Kat peeked inside the heavy doors of Foley’s Public House. The pub seemed to be totally empty, though Kat supposed it was a bit early to be in a bar unless they served breakfast or brunch. And of course, Kat’s stomach gurgled at the thought of an Irish breakfast because, after all, she and Cal had burned off a few calories.

“I swear I’m part hobbit.”

Kat shrieked when a voice behind her replied, “Your feet don’t look hairy enough.” She spun around just in time to see a raven-haired woman pop up from behind the bar. The woman stuck her hand out. “Hi, I’m Meghan Sullivan. You must be Kat.”

Kat shook the woman’s heavily tattooed hand. “Yes, I am Kat. Kat Fahey. Nice to meet you.” They stood there looking at each other across the bar for a few long moments until Kat finally blurted, “Uh, how . . .?”

“Oh, Cal called and said the meeting was late getting started and asked if I would show you around a bit when you got here.”

Kat was intrigued. Part of her job as a business analyst was learning the history behind the business and the owner’s passion for it. She’d heard a lot about Foley’s from Cal, both positive and negative details. She definitely wanted to hear more about it directly from the owner.

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Cal had just finished with the lawyers—hopefully, really finished—when a familiar and disliked ringtone sounded. He groaned with dismay because the absolute last person he wanted to talk to or see was his ex-wife. Nevertheless, he went ahead and agreed to meet her, but only for a limited amount of time. He should have known that Amanda’s interest in him would be rekindled as soon as word got out that he was dating someone. And with the way the service industry workers gossiped, Amanda definitely would have heard.

Cal halted in front of the gleaming glass windows of one of the hottest gastropubs in Atlanta, a wistful sigh escaping his lips. He’d poured his heart and soul into developing the drink menu for Pickett & Spence. He’d been instrumental in the success of the restaurant in Intown Atlanta’s fledgling foodie scene, quietly coordinating drinks to highlight the farm-to-table offerings of the gastropub. Amanda worked as a hostess in the evenings while interning with her brother’s real estate company during the day. It was a perfect situation until it wasn’t, until Amanda decided that Pickett & Spence’s brash, charismatic executive chef fit her idea of a grown-up life better than the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with.

“Man up, Calhoun. All of this is your own damn fault.”

Cal cracked his neck and pulled open the heavy, reclaimed wood door. He hesitated for a split second before entering but then resolutely crossed the threshold into the restaurant, where he stood awkwardly facing an empty hostess stand. He scanned the bar, praying that Amanda wouldn’t have the gall to make him sit on the other side of where he once ruled. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t see her.

“Cal . . . hi.”

Cal smiled at the hostess, a sweet college girl with a serial bad-boy problem.

“Madison, nice to see you.” Cal cleared his throat. “I’m meeting . . .”

“Amanda’s sitting in the breakfast nook.” Madison looked around and then stepped close to Cal. “Chef would have a fit if he knew she was here. He’s not supposed to be in until three, but you never know when he’s going to show up. If he saw both of you, together? I . . .”

“Trust me, I’d rather not be here. I’m planning on making this as quick as possible.”

Madison nodded and flashed a weak grin. “Amanda doesn’t like me, so . . .”

Cal snorted and nodded in understanding. “Nice to see you, Madison.”

“Nice to see you, too, Cal. Good luck.”

Cal blew out a breath, readying himself for the worst, and walked through the small dining room to the covered porch. A woman was sitting at the corner table, staring out the window and playing with a strand of her hair.

Cal studied her for a moment. With the exception of the piece of hair that escaped her smooth chignon, she was flawlessly put together. She was beautiful in a frosty, Hitchcock-blonde sort of way—all ice-blue eyes and flaxen hair. Everything about her was calculated. What she wore, with whom she networked. Even where she sat was planned: their table. Or rather, what once was their table. She was pulling out the big guns. He bet she even had her wedding set on her ring finger.

“Amanda.”

She turned and flashed him a brief, brilliant smile, then schooled her features into something slightly less enthusiastic. She smoothed her hair down, and yes, she was wearing the rings. Cal huffed a laugh, an idea incubating.

“Cal.” Amanda stood up from the table and casually ran her hand down his arm. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll have Madison run and get us some nibbles.”

