Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (24 page)

“Why would you cancel your trip because some old biddy falls and hurts herself? I couldn’t believe it when Rachel told me.”

Rachel…

Her grip around the pen tightened. “Bridie’s my aunt, not some old biddy. I did it because it was the right thing to do.” Okay, plus her cousin’s manipulations and a generous dose of guilt combined to force her hand.

“I don’t get why you left Dublin for this dump. You always said you hated Ballybeg.”

What Philip didn’t “get” was why she’d left him. As far as she was concerned, he could remain in blissful ignorance.

“I owe Bridie. After everything she’s done for me over the years, it’s the least I can do.”

“What about your world trip? You’re not seriously going to spend your entire sabbatical year playing nurse and bookseller?”

If he didn’t leave soon, she’d strangle him with his straggly russet hair. “Did you come in here to piss me off? Is this your idea of catching up?”

“Steady on, FeeFee.” He put his palms up in a gesture of mock surrender. “I was just making conversation.”

“Cut the crap. Why are you really in Cork?”

He quickly averted his gaze, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Whatever he’s done, please don’t let it involve a brush with the law.
After the vandalism drama, she’d had enough of the police to last her a lifetime.

“My father kicked me out of the house,” he said at last. “Says I have to get a proper job. He’d accept me if I’d followed his footsteps and become a barrister. He doesn’t understand the theater, nor anything cultural. He buys paintings as an investment, for goodness sake, not because he actually likes them.”

“Maybe he’d be more supportive of your art if you were able to
support
yourself from it.”

“I’m trying. I’ve got an agent. I go for auditions. I get roles but there are gaps between them and I need money to tide me over.”

She dug her pen into the paper viciously, slashing red in jagged lines. “Get a part-time job. That’s what other actors do.”

“As what?” His voice rose to a whine. “I’m not prepared to demean myself by working in a restaurant or a pub.”

“So sign up with a temp agency,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Spend my days photocopying crap for overpaid managers? No way.”

Fiona massaged her temples. Her headache was getting worse. Dealing with Philip and his nonsense was not helping. “You know what, Philip? No. Just no. We had this convo a million times when we were together. I make obvious suggestions how you could earn money between acting jobs, and you reject every single one.” She tossed the pen to the side and straightened. “It wasn’t my responsibility to organize your life then, and it sure as feck isn’t my responsibility now.”

His lips curled into a sulky pout. “Neither you nor my father appreciate my talent.”

She didn’t try to hide her eye-roll. “I’ve seen you on stage. I know you can act, but it’s not all about acting, is it? You certainly don’t present yourself in a professional manner.” She indicated his scruffy appearance.

“What do you mean?” he demanded in outrage.

“Don’t you think you should at least brush your hair before your audition?”

“Sure, won’t I be wearing a wig if I get the role?”

Give up, and give up now,
Fiona’s inner wise woman told her. Reasoning with her ex was a lost cause. He was the youngest child of an eminent Dublin barrister and his society wife. His mother indulged him while his father berated him for not living up to the family’s expectations. Philip had displayed his rebellious tendencies early by eschewing law in favor of theater studies at university. His father had never forgiven him. His mother, on the other hand, gave him cash handouts on a regular basis, and Philip had never needed to find work between acting jobs. Now it seemed both his parents had finally had enough of bankrolling him and were forcing him to stand on his own two feet. It would either be the best thing to ever happen to him or the worst. Thank goodness she no longer had to deal with the fallout.

The doorbell jangled, indicating the arrival of more customers. Fiona’s mood plummeted when she saw Gavin and Ruairí enter the shop.

Feck.

She’d have to forewarn Gavin about Muireann working at the bazaar, but she sure as hell wasn’t starting that conversation with Philip hovering.

“Philip,” she said pointedly. “I have customers. Besides, don’t you have an audition to get to?”

He raised his eyes to the blackboard on the wall behind the counter and perused the menu. Her heart sank. “I think I’ll have a coffee before I catch the bus to Cork.” His smile was forced. “Seeing as I’m here and all.”

She ground her teeth. Looked like she was stuck spending more time with Philip before he buggered off out of her life once more.

