going to write about today?”
“I—I don’t know. It’s getting real.”
“Don’t start.” He knocked his knuckles lightly on her forehead. “Just keep it up. I like how my best friend’s a blogger.”
“A couple of blog posts don’t make a blogger. Let’s see how it goes when I’ve got two weeks.”
The waitress brought their beers, nodded toward the menus. “Have you decided what you’ll have?”
“I’ll try the shepherd’s pie.”
“You can’t go wrong with it. And you, sir?”
“I’ll start with the mussels, then go for the Irish lasagna.”
“There’s a treat. My mother’s recipe, cobbled from my two grannies. Hers being from Italy, and my da’s from right here in Clare.”
“Your mom’s the cook?” Marco asked.
“She is, yes, along with my brother Liam. The pub was my grandparents’, you see, and now my parents have it. It’s family.”
“Speaking of family, Breen’s father used to play in pubs like this. Maybe even here.”
“Is that the truth?”
She’d intended to ease into all of that, but Marco liked to wade straight in.
“Yes. He was born in Galway, but I know he played here in Clare, as that’s where he met my mother. It was all before I was born, so you wouldn’t know. But he might’ve played here.”
“My father might remember.”
“I don’t know the name of the band. He’s Eian Kelly.”
“If a man played in Clare, he likely played in Doolin. If he played in Doolin, he likely played in Sweeney’s. I’ll put your orders in for you.”
Marco hefted his beer, tapped it against Breen’s glass. “To another best day ever.”
“Who wouldn’t drink to that?” She took a sip of beer to prove it. “Do you want to hear what I’ve mapped out for tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Still into today. You can surprise me. I never thought about coming here, you know? Like when I made my if-I-could-go-anywhere lists, it was usually Paris or Rome or Maui. But this really hits it, Breen. Who knew?”
She had—for herself—as long as she could remember. “I never thought I’d go anywhere. Just work through the day, the week, the year. And maybe one day find somebody, get married, have kids. Then we’d go places, pile everybody in the minivan and drive to Disney World or the beach, wherever, so they didn’t feel so stuck in one place.”
She looked around, families at tables, friends at the bar, the fire simmering. “If I ever have kids, I’d bring them here. It’s heritage, and I’d want them to have that. I’m glad I’m taking mine back.”
She glanced up as a sandy-haired man with a barrel chest and bright blue eyes stopped by the table.
“I’m Tom Sweeney. My daughter tells me you’re Eian Kelly’s girl.”
“Yes. I—You know my father?”
“He and his mates played right over there.” He gestured to the corner. “Sorcery they called themselves, and that’s what they were with the music. Too many years ago to count,” he said with a wide smile. “And how he is then, your da?”
“I don’t actually know. He and my mother . . .”
“Ah, that’s a sad thing to hear. And lost touch, have you?”
“Yes. I’m hoping to find him while I’m here, or at least find out more from people who knew him.”
“Well, I can tell you a story or two if you like.”
“I really would.”
“I’ll get you a chair.” Marco popped right up.
“Thanks for that. Darling!” he called to his daughter. “Bring your old da a pint.”
“I’m Marco, this is Breen.” Marco pulled a chair over.
“More than pleased to meet you. I can see him in you,” Tom said as he sat. “Your hair, bold red, your eyes, soft gray. That’s Eian Kelly all over. Are you musical?”
“Not very.”
“Your da never met an instrument he couldn’t play, and like a magician, he was. Strong, clear voice as well. Close of age I’d say we were when I tended the bar here and he and his mates played.” He grabbed his daughter’s hand as she brought over his beer. “I have this one, her two brothers, and her sister because of Eian Kelly.”
Marco grinned at Tom, at his daughter. “This is going to be a good story.”
“Oh, he’s no lack of them.” Kate kissed her father on the top of his head, then went back to work.
“Well, I’ll tell you. I was shy in those days. Not of people, but of girls. Never could get my tongue untangled around a pretty girl. And there was one in particular I had such a pining for. Sarah Maria Nero with her raven hair and gypsy eyes.