Page 55 of Rematch
Preston did the introductions. “Padraig, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, Padraig.”
She and the bartender shook hands.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
“You too, Chelsea.” There was something about the way Padraig said her name that made her wonder if the two of them had met before. Or it did, until he sent a questioning look in Preston’s direction. It was a strange exchange, especially when Preston grinned and nodded. Then it felt like Padraig knew who she was because of Preston…but that couldn’t be right.
“What can I get you two to drink?”
“I’ll have a PBR,” Preston said, before looking at her.
“Just an unsweetened iced tea for me.” She lifted one shoulder at Preston before adding, “Need to be sharp for the midnight feeding. And the three a.m. one.”
Padraig’s brows rose briefly, then he nodded. “I’ll grab those drinks. Give you two some time to decide what you want to order.” He handed them the menus.
Chelsea wasn’t sure she could eat. Those butterflies in her stomach had turned into frogs, jumping around out of control. “What’s good?” She pretended to look at the menu, when really she was fighting to calm down.
She must have given something away, because rather than answer, Preston reached across the table and grasped her hand. “It’s okay, Chels. It’s just me. I’m the same guy you met a year ago. I know the situation is…” He paused, searching for a word.
“Fucked up?” she offered.
He laughed. “I was going to say unique.”
“Ah, ever the optimist.” Chelsea turned her hand in his, squeezing it back. “But thanks for that. I’m letting my nerves get the better of me.”
“I meant what I said earlier. I’m sure we can find a way to work this out so that both of us are happy. In fact, we won’t stop until we figure it out.”
She took a deep breath and released it, drinking in his confidence. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”
“And for the record, the fish and chips here are amazing.”
She put down her menu. “That sounds delicious.” Then, because she was too nervous to start talking about the hard stuff, she landed on a harmless subject. “It really is a cool place.”
Preston spent a few minutes giving her a brief history of the pub and the family that ran it. Apparently, Pat’s Pub and the adjoining restaurant, Sunday’s Side, had been established by Pat and Sunday Collins, and it was now being run by their children and grandchildren.
“I’ll have to bring Ethan and Allyson here sometime. They’d love it.”
“Speaking of Ethan.” Preston pulled out his cell phone. “I want to make a note to remind myself to request tickets to the next home game for him. The team has a box for family and friends. I can get him a spot in there.”
Chelsea brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. She was way overdue for a haircut, but she couldn’t seem to find the time to do anything for herself nowadays, every minute spent with Lennon. At some point, she was going to have to learn how to take her eyes off her baby and start functioning in the real world again. “I stand corrected on Ethan. Forget this pub. If you get him those tickets, he’ll set up camp in that box and never leave.”
Preston shook his head in amusement.
Padraig returned with their drinks, and Preston ordered the fish and chips for both of them.
“Good choice,” the bartender said. “I’ll put that order in right now. Wave me down if you need anything else.”
Preston thanked Padraig, who returned to the bar, typing their order into the computer.
“So, tell me more about your job. I’ve never met anyone who played a sport at the professional level.” Chelsea was legitimately curious about his career, but at the moment, she was using that safe topic as another way to avoid discussing the harder items on tonight’s agenda.
“I started playing professionally when I was twenty. I was drafted by a West Coast team, played there for a year, then I got traded to the Rays. Been here ever since.”
“So you’re not a local, then?”
Preston shook his head. “Nope. Born and raised in Seattle.”
“Must be exciting, playing for the NHL, traveling all over the country.”