He sloped over to James Joyce and flopped into a chair. Gavin and Ruairí nodded to him when he passed them by, but he ignored them.

Yet another difference between Dublin and Ballybeg. Everyone greeted one another here, and strangers earned a passing nod. Obviously, Philip didn’t know this—or if he did, he didn’t care.

Ruairí sat at Oscar Wilde, the table opposite Philip’s. Gavin approached the counter.

“Morning Fiona,” he said with a friendly grin. In stark contrast to Philip’s practiced smile, Gavin’s unaffected but infectious grin warmed her from the inside out. “A double espresso for Ruairí, please, and a regular coffee for me.”

“Would you like something to eat with your coffee?

“No, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll be right over with your order.”

She turned her back on the men and busied herself with the coffee machine. She served Philip first. He’d grabbed a copy of today’s issue of
The Irish Times
from the magazine rack and was pretending to read. He didn’t look up when she placed his coffee cup in front of him.

Please, please, let him leave!
Between Muireann and Philip, she’d been obliged to deal with two people she’d rather not have anything to do with, and both on the same morning. And now Gavin was thrown into the mix. All this stress early on a Monday was doing nothing to alleviate her headache. Quite the contrary.

“Thanks,” Gavin said when she served their coffee. He and Ruairí were studying something on a laptop. Floor plans, by the look of things.

After what seemed like an eternity but was barely ten minutes, Philip stood to leave. He tossed a couple of coins onto the table without bothering to check his bill. “I’ll be seeing you, FeeFee,” he said loudly enough for Gavin and Ruairí to glance up from what they were doing.

She prickled at his use of the nickname. She loathed FeeFee, and he knew it. “Won’t you be going back to Dublin after the audition?”

He shrugged, a belligerent jut to his jaw. “I’ll see. Maybe I’ll stick around for a couple of days. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

With that parting shot, Philip exited the shop—but not, alas, her life.

GAVIN WATCHED THE MAN Fiona had called Philip leave the shop and cross the road toward the bus stop. This must be the actor ex. He was being daft, but he’d hated the guy on sight.

He approached the counter. Fiona was lost in contemplation, the cute little worry line between her brows visible. He had a sudden urge to touch it. He cleared his throat. “Your ex?”

“Yeah. He lives in Dublin.” She didn’t elaborate.

He smiled. “So I gathered from his plummy accent.”

“What were you and Ruairí staring at with such intensity?” She flicked a tea towel over her shoulder and began to clear up used cups and plates.

Keen to change the subject—interesting. His hunch that this Philip guy had had a significant impact on Fiona’s life couldn’t be too far off the mark.

“Ruairí’s offered me a job.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Is he renovating the pub?”

“Yeah, but that’s only part of it.” He flashed her a rueful smile. “You’re looking at Ballybeg’s newest temporary barman.”

“Seriously?” She bent over to load the dishwasher, reminding him—and his groin—of how horny her backside made him.

“Why not? I need the money, and he needs someone to help with the Christmas rush. I paid my way through uni working in bars.”

“I’m impressed. I would have thought you’d consider a job in a pub to be beneath you.”

He laughed, hearing a tinge of bitterness in its echo. “A man with as much debt as I have can’t afford to be picky. I’ve had an offer of a few teaching hours at the university starting next semester. Until then, I need something to tide me over. It’s not like I’ve got job offers flowing in, nor has anyone expressed interest in buying Clonmore Lodge.”

“So you’re staying in Ballybeg?”

“For the time being. I’m not ready to give up yet. There’s still the possibility I’ll find a buyer for the cottage.”

“Gosh,” she said. “Do you want to sell the cottage? You love living there.”

He shrugged, his gaze moving to his feet. “If things don’t go my way within the next few months, I’ll have no choice.”

“Hey, Fiona.” Ruairí approached the counter, used cup in hand. “Heard anything from the police about the break-in?”

“No, and I doubt I will. As far as Garda Glenn is concerned, if he can’t pin it on Sharon, it must’ve been random kids.”

“Aye,” he said with a frown. “That’s Glenn’s attitude, all right.”

“Listen, Gavin,” Fiona said. “You know how you said you’d help me haul boxes for the Christmas Bazaar?”

“Yeah.”

