Chapter Two
Colin wasn’t at the pub the next evening. Maggie noticed his corner booth housed a young couple instead. Which was fine, since it gave her the opportunity to focus on her friend instead of him.
“So, ya settlin’ in fine?” Ciara asked as they dug into a basket of chips.
“Absolutely.” Maggie smiled as she dipped her chip into a cup of brown sauce. The subtle spices in it bloomed on her tongue. “I love it here. You knew Ireland is one of my favorite places.”
“Aye, that’s why I thought of you when the job came up.”
Maggie had met Ciara on her first trip to Dublin, over eight years ago. They’d clicked so completely that they’d never lost touch, the friendship deepening over time. Now, Ciara worked for one of the bigger advertising firms in Dublin. When her team got the City’s Tourism Department as a client and came up with this idea, Ciara told them she had the perfect person for the job.
Luckily, she’d caught Maggie at something of a turning point. The offer was made a few days after her thirtieth birthday, which Maggie had spent alone in a hotel room in Paris, crying. Feeling like she needed to do something different, yet afraid to mess with the plan that’d sustained her for the past five years, Ciara’s call had seemed like a sign. Maggie hadn’t stayed in any one place for more than a month since she’d been twenty-five. The job paid well enough and was an easy, fun one, in one of her favorite cities in the whole world. She had a friend there, some sort of touchstone. Accepting the job had been a no-brainer. Now, four months later, she was here.
“I’m supposed to ask you if your itinerary is all set,” Ciara said. She swept her shoulder-length brown hair back from her shoulder, then reached for her pint glass. “Do you have one?”
“I have a broad outline,” Maggie hedged. “I mean… I’ve got a list of about twenty things I definitely want to see and do. The rest, I’m going to figure out as I go. As I meet people and hear of things I wouldn’t have otherwise.” She leaned in on her elbows. “Anyone can Google ‘things to do in Dublin.’ But for this to be different, more authentic? I need to meet the people here. Talk to them, ask them what they like to do, where they’ve gone, and then follow up on that.”
“I like it.” Ciara clinked her glass to Maggie’s and they both sipped. “I’ll tell them just that. But if they ask for something in writing…?”
“I’ll give you something. No problem.” Maggie looked around. “I’ve already talked up people in this pub over the past few days. Got like ten new ideas. Tell the team not to worry. I’m going to make this fabulous.”
“Not a doubt in my mind.” Ciara eyed a group of guys laughing by the bar. “That tall, dark-haired one is adorable, eh?”
Maggie stole a discreet glance, then turned back to her friend with a grin. “Indeed. Your husband might mind, though.”
“Aye, there is that.” Ciara sighed. “He’s really cute. You should go over.”
“Nah. Not my style. I do like to look, though.”
“Me too. I can look! I’m married, not dead.”
Maggie nodded, but Ciara froze.
“I—Christ, Maggie, I’m sorry,” she sputtered. Her pale cheeks flushed with color.
“Why?” Maggie frowned at her, confused. “For what?”
“What I said… I didn’t mean that to sound insensitive.” Ciara’s eyes were wide.
“What? Oh.” Understanding dawned, and Maggie shook her head hard. “You didn’t, you weren’t! I didn’t take it how you’re obviously thinking I did.”
Ciara sighed and dropped her head. “Christ, I’m such an ass.”
“Hey. No.” Maggie reached for her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. “You’re very sweet to even think of it. I didn’t think it, though. Honestly, you thought of it, not me. So stop it, I’m fine. Okay?”
“Okay.” Ciara squeezed her hand back even tighter, then took a big gulp of her beer. “So… where have you gone so far? On your excursions?”
“This week, I kept it to Dublin city limits.” Maggie reached into the bucket and took another chip. “Hit some of the expected places. Figure I’ve got to have some basics on the list.”
Maggie and Ciara talked and laughed for another two hours before Ciara left to get home to her husband. Maggie lingered in the pub for another half hour, taking in the sights and sounds around her, before leaving Reardon’s Pub herself. The few pints she’d enjoyed over the evening had her comfortably buzzed as she walked through the cool August night. She only pulled her sweater tighter around her, too lazy to bother zippering it up since her rented flat was just around the corner.
She walked up to the second floor, down the hall to the end. Her flat was small but cozy; considering she’d never stayed in one place for so long in years, at least it was a pleasant place to land each night. Just a small front room, tiny kitchenette, tiny bathroom, and small bedroom, but the rooms were painted in warm earth tones and the furniture was new. Most importantly, it had a comfortable bed. The full-size mattress was fine for just her, she didn’t need a queen- or king-size, and the wide window let in lots of light and a great view of the city. She’d been there almost a week now and truly had enjoyed some great sleep. This was her fourth trip to Dublin; she always felt at ease here. In fact, if she ever was to settle down and stay somewhere, this city would be in her top five picks without a doubt.
Maggie was a nomad; she didn’t need much space or anything fancy to be comfortable. She’d stayed in five-star hotels and dingy little huts. As a woman traveling alone, all she needed was a firm lock on the door to feel safe and she was fine.
