The Best Part of Me (4 page)

Erin's smile faded. “Come on, come to Katie's with us tonight.”

“Yeah, it sounds like fun but I really can't go tonight. Maybe another night?”

“Okay, then next Friday night it is.” Erin nodded.

“Does this Katie have parties every night?”

Erin laughed. “Katie's as in Katie's Pub.”

Ah, right. Quinn definitely knew where that was. “Yeah, Friday night sounds good.”

“Perfect!” The tiny redhead waved with her fingers as she practically skipped toward the house. Before making it to the porch, she turned back and yelled, “I'll introduce you to Lisbeth and Darcy. You'll love them. A few of Rory's bandmates will be there on Friday as well. And Ewan McKenna's cousin, Sean, most likely. And Ewan will of course be there, but you've already met him.”

She wasn't sure if seeing Ewan again so soon was such a good idea, but her heart still fluttered at the mention of his name.

Ewan shifted the large box to his left side so he could quickly open the back door of the West End Public House and get out of the rain. This was Uncle Connor's most profitable restaurant. Located on the north side of the Charles River in Cambridge, it provided excellent fare to upscale clientele in a rustic setting. That's what his uncle touted it as anyways. Ewan called it providing pub food at astronomical prices to people stupid enough to pay for it.

He nodded to a couple of the line cooks as he weaved his way through the kitchen. Sunday was delivery day for Ewan. If his uncle was running low on liquor in any of his restaurants and if Ewan could spare the inventory, he delivered it to whichever restaurant needed it. Today's delivery of whiskey wasn't very big, but Ewan didn't mind.

He'd get a free meal out of it.

Despite the forty-five minute drive and the shitty parking, Ewan preferred his deliveries to the West End Public House over his uncle's other restaurants. West End had a killer BLT sandwich that he got with chicken corn chowder.

He always came in on an off hour when he knew the church crowd would be long gone so he could sit at a small table near the window in the bar area. The bartenders knew not to take it personally that he didn't want to sit at the bar. He endured enough forced conversation back in Ballagh at his own pub. Sunday lunch was forty-five minutes of quiet time when he'd watch the cars and pedestrians pass by.

Ewan stopped by his uncle's small office and dropped off a list of the day's delivery items. When he pushed through the swinging door on his way out of the kitchen, he was surprised to see his uncle standing behind the bar polishing a wineglass.

“Wasn't expecting you to be here today, Uncle,” he said as he dropped the box onto the bar top.

“Short staffed, I'm afraid.”

He didn't envy his uncle one bit for having to put up with the revolving staff bullshit in all his restaurants with servers and bartenders constantly calling off or not showing up. Uncle Connor had a few employees who'd been around awhile, but most were college students trying to earn some money while they attended classes. And they wouldn't hesitate to leave him high and dry if a better-paying opportunity came along.

Ewan unpacked the bottles of Jameson and stacked them on the shelves. “This was all I could spare you this week. Hopefully it'll tide you over until your shipment comes in tomorrow.”

“Aye, it'll be fine,” he said. “I hope you don't mind, but I put your usual order in. It should be ready any time.”

“Thanks.” Ewan was starving and could already taste the thick-cut bacon on his sandwich.

“And I also hope you don't mind that you'll have some company while you eat.”

Ewan looked at his uncle and frowned. “Company?”

He glanced over at the windows and saw a woman sitting at his table. She was facing away from them, light brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She wore dark jeans that fit her lean legs to just above her ankles and a pale yellow sweater. A navy raincoat hung off the back of the chair. Her legs were crossed under the table, her top foot bouncing slowly to some silent rhythm. Her head was tilted as she looked out at the street, her hands hugging a white coffee mug.

Ewan's head swung back toward his uncle. “I'll sit at the bar.”

“I already told her that you'd join her. That's why I sat her there.”

He sighed. “Is this some sort of matchmaking shit? Has Aunt Katherine recruited you to her Find Ewan a Suitable Wife campaign?”

