“I have to take my bags back upstairs.” Maeve walks toward the door. “No, wait. I need to bring them in here. Sorry, habit.”
“Why don’t we help Maeve move her things, and then we’ll all go out to dinner?” I ask Rachel.
“I would love to, but I have to work,” Maeve says. “I’m expected at the pub in just a bit. But you’re welcome to come and eat there.”
“I totally want some of Fiona’s stew,” Rachel says. “I told Gramps about it, and he said that he and Grams will come see us next weekend. He wants stew, too.”
“It’s the best there is,” Maeve agrees.
We spend an hour moving her things from the vehicle and apartment to the house, and then Maeve comes out of the bedroom dressed in her O’Callaghan’s Pub shirt and denim shorts.
“Have I told you that your legs are fucking amazing?” I ask her as I wrap my arms around her waist.
“No, you haven’t. But thanks. I find if I wear shorts, I get better tips.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“I certainly am not.” She grins and pats my cheek. “I have a roof to pay for. Why are roofs so damn expensive anyway?”
“Maeve—”
“No.” Her smile fades, and she’s perfectly serious now. “You’re not going to pay for my roof, Hunter. I can afford it. I’m just mostly kidding about the tips.”
“You’re not kidding.” I wish she’d just let me pay for it. It’s nothing to me. And here she is, working her ass off to afford it.
“Okay, I’m not totally joking. But if all it takes to get an extra five bucks is to wear a pair of shorts, who cares?”
“Maybe I care.”
She laughs. “Right. You have no reason to. Besides, you’re the man who used to be on national television in your underwear.”
“It was international television, thank you very much.”
She barks out a laugh, and I join her. “See? They’re just shorts. No one gets to touch my legs but you.”
“Damn right.”
“You have a baby in a bar,” Maeve says to Izzy when we walk into the pub. Izzy’s rocking the baby back and forth, but the sweet thing won’t stop crying.
“She has colic,” Izzy says. She looks exhausted. “Sometimes, if Keegan rocks her, she’ll stop crying. But he’s swamped, and I’m exhausted.”
“I’ve got her,” I say and step forward, my arms outstretched for the infant. “Rachel had colic, too, and I was a single dad. I get it. Has she eaten?”
“About an hour ago,” Izzy confirms.
“Go catch a nap,” I reply as I set the baby on my shoulder and pat her tiny back. “I’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?” But the hope in Izzy’s eyes is unmistakable.
“Go,” Maeve says. “If we need anything, we’ll come up.”
“I’m not going to cry,” Izzy says as she turns away and flees up the stairs.
I tuck the blanket around the baby more firmly and hold her close. “There now, sugar. Aren’t you tired from making all that racket?”
She quiets and takes a big, deep breath.
“That’s right. You just needed someone calm, didn’t you?”
I kiss the baby’s soft head and then glance up to find Maeve, Maggie, Rachel, and Fiona all staring at me in surprise.
“What?”
“Well, if I’ve ever seen anything sweeter in all of my life, I couldn’t say what it was,” Fiona says as a smile spreads over her face. “You’re so good with her.”
“I like babies.” I kiss her head again. “What’s her name?”
“They haven’t named her yet,” Maggie says. “They can’t agree on the name, so for now, we’re just calling her Baby.”
“I don’t mind calling you Baby, if you don’t,” I say to the little infant in my arms.
Maeve wraps her apron around her waist, and Rachel sits next to me at the bar, sipping on a root beer.
“You look good with a babe on your shoulder,” Keegan says when he walks behind the bar. “Did my wife flee then?”
“I told her to go get some sleep,” I reply with a smile. “I have experience with cranky babies. And cranky teenagers, now that I think about it.”
“Hey,” Rachel says in protest, making me laugh. “I’m not always cranky.”
“Only on days that end in y,” I agree, and she sticks out her tongue at me, then turns to Keegan.
“Mr. O’Callaghan, are you hiring?”
I blink at my daughter. “What?”
“Well, I might be. What kind of job are you after, lass?”
“I’d do just about anything. I can waitress or clean up. Buss tables. That sort of thing. School starts in a month, but I’d still be able to work on the weekends.”
I stare at her, stunned. I had no idea that she wanted a job, but it’s a good idea.
“You can’t serve alcohol as you’re underage,” Keegan tells her. “So, you can’t be a server. But you could help seat the customers when they arrive and run food out from the kitchen. Buss those tables and wipe them off. And I can always use someone to help me wash the glasses back here.”