But as she slipped in between the sheets in the dark, the familiar melancholy thoughts crept into her head. Whispers of the past, what she’d lost… Poor Ciara, thinking she’d inadvertently brought up memories and hurt Maggie’s feelings. I’m married, not dead. Maggie sighed and rolled over, punching her pillow to shift the shape of it. Ciara couldn’t know the memories lived in her head continually; Maggie just made a daily conscious effort not to let them strangle her.
In May, she’d gotten through the dreaded anniversary. Five years. Zack had been gone for five years. The number, especially just a few weeks after her milestone birthday in late April, had been a soul-deep heartache that made her want to howl with fresh grief. But strangely, it had also served as a nudge to… to maybe do something different with her life.
It was the damnedest thing; it had come to her like a whisper on the air, almost as if Zack himself had whispered it to her somehow. It had lingered in her mind ever since. A seed had been planted and was slowly blooming. But she had no idea what that ‘something different’ was. So until she figured it out, she had to keep moving, because that’s what she knew.
I’m married, not dead.
Maggie had been both. Life went on anyway. She was still here, and making the most of life in the ways she knew how.
She closed her eyes and gratefully let sleep overtake her.
*
Colin noticed when Maggie Spencer walked into the pub. Then he snorted at himself. Noticed. That word implied a casual, “oh look, there she is,” as opposed to the right phrasing: he’d been watching the door for the past two hours. Waiting, hoping, to see her again. Not that he knew what to say to her, or if he’d even speak to her.
She was damned pretty. Her pale-gold hair was pulled back in a long ponytail again. She wore dark skinny jeans and her runners, a blue T-shirt under a blue and purple jumper—nothing striking, but she stood out. At least, she did to him. He felt a buzz just looking at her. Something about her just…
He scrubbed a hand over his face in disgruntlement, then gulped down some ale.
The night before, he hadn’t been at the pub, but at dinner with two of his three children. Patrick was away, having just started his second year at university. The plans had been with Roisin, but Stephen had been home for a change, so much to Colin’s delight, he went along too.
Roisin, at fifteen, was mature beyond her years and looking more like a grown woman every time Colin saw her. The heavy black eyeliner and clothes reminded him of the Goth girls he’d known growing up, but none of them had dyed their hair wacky colors. Jet black, maybe. But Trish had let Roisin put bright blue and magenta streaks in her fine brown hair.
Colin had just smiled and said, “Cool.” He’d be damned if he’d be negative to his little girl, especially about her appearance. Girls were so sensitive about that stuff. He didn’t always like what she wore or what she did to her hair, but he tried not to judge. She had to be her, and he supported that. She was beautiful inside and out no matter what, that’s what mattered.
Stephen, now seventeen, was the quietest of his kids. Where Patrick was boisterous and outgoing, Stephen kept his cards close to the vest, a bit taciturn, introverted. As a teen and younger man, Colin had been more like Patrick; Stephen reminded him more of himself nowadays. They never needed to talk much; presence was what mattered.
And Colin had always, always made sure he was a strong and steady presence in his kids’ lives, even now after the divorce. Hell, especially since he’d moved out when the divorce was finalized. He needed them to know they were the most important part of his life, that he wasn’t and would never abandon them. He’d moved to Dublin to be closer to his job, but the kids and their mum were only a fifteen-minute drive out of the city. Colin had dinner with Roisin every Wednesday night without fail, and if Stephen was around, he joined them. Colin had enjoyed their time together the night before.
Tonight, he was alone again. He watched as Maggie made her way to the bar. He’d hoped he’d see her here, and made a point to go there straight from work to grab his preferred corner booth. The pub had been half empty when he’d arrived, and he’d had dinner alone in relative quiet, half-watching football on the flat-screen. Now it was past eight, and the pub had filled and gotten noisy. He didn’t mind the noise; he welcomed it. For someone who’d ached for freedom for years, now that he had it, most nights Colin found the silence in his flat a bit overwhelming.
There weren’t any empty stools at the bar; Colin saw a lad slide off his stool and offer it to her. She smiled—God, her smile—and spoke to him before accepting it. Something in Colin’s chest tightened as he watched the guy plant himself there, standing over Maggie as they talked.
It wasn’t his business what Maggie Spencer did or who she talked to. This was madness. He had to stop watching her like some bloody stalker. He took another sip of his beer and went back to writing. This story was giving him fits.
*
Maggie groaned inside. At first, the guy who’d offered her his stool had been friendly, but now it’d been half an hour and he was still hovering. His name was Clark, he was twenty-six and worked in a retail clothing store. She didn’t recognize the name and he’d seemed offended, but kept talking at her anyway. His clothes, scraggly beard, black-rimmed glasses, tattooed forearms, and overall vibe screamed hipster. He was in love with himself. She wasn’t remotely interested.
But he hadn’t gotten the hint. Even though she’d made a point of waving around her silent weapon, which worked most of the time, it didn’t work all of the time. Most men saw the gold wedding band on her finger and it stopped any flirty stuff before it started. Some men simply didn’t care at all and went for it anyway. Apparently Clark didn’t believe in the sanctity of marriage.