His uncle laughed. “No, I wouldn't do that to you. And anyways, I believe you already know this one.” He nodded to the table. “That's Maura Hughes's niece.”

Ewan looked back at the woman. Jesus Christ, it was her. Although he'd only met her once, he recognized her. She didn't look near as fragile as she had a couple days ago.

“Very sweet girl. Never in a million years would have guessed she'd be related to Maura Hughes,” his uncle said with amusement.

Ewan shook his head and scowled. “I don't want company.”

“Don't be rude, son. It's just lunch.”

Yeah, a lunch he'd been looking forward to until now. He didn't even know the woman, but for some reason, she bothered him. She turned her head then and looked back at the bar. Her eyes met his, and after a moment, she smiled hesitantly. In the darkness of the alley that night, he hadn't been able to clearly see her face. Now in the light of day, he could.

She wasn't a classical or exotic beauty, but in some way that he couldn't quite put his finger on, she was striking. There was a calmness in her eyes, something quiet and peaceful. Like everything was right in whatever world she lived in.

This woman with the serene smile in no way resembled the firecracker he'd walked home the other night.

He had two choices: be a dick and leave or try not to be a dick and have a quick lunch with her.

It wasn't a very hard decision.

“I'll take my lunch to go,” he grumbled to his uncle. Just as he turned to go back into the kitchen to collect his food, the door swung open and a server came out carrying two plates to the table by the window. One of those plates had his BLT on it.

Fuck.

He didn't have it in him to walk over and snatch the plate up from the table and leave. And goddamn it, he wanted that fucking BLT. Resigned to his fate of having an uncomfortable lunch, he threw one last scowl at his uncle, and he slowly walked over to the table.

“Anything to drink today, Ewan?” the server asked him. Even though she'd worked there for well over a year, he'd never bothered to ask her name.

“Water.” His reply was flat as he sat down in his chair. The server left to retrieve his drink, leaving the two of them staring down at their plates in uncomfortable silence.

Finally, after a minute, Quinn laughed with true amusement. “You really don't have to eat with me. I wouldn't be offended if you took your plate to the bar.”

Ewan picked up his sandwich and took a bite, determined to set a world record for the fastest time eating a sandwich and scorching hot chowder. He glanced up at her and stopped in mid-bite.

There was a yellowish-green bruise around her right eye. He hadn't noticed it earlier, but he definitely did now.

Fucking Remy.

She must have figured out what he was staring at, because she cast her eyes down and poked at the pieces of arugula next to her salmon. “That bad, huh?”

He quickly swallowed and shook his head. “It's not that bad.”

She looked up at him and laughed. “Liar.” Her smile reached all the way to her eyes. And now that he was looking at her eyes and not the nasty bruise surrounding one, he saw they were a dusky bluish gray.

Ewan resumed eating as he studied her, thinking it was slightly suspicious they would run into each other considering the greater Boston area had more than four and a half million people.

“What brings you to Cambridge?” he asked.

“I needed to pick up a couple things at the antique store across the street. The shop was so much more extensive than I thought, so I completely lost track of time and skipped lunch. This was the first place I saw when I came out, so I stopped in.” She shrugged. “What an odd coincidence that someone from Ballagh owns it.”

He chewed his sandwich while he watched her daintily place a bite of pink, flakey salmon in her mouth. Her lips closed over the fork and rubbed together as she chewed. He blinked, wondering why all of a sudden it was borderline erotic for someone to chew a piece of fish.

The server approached the table and set his water glass next to his plate. “How is everything?”

“It's lovely. Thank you so much.” Quinn smiled gratefully at the server like the woman was personally responsible for pulling her puppy out of a storm drain. Ewan took another bite of his sandwich and watched as Quinn meticulously cut her salad greens.

“This is such a charming restaurant,” she stated.

Ewan looked around at the empty barroom. The space was relatively small with only a handful of tables. On busy nights, it was anything but charming. They packed quite a few people into this room, usually three people deep at the bar. Those patrons who were looking for a quiet dinner usually sat in the dining room on the other side of the restaurant.

