Page 34 of What Love Can Do

Paul cocked his head and shrugged. “Let’s see…we’re a fully licensed 2,500-square foot establishment. I would have to do a comparison online and see…”

“Just a ballpark. I won’t hold you to it.”

Down the bar, Conor craned his neck to stare at his brother. What, you want to buy this place? his bright green eyes seemed to ask.

Quinn shrugged, giving him a wide-eyed look. What? I’m just asking.

“Alright. My guess would be something around $80,000.”

“Ah, come on, Paul,” Quinn chuckled. “Your land alone has got to be worth that.”

“Well, like I said, I have to do some research. Why? You wanna buy it?”

“I have no fecking clue, Paul. Just asking. I honestly don’t know. Looks like you could get some pretty decent sales. After all, you’re right near a busy highway cutting right through wine country, and this town seems to be pretty keen on its American rugby—eh, football. There’s more than enough people over at The Cat’s Meow to cleanly divide between the two of ya.”

While everyone watched the next few plays once the Dolphins reached 1st down, Quinn pulled out a clean napkin from the dispenser. “Pass me a pen, please, would ya?”

Paul pulled a pen from over his ear and rolled it along the counter toward Quinn. Immediately, Quinn began working some numbers on the napkin. His share of the sale of the restaurant, plus his share of the life insurance money…plus if he got a reasonable business loan or even borrowed off the house…

After a quiet while, Paul tapped the counter and looked up at the photo of Maggie Phillips and Grant O’Neill. “Wouldn’t that be something? You taking over this place that your father helped open?”

Quinn stared at the old photo. His father had been good at what he did, but he’d never listened to Quinn’s ideas for taking The Cranky Yankee up another notch. Quinn always felt he could have helped the family restaurant more than his dad gave him credit for, if only he hadn’t been so proud. He really did enjoy managing the place after his father died, though there was much he couldn’t fix. Too many problems engrained in the fabric of the business’s framework that would require an entire reboot and too little capital. Buying Paul’s place, however, would give him that reboot. Besides, his mother left behind boxes and boxes of recipe cards. He could easily help develop an authentic Irish menu with the help of a cook. Maybe Lilly could recommend a good one. “Aye, it would.”

Two women from the corner table sauntered up to him and perched their rumps on the stools either side of him. “Are you from Ireland?” one asked. She was brunette with big brown eyes, perfect makeup, and a beautiful smile. Classic American accent.

“I am.” Propping his fist against his hip, Quinn leaned back in his seat to get a better look at them. Nowhere near as beautiful as Lilly.

The other woman to his left giggled. Blond and brown-eyed, she was busty and clearly a love veteran who knew how to trap a man using her charms. “We love your accent. We could hear you talking all the way over there. Say something else.”

“Something else.” Quinn gave them his practiced smoldering grin. It wasn’t every day he was flanked by two American hotties. “How’s the craic, ladies?”

“The what?” the blonde laughed.

“Craic, the goings-on, the banter…you know?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, but just keep talking. I’m Bernie.” The blonde held out her hand with long, manicured nails.

He shook it gently, kissing the top of her hand. “Bernie? A man’s name, eh?”

“Yes, but that’s where my manliness ends. You, however…” She pursed her lips, casting a glance at her friend opposite him, who buried her face in her arm and giggled while shaking her head. Bernie lifted her chin at Paul. “Hey, Paul.”

“Evening, Bernadette. How’s your mom doing?”

“Starting a new line of pottery, hoping to sell them to a restaurant in San Fran.”

“Wonderful. Please give her my best.” Paul nodded, going back to the game.

“And I’m Monica,” the other woman said, shaking Quinn’s hand as well.

Quinn could see Conor dying to cut in and partake of the flirt fest, but Dara clung to him, giving the two women less-than-enthusiastic looks with her sharp eyebrows. Apparently, they’d worked through whatever they’d argued about.

“Evening, ladies, name’s Quinn O’Neill, newly arrived from Ireland. Over there is my brother, Conor. Lovely country you have here.” He smiled, taking quick glances at their low-cut T-shirts the moment they turned to wave at Conor. Fantastic hills and mountains.

The bell hanging on the front door chimed, and everyone turned to look. In from the blustery autumn night blew the familiar form and face of Lilly Parker. His heart began beating a bit faster. Unwinding her scarf from around her neck, she glanced around, eyes landing on Quinn flanked by the two cougars. “Oh, hey Bernie,” she said with a blunt expression, turning to leave. “Quinn…I see you’re busy.”

“Lil, wait,” he said, getting up from the stool.

“You two know each other?” Bernie asked, drawing an imaginary line between Quinn and Lilly. “Thought you just arrived.”

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