Page 78 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

I had no idea what that meant. “There’s, uh…something you should probably see.”

“Okay.” She walked to me, wiping her hands on her apron.

I swallowed and pulled out my phone. I gave it to her, my stomach twisting into knots as she picked it up and scanned the headline. For a moment, her face was unreadable, her green eyes narrowing slightly as she skimmed the article.

Then, without a word, she gave me my phone back.

“Was that it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause I need to check on that arsehole Martin Glancy because he shorted me last week.”

I blinked, stunned. “Wait…that’s it?”

She smirked. “What did you think I was going to do? Throw a fit? You think I’m going to let some stupid tabloid photo get to me?”

I let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over me. “You never stop surprising me, you know that?”

“I hope you’re going to say that when my tits are hanging to my knees.”

I yanked her close to me and dropped my mouth over hers.

“No, no, no,” Saoirse cried out. “All this kissing and making out in the pub needs to stop.”

Dee pulled away and looked at her employee. “And why is that?”

“Because….”

Dee cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s a good reason, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to kissing my boyfriend.”

I laughed, my chest tightening with affection. God help me, I loved this woman.

* * *

By the next day, the word had spread:Dee’s ladJax Caldwell had a plan to save Ballybeg, and he was calling a meeting at The Banshee’s Rest.

I stood in the corner of the pub, watching as people trickled in—farmers, shopkeepers, pensioners, even Mrs. O’Leary, who rarely left her house unless there was a rumor worth spreading. Dee stood behind the bar, pretending to clean glasses but stealing glances at me now and then.

When the room was packed, Dee tapped a knife on a glass to silence everyone.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began. “As you know, the council has told us that they’ll be voting yet to permit Shamrock Global Ventures to build a resort here.”

“Feckin’ gobshites, all of them.” Liam raised his pint.

Everyone agreed with him that theywerefeckin’ gobshites.

“We hear that your lad has a plan,” Mrs. O’Leary said sternly. “Now, I don’t know you,” she pointed a finger at me, “but I hear from Eileen Nolan that you’re alright for a Yank.”

“That’s high praise coming from you, Eileen.” I bowed to Mrs. Nolan, who flushed.

Fiadh came running to me. “Do you have a biscuit?”

“I do.” Since that first time, I kept a box of freshbiscuitsin the bar for Fiadh. The girl had stolen my heart when she did my cookie. “Why don’t you go to Dee, and she’ll take care of you.”

The toddler asked me to lower my head with her finger, which I did. Then, she kissed my cheek and ran as fast as her little legs could take her to Dee.

“Now, he has Fiadh’s stamp of approval, which means he’s a feckin’ saint,” Eamon, the toddler’s father, claimed as he held his sleeping baby against his shoulder.

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