Mistletoe and Mr. Right Page 8

  “Oh, right. Your black-of-night storm photography.”

  He snorts, acknowledging the jab. “I’ve never had any classes or anything but I enjoy it. The camera is a hand-me-down that used to belong to my dad, and maybe he passed along his eye for framing a nice shot, too. Don’t let it be said the man was good for nothing.”

  “What do you shoot, landscapes or people?”

  “A little bit of everything, but I’m not into family photos or wedding pictures.”

  “So pretty much you’re not into the kind of photography that makes you money,” I comment, pressing my back into his chest to let him know I’m teasing.

  “It makes sense that you would notice that, since you’re into the kind of journalism that earns you paychecks instead of accolades,” he says fast, trading barb for barb.

  Even though he’s mostly kidding, the Jessie clawing her way out of the past, begging to have a future, considers the ramifications of a life spent behind a desk in a studio. Maybe it would be a waste of my life—this one life—to not have love for my work.

  We ride the rest of the way home in companionable silence, my mind reeling with possibilities, taking on fear and uncertainty like a boat punched full of holes. But for some reason, this guy and this day have left me with a big bucket in my hands that’s helping me bail water.

  It’s okay to not be okay.

  The concept shines in my palm like a glossy marble, a piece of currency that’s valuable because it’s different. I cup it gently, my hand sweaty but determined not to let it go.

  The first thing I see when the house comes into view is Katie and Brennan sitting together on the porch, their heads bowed together in quiet conversation. The second thing I notice is that the storm clouds on my boyfriend’s face at the sight of Grady and me pressed together on a horse make the ones in the sky look positively friendly.

  Chapter Eight

  Brennan leaps off the porch to greet me, as though either his pants are on fire or he’s guilty of something. I look at Katie, sitting quietly, and know nothing happened. Nothing that could be considered cheating in the strictest sense of the word, anyway. Her belief in their story not being finished is too unshakable. I’m positive that, in Katie McBride’s mind, I’m no competition at all.

  A few hours ago I would have fought tooth and nail, made a plan to get rid of her once and for all, but the new Jessie isn’t so sure what she wants anymore. Not really.

  “Hey,” I say, picking pieces of hay out of my hair.

  “Hey, yourself.” Brennan’s voice is tight, the words squeezed too small, and his steely gaze follows Grady as he clomps back the direction we came. When he turns it back on me, accusations reach out and stab me. “Have a good day?”

  I step back, pushing a pointed glance toward Katie, still watching us from the porch. “Did you?”

  The fight bleeds out of him, pooling on the ground under our feet until we’re knee-deep in a tepid pond of apathy. He gives me a weak smile, an attempt at a truce. “You smell like horse.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m going to go shower,” I say, and manage a tired smile. “What time are we leaving for town?”

  “You sure you want to go?”

  “Are you sure you want me to go?” I snap, still bristling from his gall, acting like I’ve done something wrong while he’s snuggled on the porch with his ex.

  “Of course I do.” His hands reach out, squeezing my biceps. His expression swings to apologetic, looking to smooth over any rough edges—his particular contribution to our relationship since the beginning. “We’re going to head in right after dinner.”

  I take a deep breath, letting him soothe me. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

  Brennan shoos me away, pinching his nose closed with two fingers. For a guy who grew up on farmland he has a pretty weak tolerance for animal fumes.

  I stand under the hot shower’s spray, the stench of the day swirling down the drain but the feeling it leaves me with stamped much deeper. I stare at my reflection while I straighten my hair, wondering why I look the same—nothing’s different about my flyaway chestnut hair, my long lashes, or the freckles dotting my cheeks.

  I haven’t changed yet. Haven’t decided whether I really can, but the simple consideration lights my eyes. Pinks my cheeks. Brightens my smile.

  Even my hair looks good when I’m finished, which is a rare and beautiful thing. At least Brennan’s high school friends won’t be talking about what a dog he’s dating.