“Amanda, I’m not here to socialize, nor do I want any sort of confrontation if Geoffrey shows up. You said you needed to talk to me immediately. Well, I’m here and it’s immediate, so talk.”

Amanda had the good sense to look embarrassed before she said, “About my spousal support, Cal. I need you to extend it. I, um, didn’t finish my course.”

“The two-week course you started ten months ago? That course? The course your brother’s company was supposed to foot the bill for as part of your internship?”

“Well, I kind of fibbed about that . . .”

“About what, the paying for the course?”

“About the internship . . .” Amanda gave her best “Oh, my bad” grin and shrugged a shoulder.

Cal sucked his teeth against his lips and clenched and unclenched his fists so he wouldn’t reach across the table and throttle his ex-wife.

“So, you weren’t planning on getting your real estate license.”

“Oh, I was, but then, there were all these tests and there was so much to remember, and I just thought I wouldn’t be able to deal with the rejection of having someone not buy a house from me. So I have a new plan, but I need some seed money, and a little extra until I, you know, get my client base.”

Cal closed his eyes. “And where are you expecting to get this seed money?” he asked, but he knew what the answer would be.

“Well, speaking of selling houses . . . I know you sold our Buckhead house, so I was thinking—"

“Nope. I bought the house before we were married, so it wasn’t part of the joint assets, and anyway, in the divorce decree, you declined any right to the proceeds from the sale.”

“But, Cal, that’s not fair!” Amanda sputtered. “I—”

“That’s what you get for not having a lawyer, Amanda.” Cal was so sick of her, but he wasn’t angry or sad, or anything at all, about his ex-wife. He glanced at her hand. “There’s an easy solution: sell the rings.”

“What?” Amanda gasped and wrapped her right hand protectively around her left.

Cal leaned over the table and pointed at Amanda’s ring finger. “There’s thirty-five thousand dollars of seed money right there on your finger.”

“But, Cal, it’s my wedding band!”

“For a marriage that you wanted out of. It’s just jewelry now, jewelry that can be sold to pay for whatever harebrained scheme you’ve cooked up this time.” Amanda’s eyes grew large, and Cal laughed, if a bit meanly. “Oh, honey. I may have grown up in a two-room shack and not in Buckhead, but I’m no fool.” He stood up to his full height. “Sell the fucking rings. This is the life you wished for, begged for. Start living it.”

Cal spun on his boot heel and walked through the dining room. Madison beamed at him and waved. He nodded, pushed open the door, walked to the car, and got in. He roared out of the parking lot, venting some of his aggression by driving fast toward the highway and hoping that by the time he got to Foley’s, he’d be sufficiently calmed down.

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 “So this is us,” Meghan announced as she spun around in the middle of the empty dining room. She heaved a wistful sigh. “Yep. That’s all there is.”

Kat regarded the inky-haired woman. She obviously loved the pub, but it was equally apparent that she was completely overwhelmed. “Tell me about it.”

Meghan frowned at Kat. “Girlie, I realize that you’re distracted by where your man is, but what do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

“My man?” Kat scoffed. “I don’t know if Cal could be considered my man . . . no, we’ll come back to that. I want you to answer my request: I want you to tell me about Foley’s.”

Meghan leaned against the bar. “Da spent years working in all sorts of bars—high-end, dives, and everywhere in between. I remember him putting all his tips into one of those water cooler jugs—you know, the five-gallon ones?—until it was full, and then helping him roll coins and bundle bills. Then my Mam got sick, and he put it on the back burner while he cared for her. After she passed, my uncle told him he’d better get a move on and find a building because he was sending him his bar seeing as he was retiring. Gave Da new purpose, and now, almost twenty years later, here we are.” She chuckled and ran her hand along the bar. “We’ve had ups and downs, yeah? More downs than ups lately, though, and it worries me. The neighborhood’s changing, and I don’t know if Foley’s fits in anymore.”

Even though she’d only been in the area for a few hours, Kat could see exactly where Meghan’s concerns lay. All around Foley’s, Kat saw signs of gentrification. Older buildings were being torn down or converted to high-dollar mixed-use developments, which meant taxes would be going up, and not just a little. With the prices Foley’s charged for drinks and food, Kat didn’t doubt they were operating at a deficit every month.

“I answered your question; now answer mine.” Meghan grinned at her. “Why did you balk when I called Cal ‘your man’? If he’s not your man, what are your intentions with our Cal?” Meghan now sat across the booth from Kat and was leaning in, elbows on the table and her head cocked, listening hard.