She sighed. She’d have to find a way to get away from him or she’d be trapped with him all night. And if this was his local, as it was now her temporarily adopted one, it meant she’d have to do it carefully since she’d likely see him here again.
“Excuse me,” she said as she slipped off the barstool, “but I need to use the restroom.”
“Oh, sure.” Clark moved for her to get by, but not enough, ensuring he got the quick feel of her breasts brushing across his chest. His dark eyes sparked as he looked down at her. “Close quarters, eh?”
Irritation flared in her. She gave him a bit of a shove as she edged away.
“I’ll wait for ya here,” he said. “Another pint for ya?”
“No thanks,” she said. She never took an open drink from anyone. One time being roofied had been more than enough for her. She’d been lucky to be with friends when it happened, but she’d learned a valuable lesson. As she threaded her way through the crowd to get to the restroom, she wondered how to shake this guy. She didn’t want to go home and have him possibly follow her, know where she was staying. She also didn’t want to leave the pub yet. She shouldn’t have to alter her night because of a man who was giving her weird vibes. Maybe she’d whisper to Johnny, the bartender she’d made a point of befriending her first night there…
Then her eyes landed on Colin McKinnon, sitting in his usual booth. He was back. His head was down, he was scribbling away… ahh, there it was. A lifeline.
But when she came out of the restroom, Clark was right there waiting for her. “Hiya, doll.” He grinned, but something in his eyes made her intuition buzz. “I was thinking we could get outta here and go somewhere else. You game?”
“No, I’m not,” she said. She’d been in this situation many times before. She’d been in worse places, more remote and legitimately scary, and gotten away unscathed. Her gut told her that Clark wasn’t a major threat, and that in this pub, she’d be okay. So her voice was strong as she met his gaze and said kindly but firmly, “I’m fine here, thanks. But you go ahead if you want to leave. It was nice meeting you.”
His dark eyes flashed, the faux-friendly expression sliding off his face. He leaned in, edging her back until he had her against the wall. “Are you dismissing me?”
“No.” Her heart pounded harder, but she met his gaze directly to show he couldn’t intimidate her. “I just don’t want to go anywhere. I’m staying here.”
“Then I’ll stay too, doll.”
“I’m not a doll, and actually, I’d rather you didn’t. I think we’re done now.”
“Aw now, that’s not very friendly.” His hands came up, one on either side of her head, and his hands flattened against the wall as he tilted in. “Let’s kiss and make up.”
“I don’t think so.” Her hands fisted at her sides, preparing to strike if necessary. The way he’d blocked her in had her nerves jangling. She’d learned enough self-defense to easily fend him off if she had to. “And I don’t like how you’re in my space right now. Back up, please.”
His jaw tightened as he stared down at her.
“I said,” she repeated, “back up off me. Now.”
Clark’s right hand stroked her cheek, then dropped to her shoulder. Maggie shifted slightly, about to lift her knee and slam it straight into his balls.
“I believe the lady said back up,” came a strong, deep voice. Maggie ripped her gaze from Clark’s to see Colin standing right behind him. She’d been so focused on keeping her wits about her and not blinking at Clark, she hadn’t noticed his arrival.
“Mind your business, mate,” Clark said over his shoulder.
“I’m not yer mate,” Colin growled. “And if you don’t step back from her right now, I’m going to smash your face into the wall.”
Clark blinked, then backed up and moved away from Maggie. He turned to look at Colin, whose strong features were knitted with cool fury. “She’s fine, old man.”
“Aye, she is now,” Colin said. “You don’t come near her again. Ever. Or you’ll answer to me, then the garda.”
“You’re overreacting,” Clark scoffed.
“No he’s not,” Maggie said. “I told you to back off and you didn’t. You touched me instead. That’s harassment, asshole.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed on Clark. “Leave the pub,” he said, his voice a tight, low snarl. “Now. Before I change my mind and smash your face anyway.”
Without a glance back at her, Clark strode off. Colin watched him to ensure he left; when Clark walked out the door, he turned back to Maggie. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, though her heart was beating wildly. “Thank you. How did you know?”
“I saw you,” he said, his frown and lowered brows set in hard lines. “Your body language screamed something was up. When I saw him edge you back against the wall, your eyes rounded…” A muscle jumped in his set jaw. “I thought you might need help.”
“My hero,” she murmured. “You have good instincts.” She lifted her hands to touch her cheeks, which felt blazing hot. “I need a drink. Can I buy you one too?”
Colin nodded, but his eyes were glued to her hands. Those blues lingered a second before going back to her browns. “I didn’t notice that the other night.”
“Notice what?” she asked, trying to breathe deeply. Her heart was still fluttering.
Colin paused, eyes intense again. “Where’s your husband?” He gestured with his chin toward the wedding ring on her hand. “You’ve been here night after night without him. Maybe you should be with him. Maybe he should’ve been here to save you tonight, not me.”
“For the record, I didn’t need saving, though I really appreciate what you did. I was about to slam my knee into his balls when you spoke up. I do know some self-defense, believe it or not.”
He just stared at her, the crease etched between his furrowed brows, his face like stone.
“I don’t have a husband, Colin,” she said quietly, her hands dropping to her sides. “I’m not married anymore. I’m a widow.”