  Dinner goes smoothly, for once, with Molly and everyone else excited about the Christmas festivities and Brennan and Katie hurrying through the corned beef and hash and potatoes so that we can get into town on time. We’ve all agreed not to stay out late—they said they want to pop in and say hello, catch up for a few pints and get out, which is more than okay with me.

  Brennan gets behind the wheel this time but we all know I’ll be the one piloting us home. I don’t mind so much now that I’ve got at least some experience driving on the wrong side of the road, and it’s not raining. And surely the need to stay out of my way has made its way through the livestock whisper down the lane.

  Thick awkwardness followed us from dinner and into the toy car. Brennan and I might have come to a truce as far as not discussing the things that are pissing us off right now, but that leaves us with nothing but oppressive silence. Katie gives conversation a go or two but gives up when I look out the window and Brennan barely manages a grunt.

  So, I don’t know about my boyfriend, but for me, keeping my mouth shut seems like the best way to stop from screaming. Or crying.

  The thing is, I don’t even know why we’re fighting. Because of Katie? Because of Grady?

  Because I showed up here and uncovered the ugly truth—that Brennan never told me about his past, never let me in on his plans to return to Fanore to run the B&B, and when he looks into the future I’m not the girl he sees by his side?

  I’m not convinced Brennan ever takes a peek into the future, which is a big reason I came here—to force him to do just that. It had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t like what he saw there.

  Ballyvaughan turns out to be the name of a town, and an adorable one at that, just over a half an hour drive from Fanore. There are actual side streets and more than one row of businesses—including bars and restaurants—to choose from, and as Brennan leads us into a traditional Irish pub called Greene’s, I can’t help but notice how handsome he is and my heart twists.

  Katie looks beautiful, too, in a clingy but modest brown dress that skims her knees and highlights her eyes. Boots with a small heel complete her outfit in a way that says she’s not trying too hard. I’m confident in the way my cranberry top and slinky black skirt offset my curves while my boots keep my legs from impersonating an ice statue until we get inside.

  The pub is overly warm and like something out of a dream, all ragged booths and cherry-colored leather, dark wood, flickering lanterns casting deeper shadows in dark corners. Bottles of liquor stack on the mirrored wall behind the bar, and the men with their backs to us can only be referred to as regulars. I want to take a picture but don’t want to look like a tool, so I close my eyes, committing Greene’s to a panoramic-style memory.

  “Hey, it’s Donnelly and McBride, just like old times!” a burly kid with dark brown curls bellows from the bar. He slams down a pint of Guinness and grabs Brennan in a giant hug, tugging him away from me.

  “Put me down O’Brien, you big oaf.” Brennan disentangles himself with a smile and the guy, O’Brien, goes after Katie.

  A second boy, this one tall and skinny with a shaggy mop of blond hair, wanders over with a smile. An impossibly short girl with dull brown waves and eyes that are a faded blue behind her glasses follows.

  “Emer! Finn! What’s the craic?” Brennan hugs them, too, and then they greet Katie, meaning that all in all it’s several minutes before anyone remembers or realizes there’s a stranger in their midst.

  “This is Jessie,” Grady’s no
w familiar half-amused, half-irritated voice interjects from behind me. “Brennan’s girlfriend, despite his lack of manners.”

  I feel the barest presence of Grady’s hand on the small of my back before Brennan scowls and pulls me to his side. The farmhand looks smashing, cleaned up in a way that’s different to me. I can’t help but notice the way his jeans fit his butt perfectly, fraying a bit at the hems where they hit the floor around his worn boots. His ripped upper body fills out a blue-and-gray flannel shirt that matches his eyes, leaving my heart to stumble.

  “I was getting to that.” Brennan frowns harder. “You know O’Brien doesn’t give anyone time to breathe.”

  Grady gives me a smile but I shake my head. I don’t know what’s happening here or what I want to happen, or what’s possible in this brand-new world, but I do know that I’m not a cheater. Figuring out my future with Brennan has to be my top priority, and Grady, no matter how intriguing, can’t fix that.

  “I’m Jessica,” I tell O’Brien, leaving off my last name on purpose.

