AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Happy people skating and drinking cocoa. It’s like a magical fairyland where everyone’s always happy and it’s perpetually Christmas.”
Mr. Benz pondered the idyllic scene as if he were seeing it for the first time. “This is not necessarily representative.”
“So people are allowed to be unhappy in Eldovia?” she asked, following him as he resumed walking.
She’d been kidding, or trying to, but he didn’t react. Of course he didn’t. She was the newly crowned queen of awkwardness here, and Mr. Benz did not have a sense of humor. What a pair they made.
But to her surprise, he did answer, a full minute later, as he was holding the heavy wooden door of the Owl and Spruce for her. “People are allowed to be unhappy in Eldovia.” He opened his mouth as if he were going to say more, then shut it abruptly. Theystared at each other for a beat before she broke with his gaze and hustled through the door.
She scanned the pub, which was crowded with what looked an awful lot like more unnaturally happy people. Even though the building itself, from the outside, looked like the rest of the village, with its half-timbered stucco architecture, inside was one hundred percent Irish pub. She could have been back in any number of bars in Woodlawn Heights. Except not, because this was much nicer than any of the places she and her dad occasionally hit for a drink on Saturday afternoons.
“I customarily sit at the bar.” Mr. Benz nodded at a huge, gleaming wooden bar that was about half full. “But perhaps you’d rather procure a table?”
“No, the bar is great.” It was her preference, too, whether she was with her dad or alone in a hotel bar. At a bar you could watch the happenings, listen in on conversations, feel like you were in the thick of things even if you were by yourself. Equally, bars were good places to meet people for the kind of “date” Cara’s mom didn’t understand. Not that Cara would be meeting anyone atthisbar. She was, unfortunately, already here with someone. Just not that kind of someone.
Mr. Benz pulled out a stool for her and hovered, waiting until she was situated before taking his own seat. He was so weirdly chivalrous given the strained vibe between them. The woman behind the bar came over, and he performed introductions. “Imogen O’Connor, meet Ms. Cara Delaney.”
Imogen flashed Cara a grin and set a coaster in front of her. “You’re the New York hotshot.”
“The New York part, yes. The hotshot part, not so much.”
“Cara Delaney. That’s a fine Irish name.”
“Yes. I’m second-generation on one side.”
“Me, too. My da was from Dublin,” Imogen said with an exaggerated Irish lilt. It reminded Cara of her mom, whose own accent came out when she was sick or tired—which she increasingly was. “But I’m extremely Eldovian on the other.” She was pouring a glass of scotch as she spoke, and she set it in front of Mr. Benz. He must be a regular. “What can I get you, Cara Delaney?”
“Imogen has a very fine scotch list,” Mr. Benz said.
“I also have a handful of even finer Irish whiskeys,” Imogen said with a wink.
Cara liked Imogen. She was friendly and warm, which she supposed were job requirements for a bartender, but those qualities in her seemed genuine. And honestly, it was a relief to have a third person present to break up the... whatever it was between her and Mr. Benz. Awkwardness, tension, thinly veiled animosity? All of the above? “While I’m sure your inventory of both scotch and whiskey are second-to-none, both categories are wasted on me.” She usually had one of whatever her client was having before switching to water, but she hated the taste of hard liquor without a mixer. “I’m a bit of a lightweight—an embarrassment to my heritage, I’m afraid.”
“If you’ve a sweet tooth, I can do homemade cocoa with a shot of Baileys or Frangelico or any other liqueur you like. Or if you’re partial to beer, I have a pumpkin stout I brew on-site. Or I can get you the wine list.”
“I’ll try the stout, thanks.” She pointed to a chalkboard that listed the day’s specials. “And the lamb stew, please.”
As Imogen pulled the pint, Cara started aggressively yawning. “Jet lag?” Imogen asked sympathetically.
Cara was about to agree when Mr. Benz said, “Ms. Delaney is tired from a year spent traveling the globe to save hapless, backward companies from themselves.”
Cara blinked, taken aback. Mr. Benz blinked, too, as if he were surprised by his own outburst. So much for the almost imperceptible snubs. Shit was getting perceptible here.
For once, Cara wasn’t racking her brain trying to think of something to say to Mr. Benz. She was going to let him stew in his own bitterness. She picked up her beer and took a sip. “Mm,” she said to Imogen, who was also blinking. A round of blinking for everyone, courtesy of Mr. Benz! “This is really good. Like an alcoholic pumpkin spice latte.”
“Ta. I’m rather proud of it, if I do say so.” She glanced down the bar. “Move over to this empty stool.” She was speaking to someone Cara couldn’t see, someone at the bar but on the other side of a large column. She couldn’t hear the person’s response, either, but it must have been a refusal, because after Imogen pointed at the empty stool next to Cara and said, sternly, “Kai. Get your misanthropic butt over here. Meet our guest from New York.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Cara said. “There’s no need to—” Whoa. Okay.Hello.
“Kai Keller, this is Cara Delaney from New York.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cara said. Kai was tall and dark and scruffy andgorgeous. He wore a blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and heavy work boots.
Maybe shecouldmeet someone at this bar. What were thechances a man this good-looking was single? She glanced at his hand. No ring.
“Kai is a carpenter,” Imogen said. “He moonlights doing these.” She gestured at the shelves behind her. They were lined with bottles except for one, which was filled with snow globes. Imogen pulled one down and set it in front of Cara. It was a tiny replica of the bar building set in a glass globe that rested on an elaborately carved wooden base varnished to gleaming. She picked it up and shook it, smiling as the snow swirled around the scene. “It’s beautiful.”
“Come on now,” Kai said to Imogen. “I only make the bases.” He turned to Cara. “A local artist makes the miniatures for me. The bases are easy.”
