Page 14 of Enemy Kisses

“You already help us so much.” He raises the box of food to make his point.

“Giving you food only helps you in the short term. We need to get you employed.”

He swallows. “I know. I’ll think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Dad pulls into the alleyway, parks behind my car, and climbs out of his Volkswagen Golf with a face like thunder. Matthew turns back toward me. “Anyway, I’d better get home. Thanks again, Finn.”

“No problem. Enjoy and say hi to your family for me.”

Matthew heads off, disappearing around the corner as Dad approaches. He’s waving a sheet of paper above his head, and looking pissed. “What the hell is this?”

“Hi, Dad. How are you?”

“Don’thi dadme.” His Irish brogue is thick when he’s pissed, even though he hasn’t lived in Ireland since he was a young lad. “Why in the hell are we paying to install motion sensor lights on the building next door?” He waves his arm out toward Harry’s café.

I wince at the volume of his voice. Luckily Harry isn’t outside to hear his outburst. “If you stop shouting and come inside, I’ll explain.”

We wander inside, Dad huffing and puffing behind me, ensuring he makes his displeasure known. I stop at the bar, pour us both a glass of whiskey, and then head into the office that used to be his but is now mine. I sit behind my desk to remind him I’m now running the show here, not him. He was the one who insisted he was ready to retire and wanted me to take over, but in times like these, I think he forgets he’s no longer in charge.

He drops into the seat opposite my desk, takes a sip of his drink, and then sits back. “Well?”

I explain what’s been happening, show him the email and the photos, and tell him how I started cleaning up the mess every night before leaving. “I’m exhausted by that time. I just want to go home and sleep, not spend an hour cleaning up shit our patrons leave over there.”

“That’s bullshit. What our customers do once they leave here is not our responsibility. You had no business spending two thousand dollars on lights for a building that isn’t ours. What happens if we need to do some repairs or maintenance here?” he blusters.

“We have enough of a cushion, Dad.” He huffs. “And if it comes to that, I’ll pay it back out of my wages. I don’t care. I was doing the right thing. The civic thing for a business that shouldn’t have to deal with shit left behind by our customers.”

“Next thing I know, you’ll be supplying lights down the street because our customers use the damn sidewalk.”

I roll my eyes. “Now you’re being dramatic, Dad.” I take a sip of my whiskey and change the subject. “How’s Mom?”

His eyes sparkle. It amazes me that after forty-five years of marriage—a tough marriage because Dad had to dedicate a lot of time to the pub—that my parents are still in love as if they were newlyweds. “Mom and I have decided to visit family in Ireland. We’re in the early planning stages.”

My lips widen. “That’s great, Dad. You guys deserve to treat yourselves to a vacation. You’ve worked hard and Mom sacrificed a lot.”

He nods solemnly. I know he appreciates her quiet support. If it weren’t for her running the home and raising me without complaint,Brady’swouldn’t be the pub it is today.

CHAPTER9

–harriet–

I haven’t seenor heard from Finn since our heated kisses, and I think it’s for the best. I don’t need another asshole in my life. At some point, I should take heed of the red flags and stay away—but he was such a great kisser and his body felt incredible pressed against mine. My cheeks heat at the memory and my sex tingles at the thought of him kissing me in other places.

A cup slides across the counter, breaking into my thoughts. “Excuse me, sorry to be a bother, but I ordered a weak latte. This one’s a little strong.”

I smile at the woman. “I’m sorry. I’ll make you a fresh cup. It’s not a bother at all.”

“Thank you so much. I swear you could just wave the coffee over the top and it’ll be perfect.” She chuckles and I join her.

“Not a problem. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll bring it over.” She returns to her seat, and I make her a fresh cup now that Quentin’s returned to the kitchen. He can be a little heavy-handed with the coffee beans sometimes. He doesn’t understand why people order weak coffee, and even though I love a short black, I get that people have different tastes.

Stepping out from behind the counter, I take the lady her coffee, and as I spin around to make my way back to the counter for my next order, a familiar face wearing a familiar smirk swaggers through the door like he belongs here. I curse my heart for picking up speed and my legs for turning to rubber. How dare he step foot in here. And while I’m with customers, to boot. I can’t very well tell him to get lost. It would be unprofessional.

I glare at him, then spin on my heel and strut confidently—as if my legs are made of steel, not rubber—back to the counter, only to hear him chuckle behind me. Straightening my spine, I serve the next two customers efficiently and then curse myself that I didn’t take longer, so I could delay the inevitable interaction I have to have withhim.

He steps forward. “You’re looking as gorgeous as ever today, Firecracker.” His blue eyes twinkle with mischief. He knows I have to be civil to him in front of my customers.

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