“Do you know whether this building used to be an old residence? It's gorgeous.”

He did in fact know that the building was a townhouse built in 1823 by one of the owners of the New England Glass Company, which at the time was well known for its blown and pressed glass. When his uncle had been looking for a Cambridge property and come across this listing, he'd immediately known that the history of the home along with its colonial charm would be perfect for his upscale pub concept. In fact, where they were sitting was once the front parlor of the townhouse. He could have told Quinn all of this, but it would probably lead to more questions requiring more answers. So instead he shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich.

“I bet someone used to live here. What a view they would have had of the river. Back in Pittsburgh, there are so many of these lovely old townhomes along the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers. I think it's wonderful when old industrial cities try to preserve some of these treasures.”

He studied her as she looked around the room. She looked wistful, like she was far, far away in her peaceful, calm dream world. She turned back to the table, and when she caught him staring, she smiled timidly.

She resumed poking at her plate and said, “Your uncle mentioned you were dropping something off?”

He nodded as he finished one half of his sandwich.

“Is that something you do every week?”

“Yeah,” he replied as he moved on to his chowder. Goddamn soup was too hot or he'd have drunk it like a shot of Jäger and gotten the hell out of there. He swirled his spoon in the creamy soup and watched the steam release from the surface.

“Who's watching the pub for you?”

Ewan looked up at her impatiently. “The pub opens at four on Sundays. What's with all the questions?”

Her eyebrows flew up and color tinted her cheeks. “I figured since we were sharing a table that the least we could do was have polite conversation.”

He wanted to tell her there was nothing polite about him. That if she was smart, she'd save her breath and avoid him at all costs. In fact, he considered it his social responsibility as a member of her temporary community to warn her as much.

“Did your aunt mention to you who I am?” he asked her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “She told me your name is Ewan McKenna and you manage the pub. And I know from personal experience that you also lurk in dark alleyways for unknown nefarious reasons.”

She was cheeky. He liked that.

“You seem like a smart woman, and I'm sure you'd eventually figure this out, but I'm gonna give you a tip. I'm not a member of the welcome committee. Unlike everyone else in Ballagh, I don't give a rat's ass that you're here, why you're here, or how long you'll be here. I do my job, I keep my nose clean, and I don't fuck with people. Usually that means people leave me alone in return. You want a drink at the pub, I'll serve you one. Other than that, I'm just not a real Chatty Cathy. I don't think I've ever had polite conversation with anyone, and I'm sure as fuck not gonna start now.”

“Are you always so crass?” she snapped.

“I'm actually trying to tone it down.”

She scoffed. “Utter fail. You can start by cutting out the F word. Believe it or not, not everyone likes to hear it.” She placed her fork on the side of her plate and leaned forward. “And secondly, I'm just trying to be nice here. You and I got off on the wrong foot the other night. Right up until now, I was planning on apologizing for acting so rude. But now, I really don't see the need. Because it's becoming clear that you are indeed the jackass I thought you were the night you walked me home.”

Her eyes went from dusky to electric when she got angry. He almost smiled.

“Glad we're on the same page now,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and turned to signal the server for her check. Ewan's eyes traveled down the lean, smooth curve of her neck as her head was turned. She wore a silver necklace that was partially hidden under a thin off-white shirt. Despite the pleats at the neckline, the muslin shirt was completely transparent. If it weren't for her yellow sweater, Ewan would have an unobstructed view of her bra. Assuming she wore a bra. Her breasts didn't look all that big.

Why the fuck am I thinking about this woman's bra?

He averted his eyes and finished off his soup while the server dropped off Quinn's check. After dabbing at her mouth, she folded her napkin beside her plate and hastily scribbled her name on the bottom of the bill.

“Wish I could say it was a pleasure to have lunch with you, but it wasn't. And I assume since Ballagh is such a tiny town that I'll run in to you again sooner or later.” She slipped her wallet into her purse and stood up, pushing the chair in with a loud screech. “Maybe between now and then you'll pull your head out of your ass. Have a nice day.”