  Brennan doesn’t offer it, either. “Jessica, this is Danny O’Brien, Finn Gallaher, and Emer Flannigan.”

  “Nice to meet you all.”

  “You’re an American,” Finn observes while Danny attacks Grady in a fashion similar to the greeting he bestowed on Brennan.

  “Guilty.”

  “Well, how about a pint?”

  “She doesn’t really—”

  “Sure,” I reply, cutting Brennan off, then shrugging at his questioning look. It’s not going to kill me to hold and sip it, and by the time the end of the night rolls around, there’s probably not much chance any of them will remember how much I did or didn’t drink.

  Danny turns back to the bar to order three more, and Brennan leans down to murmur in my ear. “No one drinks until everyone has their glass, then we all toast. Make sure to look everyone in the eye.”

  I nod, committing the practice to memory, then take the lukewarm black beer from Danny. Once everyone has a glass we raise them and Finn begins a boisterous toast. “Here’s to a long life and a merry one.”

  “A quick death and an easy one,” Emer chimes in, raising her glass.

  “A pretty girl and an honest one,” Brennan murmurs, not looking in my direction in a way that feels purposeful.

  “A cold pint and another one!” Danny finishes, pushing his glass into Katie’s so hard the caramel-colored foam sloshes onto their hands.

  I toast each glass in turn, meeting everyone’s eye with a smile, then take two giant gulps of the surprisingly pleasant beer. Twenty minutes later I still can’t shake the appreciative, intense expression in Grady’s eyes when they met mine over the rims of our glasses of Guinness.

  Or how hard it was to breathe when his gaze slid all the way down to my toes.

  I drained the first beer and asked for another in an attempt to erase what turns out to be a rather stubborn visual, leaving my limbs tingling and my cheeks flushed and numb. The feeling is nice, kind of like any serious problem floats too far away from the thinking part of my brain to reach.

  “It’s so good to see you guys together again,” Danny gushes, then blushes when he notices me listening. “I mean, it’s great to see all of you. Grady, what are you up to, man, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  The friendly Irish boy does his best to change the subject, and I know he didn’t mean me any insult, but there have been several comments about how good it is to see Katie and Brennan, plus at least three adorable stories that involve the two of them and high school. They’re doing their best to ask me questions, but once we dispatched with the boring story of how we met and how I’m enjoying Ireland, everyone lost interest.

  I don’t blame them. This is a night for catching up with old friends, not making small talk with ones you’ll probably never see again. Katie and Brennan keep inching closer to one another without even realizing it, and when I come back from my second bathroom break—the spot next to Brennan has disappeared.

  My chest tightens and I turn toward the bar, ordering another pint.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Grady sidles up next to me, one eyebrow arched toward his hairline and his arm too close to mine.

  I shift away from the heat of him. The spark of his skin. “Why, aren’t you hoping I’ll get wasted enough to take my top off and dance on the bar?”

  “I hadn’t entertained the possibility, to be honest.” He bites his lips, cutting a glance toward Brennan, who hasn’t noticed my absence. “But unless that’s how you’re planning on capping your night, you might want to slow down. You’re not used to drinking, and Guinness has more alcohol than most beer.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  The bartender hands over my beer and I slap a few euros on the counter, leaving Grady alone. This whole day is a strange, uncomfortable mash-up of lovely and shitty, but at the moment the buzz keeps my emotions from swamping my lack of good sense.

  I shoulder my way into the circle of friends, trying not to feel glad when Grady pushes in beside me, our hips brushing. It’s sweet that Grady feels the same … friendship blooming between us and that he’s tuned into my comfort here. Or lack thereof. But Brennan is my boyfriend. Brennan is the one I want to do those things. I slide my hand into his and feel a gush of relief when he squeezes back.

  Time wears on, and we keep drinking. The hour or two we were going to stay turns into three, until my eyelids are heavy and my feet ache from standing, and as the pleasant drunk feeling starts to tip toward dizzy and sick. I finish the rest of the beer in my hand and set it on the table, stumbling a little on my way to the bathroom and back. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve gone, and nausea turns in my gut.

