Page 29 of Surrender
Darcie and Connor, whose love had flared so quickly it burned through every doubt. Simon and Sondra, who had vanished into each other’s eyes and never looked back. Even Aunt Nan and Shamus—both carrying their own pasts, both widowed—who found each other later in life and proved that sometimes fate waits patiently for the right moment.
In the O’Brian family, love wasn’t something you waited for. It stormed in like a wildfire, impossible to ignore, and impossible to resist. Fate didn’t care about perfect timing or caution. It demanded your whole heart, and if you answered, well—that was just how they did things.
Keefe smiled, the memory of Gwen’s voice still echoing inside him. This was their story now—a new thread woven into a family tapestry made strong by love at first sight, by souls who just knew.
And he was ready.
Chapter 9
The last of the stragglers had gone, the staff had all left, chairs were flipped onto the tables, and the pint glasses stacked. The scent of hops and whiskey still clung to the air, but the noise was gone, replaced by a kind of loaded stillness that buzzed under Keefe’s skin.
He looked at the clock on the mantel. Now the pub was his—and hers, if she came.
He stood behind the bar, wiping down a glass he’d already cleaned three times, heart thudding like it was trying to punch through his ribs. He hadn’t waited on a woman like this since… ever.
The front door creaked open.
She stepped in like she belonged, like the night had cracked open just to let her through. A wash of pale blue twilight followed her in, glinting off her hair—rich auburn, loose around her shoulders—and gilding the edge of her sea-glass eyes.
Keefe straightened as his breath locked in his chest.
She wasn’t wearing anything revealing, a dark skirt that hung just above her knee, tall boots, and a brown leather jacket, over what he couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. She radiated heat. Confidence. Nerves. And a barely-hidden ache that matched his own.
“Hello,” she said softly, pausing just inside the door.
“Hello.” It came out hoarse.
He stepped around the bar slowly, like a man approaching fire fully intending to burn. She didn’t move. She didn’t look away. Her mouth parted slightly. Her breath hitched just enough for him to notice.
He stopped a foot away from her. Close enough to feel her warmth.
“You came.”
“You asked.”
He smiled, slow and warm. “Would you like a drink?”
“All right,” she smiled and looked up at him through her lashes.
Keefe pulled out a stool for her to sit on and as she sat down, he caught a smell of her hair. Heavenly cherry blossoms and almonds. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. He wanted to kiss her smile. Devour it. And if he didn’t put a little space between them, he would. So he made his way to the other side of the bar.
“So, Ruby, what’s your pleasure?”
Hearing that fake name stung but now was not the time for confessions. She put her elbow on the bar and propped her chin casually on her fist. “How about whiskey with ice? Easy on the ice.”
“Which whiskey?”
“You choose.”
Keefe selected Powers Three Swallows and placed it on the bar in front of her. Then reached below for two glasses, one with ice the other without. “I wasn’t sure I would see you again,” he said as he poured one finger in each glass. “But here you are.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” Gwen answered honestly. Keefe slid her drink across the bar to her then leaned in and held his glass up between them. “What should we drink to?”
She looked up and away then brought her eyes back to his. “How about fate’s sense of humor.”
He clinked his glass to hers then took a drink. “Why sense of humor?”
If he only knew. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just funny that I should walk in for a sandwich and end up finding…”
