Empress of Ireland Read online

  He needed to keep his head clear and in the game of trying to keep the The Empress of Ireland, open, not tripping over a girl. The public house was stitched into his family’s history like tapestry. Generations before him managed their financial problems with the pub, and so would he. Laila had wonderful ideas on how to change their menus and streamline dishes to save money. When tourist season picked up again in a few months, the changes would add to the profit margin and be just what the pub financially needed.

  Laila proved she was beautiful and smart. She also held her own alongside Gran, and not many could make that claim.

  Alasdair pressed the kitchen door open with the toe of his leather boot so as not to disturb the two women. They worked in unison and read each other’s movements knowing which direction the other would turn. Along with the smells of the fresh pot pies they prepared, their work flow was a thing of beauty.

  Laila was a thing of beauty. Her slender hips swayed to the song she hummed. He could stand and watch that motion all day.

  He had to stop. His life and his heart had already been broken twice. First, just out of secondary school by Megan McLarney and the second, when his parents died. There were only so many pieces to one’s heart. Never again. Alasdair enjoyed being single. If he squashed his feelings for Laila now, his heart would stay safe.

  Besides, Laila was a short-timer. She was there on a three week vacation. When that time came to an end, he’d watch her walk out the door of the pub. They’d promise each other they’d write or tweet or text—open social media promises. But after a month or two, the messages would stop. Her life would go on and all he’d have were memories.

  If he didn’t stop now, he’d want more… he already did. Alasdair wanted Laila as a permanent part of his life. His heart sunk at the thought of never seeing her again. He frowned and shoved a metal spoon across the counter.

  Laila looked up when she heard the noise. She had flour on her nose and was the cutest lass he’d ever seen. She smiled. It lit her face and brought a sparkle to her eyes.

  “You look like your horse just died,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I thought since you were always using Irish slang I never understand, I’d use my own. It means you’re unhappy. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing… Nothing’s the matter.” He could tell her how he felt, but she hadn’t made mention of her feelings. If it was one-sided, he’d look the fool.

  “Well if you’re back here, you must be on break and there’s no breaks back here.” She waved a kitchen knife his direction. “Chop the celery over there on the butcher block. Máire and I are starting the beef stew for the dinner guests.”

  He looked from Laila to his gran. His gran’s hair stood up in crazy little spirals of grey and she appeared happier than he’d seen her in the past year. Alasdair worried the pace might be difficult for someone her age, but it was the opposite. His gran looked ten… hell, twenty years younger.

  “You heard the woman,” Máire said. “Get to work or get out of our kitchen!” She let out a deep hearted chuckle and retied her apron strings.

  “What about our sightseeing trip?” Alasdair asked Laila, as he moved to the chopping block and broke the celery stalks apart.

  “Not today,” Laila answered, as she stirred the deep cast iron pot on the stove. “Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.”

  He wanted to argue with her about wasting her vacation back here in this small, dimly lit centuries’ old kitchen, but who was he to put up a fight? If that’s what she wanted him to do. He wanted her to be happy. He began to chop the celery into chunks with the long, sharp blade. He could stay here in the kitchen for a few more minutes before they missed him out front.

  The days turned into weeks. Every day Laila spent by the side of his gran, and every night the three of them sat and played cards, or he and Laila snuggled in his flat downstairs. She was becoming such a part of his life it was difficult to remember back a few weeks before when she wasn’t there.

  Tomorrow, she’ll be gone and you’ll be back to being alone. You’d best get used to it.

  Alasdair fought not to be in a foul mood knowing Laila’s flight left in the morning. He couldn’t fixate on the inevitable. He’d keep up his end of the bargain and show her the things she hadn’t yet seen in Kinsale.

  He found someone to cover in the kitchen and watch over Gran for a few hours. He packed a picnic basket filled with sliced meat, cheese and local beer. After Laila finished a few last minute things in the kitchen, they left.

  When they reached Charles Fort, Alasdair parked, popped the boot and took out the basket. Laila followed him up the gravel path along the grey, worn block walls.

  “I’ve been picking up local slang from your gran,” Laila said, out of breath, as she tried to catch up to his long strides. “Is this where you take all the girls you are looking to shag?”

  “No.” He stopped to face her. It may have been true in the past, but not now. Alasdair wanted more from Laila. Of course, he wanted her body, but not for one night. He wanted her body, mind and God help him, her heart.

  He’d struggled for the past week with his feelings. But what could he possibly have to offer her in this small town that she didn’t have back home? Laila was the head chef in a metropolitan city. He heard his weak words now, ‘come and work with me in a rundown kitchen in a town the size of a few city blocks.’ It would be useless to even offer.

  They finished the walk up the steep incline to the place where the stone walls of the fort overlooked the sea. White puffy clouds sailed overhead across the blue sky. He couldn’t talk to her about how he felt. It was safer to spout off a few historical facts. “The fort was a stronghold in the late 1600s, and was completed around 1670.”

