Page 12 of Isla

“Great idea. Maybe you and I can go next weekend? I’m sure Henry and Theo could keep it running for one night.”

“Can they, though?” I wince, thinking of everything that could go wrong.

“I’m sure it won’t be as seamless as when you’re here, but they’re capable. We all took a bartending class before we came out, and lord knows we all know how to pour beer. Surely the two of them can keep up with you.”

The dirtiest thoughts come to mind the second his sentence registers. My cheeks flame, and I gulp down my water, immediately choking on it. Dylan hits my back, trying to help. I look at him to tell him I’m okay, but there must be something in my expression. He sucks in a strangled breath. “I didnotmean it like that.”

Coughing turns to laughter. I wipe at the tears leaking from my eyes. I shrug an apology.

“You have a fucking filthy mind, don’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” I admit. Why am I like this?

“Ready to talk about how this whole thing is going to work?”

I nod, shucking off my jacket and draping it over the barstool to my left. “I’ve been mulling it over, and I think we need to have two people here and two at the job site. Obviously, I’ll be here every day, so maybe the three of you can rotate? That way, each of you learns how to run the pub from open to close, inside and out. Then the other two can work with my brother on the renovations. What do you think?”

“That seems fair. I’ll tell the guys tonight and let you know if they have any issues with the arrangement.” He pulls an envelope out of his bag and slides it over the bar to me.

“What’s this?” There’s a check inside for almost ten thousand dollars.

“The wages you’re owed plus paying you back for the kitchen staff.”

My heart softens the tiniest bit. “You don’t need to do this. That was my decision.”

He scoffs. “It was your decision when you thought the pub wasyours. We owe you that money, Isla. It’s only fair.” He squares his body, facing me head-on. His teeth press into his bottom lip, making my heart jump. “I don’t want us starting off with bad blood.” He reaches out with one finger, brushing it over my knee in the lightest of touches. “You’re sure we’re good?”

“I can’t promise I won’t miss the dream I had for this place, but yes, you and I are good.”

“And Henry? Theo?”

“Henry and I are good. Theo? That’s to be determined.”

“Understandable.” He glances at his watch. “Ready to teach me some stuff?”

Before I can answer, Theo pushes through the door from the back, three plates in his arms, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. “Thought I’d experiment a little,” he mumbles, setting the plates in front of Dylan and me. He puts his plate on my left, moving my jacket out of the way before sitting down. I wonder if he’s met Greer yet or if she knows he’s using her kitchen. I can’t wait to see how that goes down.

“What’s this?” I ask, breathing deep, my mouth watering.

“I found a recipe online for cottage pie. I tweaked it the tiniest bit to elevate the flavor.” He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, “I’m not trying to change things. Just improve on what’s already here. I want you to understand that.”

I’m stunned. Is it possible this man is empathetic? “Thank you,” I whisper. He nods, stretching his mouth into what I think is supposed to be a smile but looks more like a grimace.

6

Dylan’s POV

The first customer walks through the door just as we're shoveling the last bites of Theo's cottage pie into our mouths. I don’t get the chance to think about how this is the first time I've seen him in the kitchen since our parents died. Or how this is the first time he’s cared about anything other than our survival since that day nine months ago.

"Ready?" Isla grins up at me, emerald eyes sparkling.

Her eyes meet mine, and I can’t manage to speak around the boulder lodged in my throat. The best I can do is nod. She turns back toward the bar and fills a pint glass with beer before the customer even sits down.

"How are you doing today, Seamus?" She slaps down a cardboard coaster and plunks the beer in front of him.

"Just fine, Isla. Thank you for asking." He thanks her for the beer and hoists himself onto a bar stool. "I'll have the special today, please."

"You got it!" She motions me to the computer, shows me how to put the order in, and sends it back to the kitchen. I bend down a little to take the glare off the screen, mentally cataloging the steps. My cheek brushes her temple, and I swear she pushes back against mefor a split second. I inhale sharply, the urge to wrap my arm around her almost unbearable. She steps away, blushing. I clear my throat and straighten my glasses. "What now?"

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