Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle #15) - Kristen Proby Page 0,11
reaches for a chair and sets it near a clear space at the counter, gesturing for me to sit and keep him company.
“Keegan fired his cook yesterday. Which means he’s shorthanded back here until he finds a replacement.”
“I had no idea you knew how to man the kitchen in a bar.”
“I can also make the drinks, deliver them, and clean up when everyone’s gone,” he says as he gets to work building a sandwich. “I grew up in this pub.”
“Maggie mentioned your parents owned it.”
“They did. When we first arrived in America, all of us lived in the small apartment above us. Keegan lives up there now, and it’s almost too small for him. But my parents were poor, and they did what they could with what they had. Eventually, the pub did well enough for Da to buy a house not far from here, and we moved there. But all of us worked here in the pub, and most of us still do from time to time when Keegan needs us. Maggie’s been working here full-time since her piece of shit husband died a few months ago.”
I gasp and cover my mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. She looks so young.”
“She is. Barely twenty-six. She married just out of high school. He was a philandering, controlling jerk. Had a heart attack while with his side piece.”
“That’s just horrible.”
He nods and gestures to the pot of simmering stew. “Would you like some?”
“I’d love to try it. I can’t believe I can eat anything at all after the meal you made us for dinner.”
“It’s been a while,” he says and serves me the stew. “I like having you in here where I can see you.”
“Do you think I’m going to escape? Or embarrass you?”
Shawn laughs and then shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. You’re in here where I can see you. Rather than having to make excuses to go out there and get a glimpse of you. You may drive me mad, but you’re a pleasure to look at.”
“Back at you, Mr. O’Callaghan.” I take a bite of the stew and sigh in happiness. “Oh, this is amazing. I’m going to have to try to talk Maggie into the recipe before I go home to Minneapolis. No one should have to live without this.”
“She might give it to you,” he says. “I’m sorry I dragged you in here for the whole evening. If you want to take my car and go back to the house, you’re welcome to. I can catch a ride back with one of the others when we’re done.”
Normally, I’d be itching to go home. To be wrapped up in my blankets and reading a book.
But I’m enjoying myself here—much more than anticipated.
“I’m actually fine where I am,” I say and eat more of my stew. “Is there bread to go with this?”
“Of course.” He slices and butters a fresh roll, then passes it to me.
“So good,” I say with a sigh. “Yeah, I’m good here. I’ll gain a million pounds, but who cares?”
“Who indeed?”
Last night, I was charmed by the clever pub and the wonderful patrons there, the music, and the O’Callaghan siblings. Especially Shawn. I spent several hours with him in the kitchen, and even jumped up to help him fill some orders when he had an extra-busy streak at about ten o’clock.
Today, I’m back to wanting to commit the kind of murder I write about. Bloody, sinister slaughter.
“You’re not listening to me,” I say, crushing a pillow with my fist. “Seriously, I listened to you the other day, and you’re not hearing me.”
“Fine. Do whatever you want, Lexi.”
“Oh my God. That’s not what I want either!”
I’m going to scream, so I turn and stomp out of the room into the foyer, where I shove my feet into some shoes and storm out the door, slamming it behind me.
That felt good.
Yes, it was childish, but I don’t care.
I need fresh air.
I want to walk on the beach.
I frown as I glance around the house. I know where the beach is, I just have no idea how to get down to it.
Instead, I walk in large circles around Shawn’s driveway, breathing deeply.
Why won’t he just listen to me? As soon as I start explaining why I think something should be written differently, he clams up. Doesn’t talk, won’t listen.