Page 56 of On The Rocks

The ale recipe had also been perfected. Again, I’d added tiny quantities of ingredients that weren’t quite traditional but still would enhance the more conventional flavors according to all the experts I’d aligned myself with over the week.

Our marketing strategy would center around the bar. The Lucky Shamrock’s aesthetic would be rebranded in the same style as our craft ale and cider, traditionally Irish, but with a slick, modern feel that we hoped would appeal to all ages.

So, all that was left to do was let the fermentation process take place, bottle everything up, and get the bar ready for the opening party of the century, one the likes that Hambleton had never seen.

Callum decided to close the bar down but he’d still been hard at work with Donovan. They tended to work days in the bar doing the refurbishments and then evenings until late into the night at the gym. Donovan was preparing to open in the New Year, and the brothers were committed to making it happen with the same fervor they showed toward the Shamrock.

I liked their drive, their hunger, and sheer determination to succeed. There was something inside the O’Shea brothers, a rawness that both exhilarated and scared me. The family moved as a pack, Maureen and Aislynn included, and as much as it was probably one of the most extraordinary things I’d ever witnessed, it also made a part of me feel like I’d never belong.

But then maybe that was the point.

Perhaps I was never meant to.

However, I lived in hope. Callum and I seemed to grow closer every day. Our bond was becoming stronger, and I’d find myself laughing more at his dry, sarcastic humor and feeling my chest warm whenever he laughed at my silliness—which was frequently, may I add.

I loved the way he’d started to relax more around me and let his walls down. I loved how he listened intently to my ideas and seemed to appreciate my point of view. But most of all, I loved how he was starting to see deeper than my hair and glasses.

Was it the love affair of the century?

Of course not, and I knew it never would be because my husband had already made his position on that very clear. Since we sealed our vows with a kiss, he hadn’t touched me, and he’d never given me any impression he wanted to.

Did I feel myself being drawn to him when he threw his head back and laughed unreservedly, or when his mouth curved in that secret smile he reserved just for me? Of course, my husband was a beautiful man.

Did I make myself look away whenever I noticed his biceps bulge under his tee or how his big dick filled the crotch of his jeans whenever he made his usual manspread move and took up half the couch? Which, newsflash—he did all the time (as well as being beautiful, my husband was an asshole sometimes). No. I never looked away once. Callum was hot and seemingly hung like a damned mule. If that shit was on show, I was getting my fill. I may have been the only twenty-eight-year-old virgin in existence, but I was a woman, and I had needs.

Still, he didn’t want me in that way, so hubby’s natural ability to make my coochie flutter was really a moot point, except I couldn’t help a tiny, dark, destructive thought begin to plague me.

Callum O’Shea had needs, too, and although he’d told me he wouldn’t see anybody else while we were married, I couldn’t help obsessing if somebody else was seeing to them.

Despite my insecurities, we got along well and fell into an easy friendship, which was supported by the family around us.

Donovan was my rock. We had the same sense of humor, and I loved his wickedness. Most days, he made me belly laugh—usually at the expense of Callum, and honestly, I think he got me through my first week in Hambleton.

Aislynn and I spoke on the phone a lot. She worked long hours for her internship and was too tired to go out much, but she promised she would come home for the bar’s reopening, and I was looking forward to catching up properly with her.

Maureen was lovely. We’d started going to Martha’s every morning for coffee and were becoming closer. I loved her storiesabout the boys and Aislynn growing up; I never had anything like that, and I found it fascinating.

One morning, a few days after I met Mack Meadows, Maureen and I left the bar and turned toward the coffee shop.

“The boys are working on the refurbishment all day,” my mother-in-law declared. “They’ll need some lemon cake and coffee.”

I was about to reply when I heard a loud“Coooooeeeeeeeee!”

Maureen craned her neck, and a wide smile spread across her face as she brought us to a stop. “When did you get back?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall, thin man rushing toward us. He wore a burgundy full-length wool coat with a black fedora, leather pants, and matching gloves. The black patent leather of his five-inch, thin-heeled stilettos shone so brightly that the morning winter sun reflected off them like they were edged with gold.

He. Looked.Awesome.

“Mother Maureen,” he cried. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, sweet lady. I drove in late last night.” He clapped his hands together excitedly. “Are we going to Martha’s? I need to hear all about the wedding.” As he got closer, his eyes skimmed down my body and widened. “Is this her? Praise be, Mother Maureen. Please tell me this is her. She’s got hair like Merida.”

Maureen smiled like she was the cat that got the cream. “Tristan. I’d like you to meet my new daughter-in-law, Maeve.”

Our eyes met, and my heart soared with a feeling I’d never experienced before.

Love at first sight.

“It’s like I know you,” he breathed.

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