Sherryl Woods - Lilac Lane

“See you later, my little ones,” she said as they passed by.

Moira paused, her expression startled. “You always used to say that on your way out the door when my brothers and I were young.”

“I did,” Kiera said. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Your leaving was the saddest, most memorable part of my day,” Moira admitted. “I was never awake to hear you come in at night. I never had that moment of joy, though the boys did. Sometimes I remember lying in my bed, hearing you through the door and feeling so left out.”

Tears welled in Kiera’s eyes. “And you never once crawled out of bed to join us.”

Moira shrugged. “I suppose I thought it would make you mad to discover I was still awake.” She gave Kiera a wry look. “Or perhaps I was just being stubborn. I was quite good at that.”

“Indeed you were. I hope you’ve grown up to learn how important it is to make clear what you need. It was a lesson I learned far too late myself.”

“I’m still working on it,” Moira said. “Luke reminds me time and again that he’s not a mind reader. It forces me to speak up, even when I think he should figure things out on his own.”

“It’s a much healthier way to live,” Kiera said. “Rather than letting resentments build.”

Moira hesitated, then said, “One of these days we should talk about my brothers. You rarely mention them. There must be some reason for that.”

Kiera stiffened. “They’ve gone their own way,” she said tightly. “But we can discuss that another time. It’s past time for me to be earning my keep around here today.”

Moira’s gaze narrowed. “That cryptic answer is not enough to satisfy me, you know. But I will wait since our Kate needs to get home for some lunch.”

Kiera stared after them as they left, then sighed. Her sons were a topic always guaranteed to fill her with anxiety. She’d resigned herself to the reality that they were past her influence. Those memories Moira had of the three of them laughing late at night were from a very distant past, one she doubted they would ever recapture.

Chapter 5

“Would you mind handling the bar for me during lunch?” Luke asked Kiera when she came into his office right after Moira left with Kate. “I’ve barely made a dent in the paperwork that was to be done this morning.”

Kiera gave him a knowing look. “Seems to me you had a bit of a distraction.”

“The best kind,” Luke agreed. “But it has put me behind, so would you mind helping me out?”

“It’s what I’m here for,” she told him. “I’m capable of drawing a few pints of ale and making friendly conversation.”

“Just be careful you don’t do it so well that everyone asks for you and I’m rendered irrelevant.”

“As if I could do that,” she scoffed. “You’ve a knack for listening when it’s called for or saying something to earn a laugh, when that’s needed. Owning a pub like this is the perfect fit for you, Luke. You couldn’t do better if you’d been born and bred in Ireland.”

He gave her a startled look. “You couldn’t have found a compliment that could please me more, Kiera. I wasn’t at all sure I had a niche in life when we first met in Ireland,” he admitted.

His candor revealed a rare insecurity, especially for an O’Brien. Kiera was touched that he felt comfortable sharing his feelings with her. “How can that be? I thought everyone in your family was born with confidence to spare.”

Luke laughed. “It certainly seems that way, but I was the youngest and had none of the passion for a career that everyone else seemed to have. I discovered what I was meant to do while I was in Dublin. The more pubs that Moira and I visited around the countryside, the surer I felt that this could be my calling. Even then, I had no idea how my family would react. They tend to be overachievers. I feared having my own pub here in Chesapeake Shores wouldn’t measure up as much of an accomplishment.”

“Did they find fault with your choice?” she asked curiously. She knew Mick and Luke’s own brother had international reputations as architects and urban planners. His uncle Thomas O’Brien ran a foundation dedicated to saving the Chesapeake Bay from environmental toxins. His aunt Megan, of course, had major connections in the art world, which she’d used to Moira’s benefit. His cousin Bree was known for her plays that had been produced locally, by a regional theater in Chicago and even on Broadway. There wasn’t a one of them who couldn’t claim success in their field. Had they judged Luke’s ambition to be less than theirs?

“My father questioned it at first. He thought it was too big a risk, but Uncle Mick got it right away, as did my grandmother. To my father’s dismay, they were quite vocal with their support.”

“I should think so,” Kiera said. “Neighborhood pubs are a fine Irish tradition. Aren’t there bars in the States that are similar?”

“I wanted this place to be more than just another bar. I wanted it to be a community gathering spot,” Luke said.

He gestured at the arrangement of tables, subtly done to make conversation easier between tables. The antique bar he’d imported from Ireland had space for a dozen people, and a mirror behind it that allowed customers to speak to others seated several stools away and still see their reactions mirrored on the wall. And while the colors he’d chosen reflected the waterfront setting more than an Irish pub might, they were warm, inviting shades of the sea. There was even a bit of a dance floor carved out in front of the area where Irish bands played on weekends.

“Well, if your regulars are to be believed, you’ve achieved that,” Kiera told him. “I myself can see that you’ve created a place that’s comfortable, friendly and the first place to go for the local gossip.” She hesitated deliberately, then taunted, “That is if you haven’t already picked it up at Sally’s in the morning.”

Luke laughed. “I like to think we come by a few tidbits of news first right here, if only because Uncle Mick seems to know everything and finds my bar the perfect place to be sharing it. O’Brien’s may be my pub, but Uncle Mick reigns over it.”

“Now, that has the ring of truth, to be sure.” With the time for the pub’s midday opening almost upon them, Kiera reminded them both that they needed to get back to work. “You’d best get busy on that paperwork now. Leave the bar to me.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” Luke told her. “Or ask Bryan. He’s filled in a time or two when we’ve been short-staffed.”

“I’ll do my best to handle it without bothering either one of you,” Kiera said, and headed off to check on supplies. She stopped short when she found Bryan seated at the end of the bar with a cup of coffee.

“And shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?” she inquired lightly, trying to calm the unexpected flutter of nerves she got at the sight of him. What was it about him that affected her so? He was annoying, to be sure, but it was more than that. Maybe that impossible nature of his reminded her just the tiniest bit of Sean Malone, which was far from a recommendation.

As if to prove her point about his difficult nature, he immediately bristled at the hint of accusation in her voice. “Kiera, I’ve been running the kitchen quite efficiently for some time now. I don’t need you to tell me how to do it. I believe I’ve mentioned that before.”

She winced. “More than once,” she said stiffly. And here they went again, off on the wrong foot, just when she’d been trying to convince both Luke and herself that they could manage to get along. “I wasn’t suggesting you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Really? Haven’t you made it your role to be Luke’s eyes and ears, when he’s not around?” His gaze narrowed as he watched her busy herself behind the bar. “And now what? Are you taking over bartending, too? Were you not satisfied with meddling in how I run the kitchen? For the past week, you’ve been tossing out suggestions every time you pass through the kitchen door.”