The Best Part of Me (6 page)

He finished the bottle and squished it into a compact plastic ball before throwing it over to where her empty bottle sat on the grass.

She was about to tell him that she'd see him on Friday night when she joined Erin and her friends at Katie's. But before she could say anything, she heard the crunch of gravel under tires. They both turned and watched as her aunt pulled her old Honda to a stop in back of the house. Her aunt's hard eyes were locked in their direction.

“Later,” Ewan mumbled as he headed toward the driveway.

Quinn hadn't noticed the black Ford pickup truck parked in the drive. Ewan and his aunt didn't exchange any pleasantries as he passed right beside her and swung up into his truck. He put the truck in reverse and backed out of the driveway. She heard the low rumble of his engine as the black truck disappeared down the road.

She could feel her aunt's heavy stare coming from the porch as Quinn picked up the empty water bottles and carried them to the trash bin in the garden shed. Her stomach grumbled and she knew it was about time to feed it. She was sure she was gonna get another lecture about staying away from Ewan McKenna.

She smiled to herself as she tossed her gloves on top of the cooler. Had Ewan actually heeded her advice and pulled his head out of his ass? She guessed time would tell.

But what a fine ass it was.

The boisterous hum and the sounds of clinking glasses on a Friday night surged like electricity through Ewan's veins. The pub was busy, with almost every stool and table occupied, and it was only eight o'clock. On nights like this, he could feel his pockets getting heavy. When Ewan's uncle had decided to get into the food and beverage industry, he'd known his first endeavor would have to be a pub. And it was a fucking cash cow.

“Another round, boyo!”

Ewan nodded at Skip Ridley, who had yelled from the opposite end of the bar. Skip hailed from Donegal and was slipping further away from his mid-seventies every year. He'd come out of retirement to work part time at a nearby lumber mill and was currently drinking his coworkers under the table.

Ewan went to pour six more pints of one of the stouts on tap. There was just something about this place that made people forget all about domestics and go right for the imports.

“Ewan, I need five Guinness drafts and a Merlot for table eighteen!”

Ewan nodded without looking over at Jenny, who'd called out the order from behind the row of patrons sitting on stools at the bar.

Most restaurants in the United States had a bar. Besides décor, most of these bars were the same. People came in, sat down, and ordered a beverage. But Connor McKenna had known that setting his pub apart from Applebee's or whatever sports bar in the next town would come down to knowing his consumers.

He hadn't just given his pub an Irish name and slapped some Irish memorabilia on the wall. He'd paid attention to the little details—from the storefront to the inside design—to ensure that his patrons received a genuine experience that translated to Irish culture, hospitality, and tradition. The locals came because they loved it. And the visitors who stumbled upon it by accident became regulars.

The pub was located on the ground floor of a two-story building in the heart of Ballagh, right in between the local hardware store and a florist shop. Ewan lived above the pub in a small one-bedroom apartment. The front side of the building was prominent with black wooden panels from the sidewalk to the top of the first floor. Along the top of the black paneling, in bold yellow block letters, read: Katie McMullen's.

The story went that when Uncle Connor had first laid eyes on Aunt Katherine, he'd been smitten. He'd always described his love at first sight like a shove to the chest. Especially since Aunt Katherine wouldn't give him the time of day. His uncle said all the whiskey in the world couldn't get her out of his mind. So when she'd finally married him and they'd moved to the States, he'd thought it only fair to name his first pub after the girl who'd stolen his heart and led him to drink.

Being a pub manager might not be a glamorous job, but Ewan loved it. He'd tried the whole college thing but it wasn't for him. He'd hated sitting in a classroom while a professor lectured him. He preferred hands-on experience to a textbook. And the longer he'd sat in those classes, the more money he'd been throwing away. So Ewan had dropped out his first semester. After spending a couple years on his own in the city that he'd rather forget, he'd finally returned home and his uncle had offered him a job. It was a perfect fit, and Ewan worked hard every day not to fuck it up.

He put the two drink orders on trays. Jenny was going to be swimming in tips tonight.

