Page 82 of The Matchmaker
“Duly noted. And what about you?” she asks, as she slots it into the middle of her pile. “Any practice forms for you? Or are you still dallying with the gardener?”
“I’m not—” I scowl at her. “Why do you have to make it sound like one of your books? And he’s not even our gardener!”
“He should be,” she remarks. “He did a good job. You should get him to come around again.”
“So he can work for free?”
“We can always make him dinner this time if you insist.”
It doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines. “Are you inviting Callum around for dinner?”
“I think I deserve to properly meet the man you’re sleeping with,” she remarks, and I groan.
“Why can’t you be a normal grandmother who says normal things?”
“Because it’s too much fun to watch you squirm,” she says, and reaches down to pet Plankton as he lays his head in her lap.
* * *
“The hedgerows in this country provide a vital wildlife habitat,” states Vinnie O’Ceallaigh. “The proposal to cut down such an important shelter for the sake of another road that no one needs is a worrying sign for all of us.” When asked if the redevelopment of Ennisbawn was going too far, he was firm in his response. “As a nation, we must do what we can to protect our countryside. That’s why we’ve launched our objection. We are throwing our full support behind the community in Ennisbawn and the steps they’re taking to preserve Ireland’s cultural and natural heritage.”
The door to the pub swings open, interrupting my third reading of the article, and I don’t even look up as I start again.
“We’re closed, Danny.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow so.”
My head snaps up to see Callum standing in the doorway. The days have been getting warmer, and he’s only in jeans and a T-shirt tonight, one that shows off his arms in all their glory, and yes, I am an arm girl now. I get it.
“Looking for me?” I ask.
“And a drink, if it’s going.” He steps inside, letting the door close behind him.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. On both accounts.”
I gesture to the stool in front of me, and he takes a seat.
“Guess I’m a little late,” he says, glancing about the empty pub.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t? You ever hear about liquor licensing hours?”
“That’s only if I sell to you. The wonderful thing about living in the middle of nowhere? Nobody cares.”
“Wild west, huh?” His eyes drop to the paper I was reading, and I spin it around to show him the article.
“The druids really are involved now,” I explain, and he lets out a low whistle.
“Stuff’s getting serious. Because of the well?”
I shake my head. “The road. Glenmill aren’t only cutting through buildings, but they’ll be cutting through hedges to build it. Turns out, druids don’t like when you cut through hedges. Lots of nature in hedges.”
“And druids love nature.”
“They do.” I grab a pair of scissors and start cutting out the article to add to our wall. “I’m going to need another corkboard,” I say. “That’s how famous I am now. I am someone who needs two corkboards.”
“What you guys need is a pool table,” he says. “And a television.”