“Muireann will be working the bookstall, too.”

He sucked in a breath.

“If it’ll be an issue for you, don’t worry about helping out. We can manage between the two of us.”

He burst into laughter. “Muireann haul boxes? That’ll be the day. Trust me, she’ll stick you with all the heavy lifting. I’ll come by here at about a quarter to twelve, and I can collect you and the boxes.”

Her eyes creased in concern. “Are you sure it’s no trouble?”

“I’m sure.” On instinct, he reached for her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I was bound to run across Muireann eventually.”

Behind him, Ruairí snorted. Gavin shot him a warning look.

His new boss looked from him to Fiona, then back again. “Ah,” Ruairí said. “So it’s like that then. I had my suspicions.” He clapped Gavin on the back. Coming from a man as strong as Ruairí, a friendly clap on the back was sufficient to dislocate shoulders. “Bye, Fiona. Later, Gavin.” He winked and exited the shop.

“The damage in here is worse than I’d hoped.” Gavin indicated the rain-stained walls.

“Yeah,” Fiona said. “I’m going to paint them over the Christmas holidays. We can’t afford to close for a couple of days this time of year, but the walls need to be repainted soon.”

“Do you have experience painting walls?”

“Well… no.”

“Then let me help you. Get Bridie to pick out the color, and I’ll borrow the supplies we need from Liam O’Mahony.”

“Are you sure?” She frowned. “It’ll be a lot of work.”

“Work that will go faster with the two of us doing it.”

Her old wary expression was back. “Why are you doing this, Gavin? Why do you want to spend so much time with me? It’s not like you lack for friends.”

“Because I like you,” he said honestly. “And because I owe you.”

He regretted his word choice as soon as they were uttered. She stiffened, and the wariness developed hostile overtones. “The only thing you owe me is a divorce. And we both know that will take years.”

The last remaining customer approached the cash register. Fiona plastered a smile on her face and rang up the customer’s order. She was a terrible actress. Her every gesture projected her moods, and her attempts to hide them were comically stilted.

After the woman left, Gavin flipped the open sign to closed and locked the door.

“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing? I can’t take a break.”

“I’m sorry. Once again, I’ve been an eejit and said the wrong thing.” He took her into his arms. She was stiff as a board but soon relaxed into the embrace.

“I might have overreacted,” she said. “It’s been one hell of a morning.”

“I meant that I feel I owe you because I’ve wronged you. It was my screwup that led to the mess we’re now in. I didn’t mean I’m spending time with you out of a sense of duty. I like you, Fiona. I always have. You make me laugh.” He stroked her hair and let the silky curl slip through his fingers. “And you’re genuine. I don’t feel I have to pretend with you.”

She snuggled into his chest. “You realize, Maguire, that daylight snuggling might lead us into dangerous territory?”

He nibbled her ear. “Why don’t we head into the stockroom for a few minutes?”

“You’re a terrible influence,” she said, laughing into his chest. “I’m supposed to be a responsible shop manager. I can’t shut midmorning.”

“Come on. Just for a few minutes.” He took her arm and kissed her wrist the way he knew she liked. He slid her shirt up her arm and feathered kisses all the way to the crook of her elbow.

“Gavin… people can see in the window.”

“Why do you think I suggested we go into the stockroom?”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “But we’ll have to make it quick.”

“I can do quick. I can do slow. I can do it any speed you like.” He grabbed her hand. “But for what I’ve got in mind, let me take the lead.”

“Intriguing,” she said as he pulled her into the tiny stockroom and closed the door. “Should I be worried?”

He laughed. “Extremely.” He unzipped her jeans and tugged them down, quickly followed by her knickers.

Holy Moses, she was gorgeous.

He leaned between her legs and kissed her.

“What the… Gavin!”

“Shh,” he whispered. “I’m taking the lead, remember? You’re supposed to at least pretend to be docile for a few minutes.”

“I am never docile.”

He grinned and silenced her by toying with her clit ring, alternating tugging and massaging the soft skin. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see Fiona, but he could hear her breathing change, hear the soft gasps as she neared orgasm.

He felt her pulse around his tongue when she came, pressing her back into the wall. She let out a muffled moan, then collapsed.