“Um . . .” Kat took another sip of her ginger ale, stalling while she formulated a response that she hoped wouldn’t sound as crazy as it probably was. She blew out a breath and tried to begin again.

Meghan rolled her eyes. “Come on, now. No one comes a thousand miles for a surprise visit unless they’re either way into the other person or a complete sociopath, and I hope to God you’re not a complete sociopath, because I know Cal really likes you and I don’t want to have to track you down and kick your ass.”

“You’re the second person who has told me that today,” Kat said with a nervous chuckle. “Cal seems to inspire fierce loyalty.”

Meghan shrugged a shoulder. “I knew him about six months before he came on here, thanks to Birdie and, in a roundabout way, Tobias, but he’s never given me any indication that he’s anything but a good man. I think he’s in flux, and has been for a long time, trying to figure out where he fits, what makes him truly happy. That girl he married certainly didn’t.” She chewed on her thumbnail. “So? What’s your deal?”

“Do you believe in fate?” Kat stared at a brass clock mounted above the bar and absently noted to herself that Cal had been gone for a few hours. “God, I feel like I’m jinxing it just by talking about it.”

Meghan barked a laugh. “Girlie, we’re all Irish here—everyone’s superstitious as fuck.”

Kat laughed because it was true. She took a deep breath. “The moment I sat down next to Cal, I realized a couple things. One, that this was a man whom I needed to get to know. And then we started talking, and it was like . . . magic. It was just one of those moments.”

“What was the other thing?” Meghan had a dreamy look in her eyes as she sat across from Kat.

“That he was so completely drunk I didn’t know how he was still forming coherent sentences.” Kat shook her head. “And he was awake when I woke up, and looking really good, even after I made him dump his coffee all over him. Of course, then we landed and I shot off like a lunatic. But later, we were at the same hotel and we ran into each other at the hotel restaurant. And then I called him a jackass, and he asked me to dinner.”

Meghan clapped her hands with delight. “That, woman, is a hell of a sign.” But then she settled and nodded. “But yeah, I get it. No worries, Kat. I get where you’re coming from, and I think I get you. Cal is a good man, and he needs a good woman, someone who can help him realize that about himself.”

Kat didn’t find out if Meghan had any more insight into Cal, because the man in question burst through the front door, went straight behind the bar, and, without saying a word to anyone, began to pour himself a drink. Meghan and Kat looked at each other with raised eyebrows, but just when Meghan opened her mouth, another man arrived, calling her name. Uttering a single quiet but intense expletive was Meghan’s only reaction.

“She’s over there.” Cal gestured with the bottle, and the man snapped his head toward Kat and Meghan’s booth. The man stalked to over to them and, ignoring Kat, proceeded to interrogate Meghan. Kat watched the two spar, looking from Meghan to the man, and then to Cal, who seemed amused. Cal jerked his chin up, swallowed his drink, and then came around the bar.

“Jason Richards,” Cal said, shutting the man up with a sharp slap on the back. “Let me introduce you to my—” Kat’s eyebrows shot up at his pause, but then she realized Cal was waiting for her to look at him. They locked eyes, and something changed in Cal’s expression. His gaze softened yet blazed at the same time. She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and then he spoke again. “To my Kat. Kat Fahey, this is Jason Richards. He and Meghan live to antagonize each other.”

And then both Meghan and Jason, equally offended, simultaneously spat, “Cal!” and Cal cackled like a loon. As Jason and Meghan wandered back to the storage area to get set up for the lunch rush, Cal pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers.

“You ready to get out of here?” Cal murmured against her neck.

“Sure. What did you have planned?” Their eyes met again, and that strange combination of passionate and unsure feelings had returned, so Kat brushed her lips against his cheek, hoping the additional affection would soothe both of them. The touch of her hands seemed to have worked, because Cal gave her a sweet smile and pulled her close to his side.

“Hey, y’all! We’re out of here. And remember, there’s no canoodling on the clock,” Cal called out toward the back of the pub, only to be hit with a double dose of “Fuck you!” from Meghan and Jason. Cal and Kat both laughed and set out for the parking lot.

“They’re totally going to get married, aren’t they?” Kat asked.

“Oh, most definitely.”