  “It’s so beautiful here. You saved the best for last.” Laila said. “I can look out to sea for miles. I’d never get tired of Kinsale.”

  “But you will.”

  “I will what?”

  “Get tired of Kinsale. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “I have something to tell you.” The wind whipped tendrils of her silky brown hair around her face. She pushed it back and he watched her fingers trail over perfect alabaster skin. The need to have her in his arms felt so desperate it was painful.

  When she noticed him staring, a blush tinged her already pink cheeks. He was well beyond the light, silly flirtation they’d had when they first met. This feeling was new, deeper… more agonizing.

  She’s leaving, he reminded himself.

  “Alasdair—”

  “Hush. I don’t want to waste the time we have together with worthless, empty words.” He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. He inched closer and used his frame to block the wind. He inhaled the fragrance of her body. She smelled like rose petals and lavender from the bath soap at The Empress. He felt frantic to kiss her again.

  He ran a hand behind her head and pulled her to him. She took a quick intake of breath, as he molded his mouth to hers. No longer in control of his need for her, he caged her within his arms. In the past few weeks, he’d made it a habit to kiss Laila often, and each time felt like his first, that giddy anticipation of wanting the feel of her in his arms over his sanity.

  The kiss was deep and stirring. He let it go on until she opened her mouth beneath him. Alasdair wanted to keep kissing her until he was sure he could remember the taste of her sweet lips.

  He kissed a trail to her ear and whispered, “Don’t leave…” The simple statement was out of his mouth before he stopped it.

  Laila pressed back, her eyes wide. “You want me to stay?”

  He’d already anticipated what she was going to say. I can’t. I have to go home to my job and my life that doesn’t include you. My life on the other side of the world from Ireland.

  “Jaysus,” he murmured in anger and slam
med a fist against the stones. Pain radiated through his arm, but he didn’t care. He hit the rocks again.

  “Why are you angry?” she asked, as hurt painted her face.

  “I’m not angry. I just have a lot on my mind. And I don’t have time for this,” he snapped. “I need to get back to the pub, where I belong.” He’d just promised himself that he wouldn’t allow his heart to be broken, and here he was. The cracks in his heart’s walls cleaved straight through. “And, you’ll leave tomorrow and go back home where you belong.”

  “But, the fort?” She looked around at the unexplored area. “And the picnic you packed. I also have something to ask you.”

  “You can talk to me later, if I have the time. We’ll eat it in the car on the way back…” He let his words trail off before he said something else that he hadn’t meant to slip from his mouth. It had to be this way. If he held her in his arms one more time, he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

  Chapter 6

  Alasdair dropped Laila off in front of the pub and then parked behind the building at his spot in the alley. He kicked the alley door open with his foot and stomped in.

  “What the bloody hell’s wrong with you?” In the alley, Alasdair knocked the pub’s creaky kitchen door open and stalked in. Gran stopped frying vegetables on the grill, her head snapped up with the sound if his loud entrance. She started to smile, but the grin slid off her face.

  “What the bloody hell’s wrong with you?” Gran asked, as she pushed the pan to the back of the stove and brushed off her hands.

  “Nothing,” he said flatly. Alasdair dropped the picnic basket on the counter and drew out the meat and cheese. He opened the refrigerator and tossed the items back onto the shelves. He had to concentrate to keep his hands from shaking as emotions coursed through him.

  “Where’s Laila?”

  “How should I know? Packing, I assume.”

  “Packing? Why is she packing? I thought you’d be happy when she told you.”

  “Happy? Are you daft? Why would I be happy?”

  “What did Laila say?” Gran put the knuckles of her bony hand on her even bonier hip.

  “I didn’t let her say anything.” He smashed the lid of the basket down and spun to face her.

  “Sit.” Gran slid a chair out from behind the counter.

  “No. Why would it matter? She’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “Sit down before I force you down.” His gran pulled out a wooden chair and pointed. “I miss your mother every day, but I thank the Lord above that you were not in that car with them. Some things are out of our control. Not everyone leaves. I haven’t.” She pointed again, this time it was more of a jab. “Now, sit.”

  “I care about Laila.” Alasdair sighed and dropped into the chair. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but, I don’t want her to go back to the states.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “No.”

  “Since you were a lad you always wanted the last word. If you let other people finish what they were going to say.”

  “She was going to say goodbye.”

  “No, she was going to tell you that it’s time you opened your heart again.” His gran smiled and laid a loving hand against his cheek. “Sometimes, you need to listen. Now, sit there and listen to what I’m going to tell you.”

  ****

  Laila yanked her suitcase out of the armoire and threw it on the bed. When she’d left on vacation, she’d meticulously packed every item. Socks by color. Toiletries on the left. Now, she couldn’t care less.

  She’d held up her end of the bargain with Janelle. She’d traveled.

  Done. Check. Now it was time to get the hell out of Ireland and go home.

