Page 29 of Since We're Here
“Well, since you’re both here, try this for me.” Patrick pulls a growler out of the refrigerator.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The new IPA. I don’t think it’s quite right.” He pours three small servings of the cloudy liquid and pushes one to Saoirse, then one to me.
I sip the liquid. It’s good, but it has a hell of a bite.
“Damn, that’s bitter, Pat.” Saoirse’s face is far less masked than mine.
“That’s what I thought. We have the right hops, finally, but the timing of when we add them to the mash isn’t right for this batch.” He sips his own glass.
“Mash?” I lean against the bar and watch him clear the three glasses.
“It’s the crushed grains and water at the start of the boil, before fermenting.” He slides the growler back in the refrigerator. “There will be another IPA batch ready in a few weeks. I’m hoping we crack it with that one.”
“You’ll get there,” Saoirse says.
“Have you finished all the opening tasks?” he asks me, his tone a bit short.
“Patrick.” Saoirse shakes her head at him.
“What?”
She turns to me. “My brother often sounds like he’s being an arse, but he’s really not. It’s his...” She waves her hand at Patrick. “His face? Voice? How he looks at people?”
I bite back a giggle as Patrick turns his glare to his sister.
“Yes. Just like that.” Saoirse winks at me and gathers up her children—including Margaret the doll—and heads out of the pub.
O’Brien’s opens a few minutes later.
“See how easy it is to be helpful?” I call to Patrick, who’s established himself at the table in the back corner. “She gave me two ideas.”
“Good. Ask her about the road trip from now on.” He doesn’t even look up.
A pair of locals trickle in, greeting Patrick with a lift of their hands. They both order pints, then quietly chat at one end of the bar while I pour. The door swings open again to reveal a heavily tattooed red-headed man.
“Hello, mate.” He looks from Patrick to me, smiling.
“Jaysus. Did my sister text you?”
“Aye. She did.” The man strides over to me and holds out his hand. “I’m Ian. I needed to check out the pretty American woman Patrick hired.”
Patrick groans and stands, walking over to join Ian at the bar. I pretend I didn’t hear him call me pretty, but heat crawls up my neck.
“My sister needs to keep her mouth shut.” Patrick claps Ian on the back and shakes his hand.
“I own the tattoo parlor down the road.” Ian nods his head to the street. “I’m also dating Patrick’s sister.”
“Unfortunately,” Patrick says, but he’s got a hint of a grin on his face.
Ian’s a good-looking man, with tattoos covering almost every bit of exposed skin—the back of his hands, peeking out from his wrists, his neck, and stopping at his jawline. His red hair goes perfectly with the freckles that cover his nose and cheeks.
“I’m Maddie.”
“Oliver’s fiancée’s sister?”
Good lord, this is a small town.
