Page 59 of The Matchmaker
“That was you? I thought it was a ghost.”
“Just come on,” she grumbles, towing me back inside. I don’t know whether her urgency is a good thing or a bad thing, but I’m too relieved she didn’t catch me with Callum to care.
“You found her,” Gemma calls from where she sits with Adam on some folding chairs.
“She was skulking.”
“I waswalking,” I say. “Like I was toldto, and I…”
I stop just inside the entrance, all muddled thoughts of Callum vanishing as Nush lets me go, spreading her arms wide in a big ta-da motion. Sometime in the last few minutes, the guys have removed the last of the debris from the far corner and swept away the dirt in the sides and…
“It’s ready?”
“It’s ready,” Gemma confirms, as I step further inside. “It still needs electricity and furnishing and a hundred other things. But the hard part’s done.”
The hard partisdone.
I mean, the barn is still empty, yes. But it’s clean. Clean and big and bright and full of possibility. Now, all we need to do is dress it up. The hard part’s done.
It’sdone.
“I’ve been researching Jacuzzis,” Nush says seriously. “There’s a spot outside that would be perfect for one, and I know it might be a little out of budget, but I was thinking if we set up a VIP package, we could—” She cuts off with a laugh as I squeeze her to my side and even Gemma’s smiling when I spin her around.
“Is that a yes to the Jacuzzi?”
“It’s a no,” I say. “It’s a firm no.”
“But—”
“One thing at a time, Nush.” I bring us to a stop in the center of the room, dizzy from the movement. “One thing at a time.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“And thewinnerof the signed 1997 intercounty division B second runner-up championship football team jerseyis…” Frank takes a dramatic pause as I hold the prize aloft. Two hundred pairs of eyes stare at me, rapt in anticipation like I’m offering up a priceless relic, and not a shirt Danny found in the back of his closet.
“Jenny Monaghan!”
The crowd cheers. Like, they literally cheer. Some even burst into applause and wolf whistle as Bridget’s wife, Jenny, hurries up to us with a wide smile.
They might be drunk.
I mean, they’re definitely drunk.
But that means they’re buying an awful lot of raffle tickets.
“Next winner will be announced in thirty minutes,” Frank calls. “This one’s for the blender, folks. Used only once, according to Paudie.”
“We’re up five hundred euro already,” Jenny says, as I hand over her prize. “This was a great idea, Katie.”
It was, wasn’t it?
The pub is packed. More packed than I’ve ever seen it. Outside of the Christmas season anyway. With only a month to go until the festival was supposed to start, we’d not only managed to get the whole village out to support, but also what felt like half of Rossbridge as well. We had a few decent items for the raffle, signed GAA jerseys, some books, the blender. But people are also chipping in with their own prizes. Someone already bagged a free carpet cleaning service from Danny, and Bridget is offering a week’s worth of coffee. She’s also the winner of Nush’s free color consultation and haircut, while Nush herself won my prize, which is the chance to make any drink she wants, on the house. To my delight, she’s chosen one of my cocktails, and it’s her I return to now, slipping back behind the bar to find her putting the finishing touches on her glass.
“Perfect timing,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind, but I adapted your recipe. I don’t like pineapple. Or lime. Or orange juice.”
I frown. “Then why did you choose to make a Caribbean rum?”
“I don’t know; it sounded cool.”