There was a light drizzle outside, and it must have been chilly because all the tables around the old stone fireplace to the right of the entryway were taken. The flames licked high toward the chimney, spreading a warm glow over the old wooden floorboards.

There were tables and chairs scattered about the room, which extended back from the main street. The long wooden bar, the same color as the floors, ran down the left side of the pub and was lined with high stools. There were several booths that sat along the right side of the room beyond the fireplace area. All were occupied now.

He quickly moved to the register to add the drinks he'd just poured to the tabs for Skip Ridley and table eighteen. He didn't need to look at table eighteen to know who'd ordered the lonely Merlot. Quinn Adler had come in forty-five minutes ago and was sitting in that last booth with her cousin, Rory, and a few of his friends. Figures that a city girl would show up at an Irish pub and order wine. He'd made eye contact with her briefly but looked away without so much as a chin lift.

Earlier in the week, he'd gone and done what he'd told himself not to do.

He'd been cordial. Neighborly. Polite.

When he'd dropped that crate of whiskey off for Rory, he should have turned right back around and left. Instead, he'd stood there a minute and watched as a five-foot-four-inch sylph tried to manhandle a piece of lumber that likely weighed more than she did.

On closer inspection, he'd noticed her legs weren't stick-thin like he'd originally assumed. They were leanly muscled in the short athletic shorts she'd been wearing. Those long, toned legs weren't just genetic; they were the kind that took some effort to create and maintain. He could seriously appreciate that type of dedication to one's body.

In fact, he was starting to appreciate more than just her legs. And it was that appreciation that had led him off that porch in her direction. Now she probably thought he was a decent human being. She might even want to get to know him better. And that wasn't going to work for him.

His life was fine as it was. It was free of drama and complications. And getting involved with Quinn Adler—involved in any way—was a complication.

“Shit, is there a full moon tonight or something?”

Ewan's cousin, Sean, stopped and nudged him out of the way so he could get to the computer. He tapped the screen quickly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his other hand.

“It's always like this on Fridays.”

“Jesus.” Sean shook his head. “Remind me never to help you on a Friday again.”

Ewan had requested Sean's help over the weekend. Sean was a twenty-seven-year-old bachelor living the good life in Boston, but he'd never once let Ewan down when he needed him. Truth be told, his cousin pulled in more money for the bar on the weekends he was around due to the sheer fact that the man was naturally gifted with a shit ton of charisma and personality. When he talked, he made people feel like they mattered.

Because he'd grown up in Ballagh before he'd headed into the city for college, he knew everyone's names, their kids' names, and their fucking pets' names.

And when anyone new showed up, he could make them feel right at home, like the seat they were occupying was theirs for the rest of their life. And if that new person happened to be a female, he'd amp up that megawatt smile of his and would have her pulling down the neckline of her top in the hopes of keeping him talking to her for a few minutes longer.

Not to mention, she'd be ordering more drinks. Ewan wouldn't be surprised if half the women in the bar had suddenly shown up because they'd heard Sean was working tonight.

“Who's the new girl sitting with Erin Brauer?”

Ewan felt the possessive hackles rise on the back of his neck and was instantly annoyed. More at himself than at Sean. “Quinn Adler. Maura Hughes's niece.”

He heard his cousin whistle in appreciation. “Not bad.”

Not bad, indeed.

Ewan didn't respond because a response would only encourage him more.

“Fuck,” Sean murmured.

Ewan locked a steely gaze on his cousin. He didn't want to get stuck in a conversation about Quinn Adler's lovely assets. It took him a moment to realize Sean wasn't looking over at Quinn's table. Instead he was focused on a group of guys hovering behind the last four stools closest to the front door. The four stools that were quickly being vacated at that very moment to give the newcomers room at the bar.

If his hackles hadn't already been standing, they would be now. Ewan clenched his jaw, trying not to look as aggravated as he felt.

The four men taking their seats were trouble. He hadn't seen them in well over six years. Well, actually, that wasn't true. He'd seen the fat fucker on the end just last week. Remy shifted his flabby frame on top of the stool. He was lucky the stool hadn't collapsed under all his weight. Remy looked up and met Ewan's hard stare and grinned.

