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1
Delaney’s
Daniela
The bus from the airport drops me right across the street from the pub but as I stand here on the sidewalk looking at the limestone building I wonder if all of this; the money I scraped together and spent, the life that I packed up and the things that I left behind, is just a colossal mistake. I summon every ounce of courage I have and step across the cobblestone street. The sign reads Delaney’s so this is definitely the place but I can’t seem to bring myself to grasp the brass door handle and go inside.
I don’t think I gave this enough thought. Am I even old enough to work here? What makes me think that I can just walk in off the street and get hired? Craziest of all, is it even smart to go to work in an Irish Pub the week before Saint Patrick’s Day? Heck, from the sounds coming from the other side of the door, the whole town has already started celebrating.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady my nerves then reach for the door but before my fingers make contact it swings open and I’m hit square in the face by a rush of cold air and clamoring Irish music from inside. A burly man steps out dragging another man of about equal girth by the neck and tosses him onto the sidewalk. The second man staggers to his feet and turns, pointing his finger at the first but he isn’t having it. He brushes by me as if I’m invisible and shoves the other man into the street.
“I’ll not have you or anyone disrespecting the women in my establishment ya feckin’ shite hawk!” The first man shouts and I’m not quite sure what it means but it’s enough to make the second man bow his chest and prepare to throw a punch.
My flesh goes cold standing here with eyes the size of my gaping mouth waiting for the fight to ensue but the first man growls and clenches his fists and says. “If ya throw that punch it’ll be your last. Your mama will be laying flowers on the spot where I killed you,” and the second man lowers his fist, relaxes his hand, and turns to walk away.
“Don’t come back and watch your mouth,” the first man shouts as he runs his fingers through his silken, black hair. He turns and seems surprised to see me standing on the stoop. He looks me up and down and says, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’ll need to see your identification if you’re planning to go inside.” Once he finishes examining me his eyes settle on mine. His are emerald green set against his pale skin and nestled nicely into a very handsome face.
“You own this place?” I ask.
“I do. I’m Declan Delaney but everyone calls me Dex. Now, I imagine you didn’t get here without a passport, little girl, so let’s have a look,” he replies and my heart beats just a bit faster. I didn’t plan to meet him this way but I suppose it’s best to just get it over with.
“I’m here for a job,” I say.
He looks me up and down a second time then says, “You’re American. Why would you come all the way to Athlone, Ireland for a job as a barmaid and why would you think that I would give you one, kid? Who are you?”
I take a deep breath and then let it go slowly, “I’m your step-sister, Daniela.”
2
Meeting Daniela
Declan
Running the pub gives me the opportunity to feast my eyes on some pretty amazing-looking women but this girl standing outside my door caused me to do a triple take. She’s cute as a button but with the sexiest, pouty lips I’ve ever seen. I can tell she’s young, maybe too young, so I tell her she needs to show I.D. to go inside. We don’t ever card anyone here because, until tonight, we knew everyone and their stories. I don’t know this girl’s story and every part of me, especially the now stiff and alert lower part, wants to explore it in graphic detail.
“My stepsister, Daniela?” I scratch my head and stare at her. If she was anyone else I’d tell her to go piss in the river. The fact that my pops married her ma doesn’t make us family but this girl? I don’t want her going anywhere so I tell her to come inside and bring her straight into my office. She sits on the green, leather sofa and crosses her legs. I watch as her skirt slides up over her knees and takes its rest on her upper thigh.
“Why have you come here?” I ask, trying to maintain eye contact but my gaze keeps wandering to her perky, round tits.
“I ran into some financial trouble back home and didn’t have anywhere else to go so, here I am,” she replies.
“You just packed up and left America with no plan? Does your ma know you’re here?” I ask her.
“No, I didn’t come here so my mother could take care of me. I came here to try and make a life for myself. I figured since you and I are technically family now and you have a job posting maybe you could help me with that,” she answers, looking down at her feet.
“How old are you, girl?” I ask her.
She hesitates and replies, “I’m eighteen.”
She’s putting on a show for me and doing a terrible job at it. Her words are tough but her body language is screaming that she’s just a scared little girl and I find myself wanting to get up and put my arms around her.
I tap my fingers on the desk and try to appear as though I’m considering employing her but there hasn’t been a doubt in my mind and eighteen is legal to work here among other things. If giving her a job keeps her in my sights, I’m giving her a job. Hell, I’d dethrone the Queen of England just to give this girl her seat.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” I ask her.
“Not yet, I was going to get a hotel room for the night and start looking for something more permanent tomorrow,” she replies.
“The only hotel in town is expensive and with St. Paddy’s comin’ it’s probably full. I have rooms for rent on the second floor and I just happen to have a vacancy. In fact, they’re all vacant at the moment. I’ll put you up there,” I tell her and watch her expression change. I plan to keep her as close to my vest as possible while I try to make sense of the emotional charge that she’s ignited in me.
