Page 2 of Naughty Irish Fate
“Your mama has a broken heart. None of us can fix it for her. We can love her but until she fixes herself, it won’t be enough. Maybe someday.” Paps gently explained when it got bad.
Finally, he came and collected me and all of my things. Mother was gone for two days with another fisherman who was not my father. What I thought was a visit—I often spent weeks at their house as a child—turned into my Paps and Grams raising me. Although I missed my mother living with them was the best thing to ever happen to me.
Paps and Grams were madly in love and never let me forget they loved me too. Although those first few months I waited for Mother to miss me enough to clean up and come bring me home, I knew I was where I belonged. I was always fed, got help with homework, and Paps took me to the pier with him to tell stories about the town.
None of which were true, I knew. Shore Ridge had not seen mermaids and humongous killer octopuses. But, Paps made me believe in impossibilities. Finally made growing up in Shore Ridge fun. Showed me it was a town built on more than the fishermen who broke hearts before hitting the seas never to return.
Although I loved those stories, loved our trips to the pier, and loved Grams’ bread and butter pudding, I waited for my mom for a long time. Just like she waited for my father. Hoped one day she might miss me enough to come bring me home.
One day never came for either of us.
Waiting became too much for my mother.
Still clutching a bottle of bourbon, she drowned after falling into the crashing waves. Mother had spent days waiting there for a man who was never coming back.
“Another round for table seven.” Trudi shouts too loud above the din of the few patrons and soft rock filling the pub.
Drawing me out of my memories she slams her tray on the bar and pops her gum. It’s a Tuesday night with just a handful of regulars. Fishing season is in full swing though meaning there are a few unfamiliar faces.
Trudi leans back on the bar and makes eyes at the table I’m filling a fresh pitcher and a round of shots for. Unlike most women in Shore Ridge, any eyes Trudi makes at the men who blow in and out of this town has everything to do with her scratching an itch and nothing to do with her waiting for empty promises.
Can’t say I blame the girl.
Not for wanting to get her itch scratched. Or for sizing up her table’s assortment of possible scratchers. Girl’s get itches too, folks. And a table full of rowdy roughneck men are bound to have at leastonecapable scratcher.
“How they treating you, Trudi?” I narrow a look at the table of men laughing and talking loudly.
It’s been a full table since just before dark and it’s nearly closing time. Not too loud or rowdy but Trudi has refilled their rounds half a dozen times. I don’t recognize any of their faces but that’s not unusual.
Looking over the table as I fill her tray with their drinks, I see the usual. Dirty guys rough from the seas and the hard life they lead. Bearded brutes with toothy grins and cigars hanging from chapped lips. Some are less grisly than others and I think I see the one Trudi has her eyes on smiling at her over his shoulder.
Before my eyes swing away, they pause.
Bright eyes watch me from the seat tucked away in the corner.
Bright enough and watching me hard enough that even across the bar I can see their color. Green. Such an emerald green I swear they can’t be real. As our eyes lock, something kicks in my chest and I can’t look away.Huh, that’s a new development.
“Been pretty good to me. Pretty boy with the beard promised to be really bad to me later though.” I blink awayfrom green eyes to frown at her.
“Trudi... they all have beards and none of them are pretty.” Trudi laughs and I do too because it’s a lie.
A few of them have beards and a few are grisly, sure. But the one she sidles up to has a nice thick beard to go with thick arms and a barrel chest and a bright smile. And the one in the corner with the green eyes sure would count as pretty if you asked me.
Chancing a glance back I bite back a smile. With those eyes on me still he smiles. It’s a bit crooked but in a charming way. His bright eyes light up even more and my chest twists again and I look away. I do not have time forthat.
Truth be told, I never have time forthat.
Still, I am aware of the pretty green-eyed gent in the corner for the rest of the night. Even as I pull beer after foamy beer. And even when I break up a fight between Bryan and one of his friends. After I sort them out with a threat not to serve them again, I head back around the bar.
“Quite the parlor trick, little lady.” A rusty brogue with the hint of what sounds like a smile calls beside me.
Swinging my eyes that way, I see Mr. Green Eyes leaning against my bar. Towering over me he is indeed smiling. And it isstunning.Bright teeth flash as full lips tilt in a charming smile full of mirth and warmth. A dusting of sandy hair covers his strong jaw. His eyes crinkle with the smile that lights them up even brighter.
Instead of the scent I always associate with fishermen—gore and gunk—I smell salty sea air, woodsy musk and clean leather. I approve. A gray shirt stretches across his wide chest and makes his thick arms look like they want to hulk out of its confines. Yeah, he’s a gorgeous man but I’ve seen those before.
It's something behind those eyes that I have never seen before.
“Meaning what, exactly, sailor?” I wipe down the bar top to keep my hands busy and keep my focus away from those eyes.