But it wasn't Remy that Ewan was worried about.

If he could put his fist through anyone's face, he'd start with the man sitting on the closest stool—Keith Hardy. And after he got finished with Hardy, he'd proceed to the next asshole until all of them were writhing in pain at his feet.

“Ah, look who it is, boys. Our good friend Ewan,” Hardy yelled down the bar. “Where ya been, Ewan? We haven't seen ya in a while.”

Keith Hardy was one of the most ruthless bastards he'd ever met. And what made him ruthless wasn't his cunning or intelligence. Rather it was a lack of intelligence that made him unpredictable and downright unscrupulous. He ran with a crowd just as insane as he was. Apparently he was in some position of authority now, and the asshats sitting beside him likely followed after him like ducklings trailing their mother.

Ewan had no idea why Hardy was gracing them with his presence, but he had no doubt it was in response to Remy's visit last week. Whatever it was, Ewan wanted none of it.

He walked calmly down the length of the bar and stopped in front of Hardy, looking him in his beady, pinched eyes. “Get out of my pub,” Ewan demanded quietly.

“We just came in to have a pint or two,” Keith said. “We're not causing any trouble.”

“Get out of my pub.”

Only the patrons sitting closest to where they were noticed anything was amiss. Little by little, the immediate area started to clear out.

“Come now, we'll be on our merry way after finishing a pint.” Hardy smirked, glancing toward Sean.

His cousin stood alert beside him. In demeanor, Sean wasn't quite as threatening as Ewan, but he was still tall and sturdy and wasn't the type of guy anyone would want to mess with. In a fair fight, Ewan knew they could easily take on all four. And they would if it came down to it. But any fight had casualties, and most of the time it was the pub that suffered.

“Whatever you came here for, the answer is no.” Ewan put as much steel and malice into his voice as he could without raising it.

Hardy pulled his head back like he'd been slapped. “Is this how you treat all your patrons? It's a wonder anyone comes into this place.”

Ewan didn't reply. He just stared back at the fucker.

Hardy let out an exaggerated sigh. “Ewan, if you want me to air your dirty laundry here in front of all these fine people, that's up to you. I was hoping we might reconnect over a pint and head outside for a quick chat.”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Ewan's temper was rising, and there wasn't much he could do about it. His heart thundered in his chest and he felt his fingers curl into a fist.

Hardy shook his head as if he were greatly saddened by what he was about to say. “Wrong answer, McKenna.”

“So let me get this straight. You just work outside in the garden all day?”

Quinn nodded at Erin's friend, Lisbeth, as she took a sip of her Merlot.

“You make it sound like she's playing in a mud pit, Lisbeth,” Rory retorted. “She's helping my mom, for Christ's sake.”

Lisbeth put her hands up in defense. “I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it. I just don't see how you aren't pulling your hair out in boredom.”

“Same reason you don't pull your hair out in boredom when you take two hours to paint your nails with pink unicorns or whatever shit it is you've got on there. It's because she likes to garden,” Darcy stated.

Quinn smiled at Darcy Owens. It wasn't the first time the other woman had come to her defense since they'd sat down. She tried not to take offense at Lisbeth's constant inquiries on what she preferred to do with her time. It was obvious that the blond beauty lived in a world all her own. And if the constant train of men who approached her was any indication, she did a lot more with her time than paint her nails.

“No offense, Quinn. I'm just trying to get to know you. I'm sure your garden is lovely.” Lisbeth gave her a small artificial smile before taking a pull of her beer.

“None taken. I'm sure your nails are lovely too.”

The other woman blinked, trying to figure out if she'd just been insulted. Quinn found herself wondering why Erin and Darcy were friends with her.

Nevertheless, Quinn was glad that she'd decided to come out tonight. She couldn't recall the last time she'd gone out with friends. She'd taken a nice long shower and put on a touch of makeup. Thankfully the bruise around her eye was gone.