  Why did I drink so many beers? Who am I?

  Stupid new Jessie.

  “Well, I think I’m going to get going,” Grady says, putting what I think is just his second empty pint on the counter.

  “Aw, of course Callaghan is the first one to leave,” Danny complains, punching him on the arm.

  “Well, you know, we can’t all be coddled like you are, O’Brien. Some of us have work to do in the morning, Christmas Eve or no.”

  “Sure, sure.” Emer stands on her toes to give him a hug, one that lingers a few seconds longer than it has to.

  A stab of jealousy startles me. There’s no way Grady doesn’t have his own sordid dating history because there’s no girl alive with two eyeballs and a pulse who could pass the guy without looking twice.

  “See you later, man,” he says, and gives Finn a handshake, then turns to Brennan. “Are you going to be okay getting home?”

  “Yeah, Katie’s driving.” He gives me a pointed look, an annoyingly obvious reminder that I was supposed to be the DD, but it bounces off my alcohol-armored skin.

  “Do you want me to drive you, Jessie? You’re looking locked enough to fall over.” Grady hesitates by the door, keys in his hand.

  “Does that mean pretty?” I slur, tipping sideways so that he has to grab my elbow to hold me up.

  Brennan frowns. “It means wasted. And you are.”

  “Well, maybe a little. A wee bit,” I snort. I’m tired, too. So, so tired. “Are you going to stay?”

  “Yeah. I mean, this is my only night to catch up with everyone.”

  Never mind that we all agreed not to stay out late. Never mind that I’m his girlfriend and I need to go to bed. Never mind, apparently, that he doesn’t like me alone with one Grady Callaghan.

  “Fine. I’ll go with Grady.”

  “Fine.”

  Only because you have to, I think, letting Grady take my hand and pull me out into the cold.

  *

  “You’ve made a fine mess of things, haven’t you?” Grady puts an arm around my waist, helping me walk to his rusted green truck a few blocks away.

  I’d push him off, but putting one foot in front of the other proves quite a bit harder than it was a few hours ago. The cobbled, uneven streets slick with crusted s
now combine with the blurry world to keep me leaning on Grady. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s none of your business if I did.”

  He sighs, opening the passenger door and boosting me inside. The world spins outside the truck and my stomach lurches, coating my tongue with a nasty taste. Closing my eyes helps, but only a tad.

  “You’re not going to throw up in my truck, are you?”

  “I’m really not sure.”

  He sighs again and starts the engine, letting it idle while the air blasting from the vents transforms from bitter cold to lukewarm, then shifts into gear. We bump through the night in silence for a while, which is good, since if I open my mouth there’s no telling what might come flying out.

  “Rough night?” he asks, softer this time. Peering under those rocks again.

  I’m too tired to play the angry snake. “You could say that.”

  “It’s none of my business, but why don’t you talk to Brennan instead of fighting with him?”

  “It’s not going to do any good.” I slouch in the seat, sticking my booted feet on the dash.

  “Oh, and getting plastered is doing the trick?”

  A smile tugs at my lips, then a laugh burbles up from my center. It’s ridiculous, he’s right, and I never, ever make a decision in the moment. This one had turned out poorly, but guess what? I’m still alive.

  “You are a real piece of work, Jessie MacFarlane.” Grady grunts, but a quick glance reveals he’s grinning, too. “I’m glad you came to Ireland.”

  “You are?” I sit up straighter, crossing my legs. The world spins again and I press my eyes closed, groaning.

  “Yes. But I might change my mind if you vomit.”

  “Whatever.”

  The roads twist and turn, lazy through the countryside, and the stone walls catch my eye, piquing my curiosity not for the first time. “What’s the deal with the walls? I mean, at first I thought they were property divisions or livestock pens but they seem more haphazard than that.”

  “Trust you to use big words when you’re pissed,” he grumbles, squeezing the wheel tight around a curve. “But you’re right. People use them that way now, but their origins are more practical. There have always been a lot of rocks in the area, and in order to farm, they had to be picked up. So people stacked them.”