speculate to accumulate.”

I rubbed my temple, trying to ease the tension headache that was forming. “I wish Da were here.”

“Da’s the one who caused this,” Donovan muttered.

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