Page 21 of Firecracker

Perhaps a person never really got over something like that.

She rubbed at the faint ache behind her breastbone that had appeared along with the memories, then pulled a long breath in and slowly let it out. She turned her face to the bright sun that filtered through the lacy canopy of old trees lining the sidewalk. Another beautiful summer day in Chicago.

She admired the houses and gardens on each side of the street. The neighborhood was old, but evidently more people like Jamie had been buying houses and apartment buildings and renovating them.

She rounded the corner onto the cracked sidewalk of West Armitage and continued walking, taking in the little shops. It was good to know what was near…a dry cleaner, a pharmacy, a bank. She noted the location of a bus stop, then paused outside a used bookstore and a lot of interesting-looking restaurants—Thai, sushi, and a few fast food chains.

She was hungry for lunch. Maybe there was somewhere she could get a sandwich, somewhere not too expensive. At the next corner, she stopped in front of a pub. The front was small but nicely kept, with red brick and dark wood, and a sign above the door that readShenanigans in a gold, Celtic-looking font. There was also a sign in the window that said:Help Wanted.

With a shrug, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. Cool darkness greeted her, along with a muted rumble of voices and laughter. There was no hostess seating people, so she walked farther inside. On her left, a long dark wooden bar lined the wall, a couple of big screen televisions mounted behind it along with shelves filled with bottles and glasses. Most stools were occupied.

The pub stretched out long and narrow, with some small tables near the bar, a fireplace with some comfy-looking couches arranged around it, then wooden booths lining both sides at the back. The ceiling was high, paneled with tin squares and dark beams.

The bar was busy.

After surveying the place, she strolled over to one of the high stools at the bar and climbed up. She picked up a tent card sitting there, listing drink specials for each day of the week and a food menu. She perused the options—fish and chips, burgers and sandwiches, but there were a few more interesting things like pub pie, fish tacos, bangers and mash, and…cottage boxty? She didn’t even know what that was. Fish and chips sounded good…she’d take a chance on that. Her stomach growled in anticipation of food.

Two men on her left were watching a baseball game and arguing about the Cubs’ pitcher, and a man and woman on her right held an animated conversation about something that sounded like business, while sipping beers.

She glanced around for someone to take her order, but there appeared to be nobody working. That wasn’t good. Also probably why there was a help wanted sign in the window.

Finally a man appeared through a swinging door at the end of the bar, carrying a tray of food which he served to the man and woman sitting near her. He smiled and nodded at Arden, so she knew he’d seen her.

He approached her moments later, wiping his hands on a bar towel. He wore a white apron over a striped shirt and dark pants. Probably near her age, maybe early thirties, he had messy sandy hair, and almost looked like Prince Harry. Not the type she was attracted to, but she had to admit he was good-looking with twinkling eyes and a slightly wicked grin.

“Hello, love,” he said. “What can I get you?”

Oh Jesus, he had a faint Irish accent. She sighed.Thatwas sexy.

“O’Hara’s Irish Wheat is our beer special today.” He laid down a paper coaster in front of her.

“Oh.” She blinked. She hadn’t been planning on ordering a drink but… “Okay, sure.”

“Are you wanting lunch as well, love?” The sexy bartender pulled on a tall tap to begin filling a glass.

“Yes.” She hesitated. “Is the fish and chips good?”

“Everything’s good here.” He set the full glass on the coaster and winked. “The fish is freshly battered halibut and the fries are hand cut.”

“Oh. That sounds good. Okay, I’ll have that.”

“Sure look it.”

She blinked again. “Uh…what does that mean?”

“Who knows?” He shrugged. “But in Ireland, it’s an acceptable response to pretty much anything.”

She smiled and reached for her beer. “Okay, then.” She took a swallow of the smooth, fruity beverage.

She caught the eye of the two men arguing over the baseball game and they both gave her big smiles. She smiled back hesitantly. They seemed harmless. Friendly. Another man passed by on his way out and stopped to clap both men on the back and exchange pleasantries, calling them by name…Kasim and Brad.

The bartender returned with a tray of glasses he started moving to a shelf.

“Hey, Liam, can we get another round here?” Kasim called to him.

Liam. Nice.

Liam filled two more glasses and carried them over to the men, pausing to chat with them, hands on the bar, a smile on his face. He appeared to know them well. They must be regulars.

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