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Taylor was surprised by what a good time she was having despite all of her concerns. Then again, it helped that she was cuddled up next to Liam at the pub at one of the packed tables. This afternoon, they’d made arrangements to cover their tracks. Liam had received an anonymous email from Veritas asking for help with the mural and had sent an answering reply with a commitment of sorts. The hacker she worked with to conceal her identity had altered the time stamps, making it look like their communication had occurred on Sunday before the actual painting had been done. While she and Liam didn’t like playing that game, it was what it was. Protecting the center was a must.
The dear ninety-four-year-old artist, Eoghan O’Dwyer, had settled himself in the chair beside them, and he’d also helped her kick back and enjoy herself. He was such good company, so inspiring, finding art and love in his nineties. And he knew more jokes and stories than anyone Taylor had met. She found it easy to laugh as Brady handed her a second whiskey. On the house, which was really sweet.
The crush of people around her had her nearly sitting in Liam’s lap, not a bad thing to her mind, and the sound of conversations was almost deafening. She hadn’t expected the whole town to show up for the party. It was a Monday night! But no one seemed concerned about having to work the next day.
“You know,” Eoghan said, brushing beer foam off his mouth, “since the arts center started, we’ve never had so much to talk about. Now we have a mural from the internationally famous Veritas. How I wish I could have been there last night to watch. Excuse me, Taylor, but my Sandrine is motioning me over, and when your love calls, you must go.”
Liam rubbed her back. “The whole town is thrilled with the attention,” he said. “We take great pride in our village, and being seen as a cultural mecca for artists is another boon. Try and look at it like that when you’re thinking other thoughts.”
She knew what he meant and nodded. He was right. Feeling guilty about the Veritas talk wasn’t going to help anyone around her.
“Come on,a stór,” Liam whispered in her ear, making her shiver in that heart-tripping way he had. “Let’s move our seats in this crowd and watch the crazy new game Kathleen has brought us from America. It’s called Hot Potato/Shot Potato. Her brother’s Irish pub in Boston hosts game nights every Tuesday night to great reviews.”
Once they finally found a place for prime viewing, she watched as Brady played yet another Irish song from behind the bar, prompting Ellie to throw the potato across the large circle of participants to Angie, who shrieked and then dumped it in her sister Megan’s lap.
When the peppy music abruptly stopped, Declan was holding the potato, which meant he had to take a shot. In this case, the group was playing with beer so things wouldn’t get out of hand too fast. But the laughter was already pretty contagious, and Taylor found herself laughing as Ellie put the potato on her head and pretended she was a debutante in finishing school trying to learn her balance.
The whole pub erupted in laughter when it bounced into her lap and rolled across the floor toward Linc’s feet. He certainly wasn’t playing the game, but he promptly put the potato on his large head, balancing it perfectly. Someone started to count—Donal, she noted, who was sitting beside him—and the whole pub joined in. Linc made it to thirty-seven seconds before Bets tickled his ribs, making him jerk with laughter.
Then Liam’s mother picked the potato up off the floor and dragged her chair over to the ever-expanding circle to play.
“You know you want to join them,” Liam cajoled huskily in her ear amidst the din.
She nearly melted in her chair as his hot breath touched her skin. “Stop that. I’mtryingto be professional and casual here. This is my new town where I have a new job, which hasn’t exactly started off normally. I can play games once people get used to me. Right now, I’m simply that chick who got waylaid by Malcolm and is now international news.”
Of course, some of that was her fault for jumping in with the mural. Veritas did make waves when “he” painted something.
“They already like you, Taylor,” Liam added softly. “First, they admire how you handled Malcolm. Second, you’re Sophie’s friend and you showed your loyalty when you did that article about her, Jamie, and the troubles at the arts center. And third—”
“I’m your soulmate.” She blinked her eyes coquettishly before rolling them. “Yes, I got that when Brady hugged me as soon as we arrived at the pub and whisper-shouted to you,She’s totally brilliant, man.”
He started to laugh. “Come on,a stór, you have to admit that was funny.”
She wasn’t going to agree too easily, although she did really like his friends and couldn’t wait to get to know them better. “I seem to have fallen through a hole in the Universe and am living in some delusional dimension where ghosts appear, soulmates unite, and good and dark forces battle. I’m waiting for a Hollywood producer to show up and option Caisleán for its own reality TV special. Especially now that Ghislaine released the footage of Sorcha at the arts center, hovering around in all her illuminated eeriness.”
Liam grunted. “I agree that was a little weird. But Sorcha knows what she’s doing.”
Again, she wanted to beat her forehead against the proverbial wall—a ghost knew what she was doing? Yeah, she’d fallen into a hole in the Universe, all right, and things were getting crazier by the minute. Tomorrowshehad media interviews back to back, with her being the interviewee for a change, starting with a big British morning show and then moving on to the American ones.
There was even talk she might end up on Jimmy Fallon. If her current luck held, he’d probably ask her if she’d seen Sorcha herself, and there she’d be telling Jimmy Fallon on nighttime TV that yes, she had seen the ghost who smelled like oranges. More, this ghost had united her with her hot pirate soulmate.
Taylor McGowan’s reputation as a serious journalist and person would be ruined. Coming out as Veritas sounded more palatable, andthatcertainly wasn’t happening. The anonymity was part of the mystique. Without it, Veritas was nothing but another punky street artist.
“You fretting again?” Liam squeezed her side. “Taylor, honestly, you should join the game because you probably have two choices tonight. That game…”
She glanced over to see Eoghan pull up a chair to join the circle, setting his beer on the hardwood floor in front of him. The moment he sat down, Declan shot the potato toward him, which he deftly caught.
“You see how boxing training stays with you,” Eoghan called, “but maybe we should swap out the potato for a nice round stone.”
Everyone groaned, Declan most audibly.
“I don’t get it,” Taylor said.
Liam plucked her up and settled her on his lap.
She did her best not to wiggle, but her breath stopped, that was for darn sure.
He made a humming sound before explaining, “Eoghan used to have Declan catch stones during his boxing training. It’s an old Irish thing. Intimidates opponents and gives rise to a boxer’s lore.”