  Laila stuck her hand in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She powered it on and dialed Amy’s home number.

  When her friend picked up, she said, “Hey, it’s Laila.”

  “It’s so great to hear your voice! I’ve missed you so much,” Amy said enthusiastically.

  “Are you getting ready for your trip to New Zealand?”

  “I can’t wait. Am I still picking you up at the airport tomorrow? I can tell you my plans and you can tell me all about Ireland.”

  “I’m ready to come home.” Laila sat on the bed, fighting tears. “This has been the worst day ever.”

  “Oh my gosh, honey, what happened?”

  “I called La Masionette to check on my work schedule for next week. Mr. Boulee informed me that, since I chose to take a vacation over handling things at the restaurant, I’ve been replaced. He said to come in and pick up my personal belongings and my last check.”

  “That’s terrible!” Amy exclaimed, and after a moment she added, “I never liked that man.”

  “Well, I thought things were going to work out. I was offered a job here in Kinsale and a place to live at least for a few months until I could figure out a work visa.”

  “Did you take it?”

  “No. I thought it would be perfect… but what I thought… well, it’s not going to work. Everything’s such a mess.” The tears won. She wiped angrily at her cheeks. “If it wasn’t for Janelle, I wish I’d never come. I would still have my job and my heart.”

  “A job you hate.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s still a job.”

  “Wait… did you say your heart? You met someone?”

  “I thought so, but—”A knock on the door cut off her confession. “Hold on for a sec.” She moved to the door and asked, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.” Alasdair’s voice echoed in the hallway.

  “I’m busy.” Laila tapped her head against the doorframe. “I’ll call you back,” she said to Amy and ended the call. The last thing she wanted to do at this moment was see Alasdair. He’d made his feeling clear. If he wanted her gone, she needed to do it with no long goodbyes or it would hurt too much. “I don’t want to talk.”

  “Please… I didn’t let you finish what you were going to tell me.”

  “You don’t need to say goodbye. You already said it.” She opened the door a crack. “I don’t have anything else to tell you.”

  “Have you been crying? Jaysus.” Concern etched his face. As if to gain composure, he closed his eyes for a moment. Through the narrow opening of the door he said more as a plea than a question, “Please, let me in.”

  She stepped away and the door swung open from the weight of his body pressed against the other side. She turned her back and walked over to pull out another wad of tissue from a box on the dresser. She avoided meeting his gaze. If she did, she’d lose it more than she already had.

  She saw his reflection in the mirror as he came toward her, but he stopped a few feet away.

  “Let me say this, and then I promise, I will shut up, and let you talk for as long as you want. After my parents died, I didn’t believe Gran and Grandpa when they told me what happened. I stood in the window over there for months.” He pointed toward the bedroom window. “I hardly ate or slept waiting for them to come home. My mother said goodbye right before I saw her for the last time. Now that I’m an adult, I guess there’s a part of me that thinks if I don’t let the person say goodbye, then I will see them again.”

  “I wasn’t going to say goodbye.”

  “Gran told me if I’d ever shut my mouth long enough for the birds not to nest in it, I’d have known that.” He looked at the suitcase. “Then why are you packing your things?”

  “You told me to go home, so I am.”

  “I’ve made a complete haymes of this whole afternoon.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and then up through his hair. “Gran also told me your restaurant manager laid you off.”

  “‘Laid off’ is a kind way of saying that he fired me.”

  “And,” he continued, “Gran said
she offered you a position to be the cook here at The Empress.”

  “She did. That’s what I was going to ask you about up on the bluff. I told Máire that I needed to talk with you before making any decisions. She’s made you the owner and that decision is up to you.”

  “It’s up to me?” he asked, as the tone of his voice softened. He stepped closer. “If it’s up to me, I would have you stay here for the rest of my days.”

  “You would?”

  “I would.” Alasdair touched her cheek and brushed at her tears. “The look you had on your face when I walked in a few minutes back … I promise I’ll never put it on your face again. And, I promise to let you finish things you want to tell me. But—this is my fear—you’re a chef at a high-class restaurant back in the States. This is just a village pub and a wee village at that. What can we possibly offer you here that you don’t have in the States?”

  “I think what you offered is the best deal I’ve ever heard.”

  “To be our cook?”

  “If you and Máire come with The Empress of Ireland, then I don’t care if I cook in the fanciest four-star restaurant or the back of a barn.”

  “The pub’s not far from a barn. It’s not fair for me to expect such a compromise and for you to alter your career.”

  “I’m not giving up anything. Believe me, I’ve thought this through. Ireland is amazing. Máire reminded me that I love cooking. If you love where you are, then it’s not a job. But cooking’s not the only thing I love. There’s something else.”

  “And what would that be?” He inched closer.

  “You.” She looked up into his dark emerald eyes and hoped she hadn’t jumped too far ahead by admitting her feelings. “I think I love you.”