Page 11 of Surrender
“I’m fine.” She blinked up at him, still tucked against him like they were slow dancing. For a second, her smile faltered—just slightly—but then it came back, softer this time. Less for show, more just for him.
“Sorry I’m such a klutz. My daddy always says that I’m like a duck on roller skates.”
“That seems a bit harsh.” He said it, but whether or not he actually meant it was up for debate. She really did have a clumsy side. How she managed to waitress so well was a bit of a head-scratcher.
“I know. Rude, right?”
From the far end of the bar came a voice that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Do you know, I just passed a pack of tourists out on the road and they’re all mad as feck!”
Slightly startled, Keefe turned his head. Sure enough, there he was. The scarecrow-faced man, somehow already perched on his usual stool, elbows on the bar like he'd been sitting there all afternoon. No one ever saw him come or go. He just... was.
“Shieldin’ their eyes like this.” He lifted both hands to the sides of his face, palms out like blinders. “Walkin’ around like they’re afraid of makin’ eye contact with the grass!”
He glanced between Keefe and Ginny, visibly annoyed but also mildly curious. “What the feck is that all about, do you suppose? Jesus, they’re gettin’ crazier by the minute I say.”
Keefe let Ginny go, still grinning as he picked up his half-finished pint. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said into his glass.
Rain came down in sheets, hammering the pub’s windows and roaring against the roof like a thousand tiny fists. Ginny flipped their open sign to closed then stood near the door, staring out into the watery evening. Oddly enough, it wasn’t all that dark. She smiled. It never truly got dark here this time of year—or so she’d been told. Not even in a rainstorm.
“Jesus Christ! This rain is biblical!” she cried, pulling her sweater tight around her shoulders.
Keefe dried his hands on a dish towel and laughed from behind the bar. “You’re starting to sound Irish, did you know that?”
“I am?” Ginny asked, brightening a little.
Keefe nodded, popping a bite of brown bread into his mouth. “You better be careful, or we won’t be able to tell you’re Southern anymore.”
“Well then, I’ll start every sentence with ‘Well, bless your heart’ just to keep my roots intact.”
He smiled as he leaned on the counter. “So, do you still like it here, or are you secretly making an escape plan to rush home to Dixie?”
She turned toward him, arms folded, hair slightly frizzy from the damp air. “You know, it’s the strangest thing—I don’t miss home at all. I love it here. With you, with Sophie, the pub, our customers. I meet new people every day and I’m really getting to know our regulars.”
“We have that many regulars?”
“Oh, definitely,” Ginny said, ticking names off on her fingers. “There’s Diane Marie—isn’t that a sweet name? She’s crazy about your triple chocolate cream pie. And Nancy Birkett—you know, the one with the rhinestone fairy pin and the pensioner sass?”
He didn’t, of course, being in the kitchen, but he let her continue as if he did.
“She’s the sweetest lady. And, you know, sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever get together with our stranger. I see them talking and flirting. It’s just the sweetest thing.”
Keefe tilted his head. “Stranger?”
Ginny nodded toward the end of the bar. “Yeah. You know, that fella who looks kinda like a scarecrow or something? The one who just appears like a ghost every few days? He’s never told me his name, and Sophie says he was in the snug with her and Liam once.” Ginny giggled at that.
Keefe chuckled. “You mean the same man who interrupted our moment earlier?” He’d heard of this man but hadn’t met him—until today apparently.
“The very one,” she said with a grin. “He wears a wedding ring, but I get the feeling he’s a widower. Don’t know why, just... something in the way he talks. It makes me a little sad, imagining him going home to a big old empty house. But I like to think he’s got a dog—one of those big shaggy ones that drools a lot. Maybe he talks to it over tea and they watch television together, and when they go to bed the dog takes up most of it. But, of course, the man doesn’t mind. And then in the morning when he has his breakfast, he pours a little coffee into a bowl for the dog to have.”
Keefe smiled as she spoke, watching the way her eyes softened when she got lost in a story.
“You’ve got quite the imagination,” he said, wiping down the bar again even though it was already clean.
“Helps pass the time,” she replied. “Well, I guess I’m done for the night, which is fine because I am tired, so I’ll go upstairs now. You drive safe in this rain, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Keefe tipped his head like he was wearing a cowboy hat, and Ginny laughed softly before disappearing up the stairs to her room.
