I let the door shut harder than needed behind me and march down the hall toward the front of the pub. Just as I pass the kitchen and glance inside, I see Fiona rubbing her shoulder.
“Are you okay, Fiona?”
“Oh, yes. This darn shoulder’s been giving me fits. I must be lifting too much around here lately. I’ll take something and be just fine.”
I nod. “Okay, well, Keegan’s in the storeroom if you need him. I’m going to head home for a bit.”
“See you later, dear.”
I may be pissed off at her son, but that’s no reason to be unkind to Fiona. She might be the nicest person on Earth.
I’d parked my little car in front of the pub, so I hop in and hurry to Maggie’s house. I still don’t consider it home, even though Maggie’s done nothing but make me feel welcome. Probably because I spend more time at Keegan’s than I do here at Maggie’s.
I cut the engine and stomp up the porch steps. When I get inside, I let my bag fall to the floor.
Maggie looks up from the book she’s reading. “Hi there.”
“Your brother is a jerk.”
She sets the book aside and smiles. “Oh, for sure. Yeah. What did he do?”
“I mean, I was not trying to be bossy. I was only pointing some stuff out to him. Because I want to help, you know?”
“You’re not making a lot of sense, but I’m with you, girl. Tell me more.”
I pace the living room because I have too much energy to sit down. “We don’t need five gallons of orange juice every week. It’s not like we have a bunch of women coming in for brunch all the time for mimosas, for God’s sake. We have people who want Guinness and whiskey, and sometimes a mixed cocktail.”
“You’re not wrong,” Maggie says.
“He’s so moody. He wouldn’t let me help him with his knuckles the other night, and today, he was kind of short with me—which is unlike him.”
“Wait.” She stands with me and holds up her hands. “You had a fight over orange juice?”
“Not just that. He also told me that I should stick to waiting tables and leave the pub ownership to him.”
Her eyes go wide, and her lips form an O. “Did you slug him one?”
“No, I was quite calm. I left.”
“Keegan’s never liked being told what to do.”
“I didn’t tell him! I suggested that he buy less orange juice.”
“So, you did fight over OJ.”
I sigh. “I guess.”
Maggie giggles.
“It isn’t funny.”
She giggles again, and I can’t help but smile with her. “Okay, it’s a little funny.”
“Your first fight was over a breakfast drink. I think that’s damn funny. Also, Keegan should be shot for telling you to stay in your lane.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t cool. But I was probably a little aggressive with my delivery, too. Maybe I should have said, ‘I have a suggestion,’ before I criticized his vodka and OJ orders.”
“So, are you going back over there to talk it out?”
I blow out a breath and flop onto the couch. “You know what? I don’t think so. I’ll go back when it’s time for my shift.”
“Good, we can ride together. Let’s do a deep-cleansing face mask and pedicures.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time.”
* * *
A few hours later, at the start of my shift, I walk into the pub with freshly painted toes—albeit hidden in my sneakers—and a clean face. Keegan’s behind the bar, stacking glasses. His head comes up and he looks right at me, his green eyes intense, and if I’m not mistaken, filled with regret.
Before either of us can say a word, Maggie approaches the bar with a grin. “Hey, Keegan, can I please have a glass of orange juice?”
I snort, unable to stop myself. Keegan’s lips twitch.
“There’s plenty back here, Mary Margaret, get it yourself. Izzy, I’d like to see you.”
I follow him into the storeroom where this whole mess began, and he closes the door behind us.
“I owe you an apology,” he begins. “I get defensive when it comes to my pub.”
“Learned that the hard way,” I mutter but smile up at him. “I should have been softer in my delivery. I wasn’t trying to insult you or even tell you how to do your job.”
“You were trying to help,” he finishes for me and steps closer, dragging his hands up my arms and then frames my face. “And I was a jerk.”
“Maybe we both had some jerk tendencies in that moment. But I don’t think you’re a jerk all the time.”
His lips turn up in a smile before descending on mine. The kiss is possessive, sweet, and full of apology.
And when he pulls back, my knees are weak, and what I have on my mind is not going to work.
“We have to get back out there,” I whisper.