“Did you fly in your plane?”
Inwardly I winced, not wanting to flaunt my wealth. I didn’t want Serena’s parents thinking I felt I was somehow better because I had money and family prestige. “Yes. My ancestors started a pub there over a hundred years ago, and my grandfather moved here, opening one here.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “What’s ancestor?”
“That’s like a grandfather,” Mr. Moore explained, finishing off his drink.
“Dinner,” his wife called out. He held his hand out to direct me toward their dining table. Their apartment was bigger than Serena’s which felt too small for her and a small boy, but she seemed to make it work. I wondered if her focus on her career was to make more so she could get a larger place. She might do better to start her own business. Maybe we could add event planning to Roarke businesses. We hosted events set up by others all the time. Maybe we should get rid of the middle man. I wondered if Serena would be interested in doing that for us.
“Devin you sit there next to Serena,” she said. Serena smirked at me.
We all sat and Mrs. Moore made a thing out making sure I was served. “It’s just stew—”
“It’s not just stew,” Mr. Moore said annoyed. “It’s the best Irish stew in New York. The Roarke can’t even beat it.”
Mrs. Moore looked horrified. “Now honey, you know the Roarke has very good food.”
“I love Irish stew,” I said. “The Roarke doesn’t serve it anymore.” It was a change my mother influenced years ago when she decided stew was too low class for the clientele that the Roarke served. In fact, much of what the Roarke served could be best called Irish-ish, because it wasn’t truly authentic anymore.
“See, Alyse, the boy likes stew.”
I took the bread Serena offered me. “Can I dunk?” I whispered to her. My mother would be horrified that I’d dunk my bread into my stew, and I wasn’t sure if that was a snooty rule or not.
“Yes, absolutely,” Mr. Moore said.
I grinned, poking my bread into my bowl and then taking a bite. Delicious flavor of lamb and herbs coated my mouth. I groaned as it teased my taste buds.
“This is fantastic,” I said.
“I use mutton. Most people use lamb now,” Mrs. Moore said, smiling with pride.
“And Guinness,” Serena added.
“It’s wonderful. Really. I usually only have good Irish stew when I get to Ireland. Now I’ll just come here.”
“Come anytime you like, honey,” Mrs. Moore patted my hand.
“Suck up,” Serena whispered next to me.
I gave her a smug smile. Parents usually liked me. I suspected it was the money and family connections, but I could be charming too.
“So, you met through your parents’ anniversary party?” Mr. Moore asked. While Mrs. Moore seemed to like me, I’d yet to earn the respect of her father.
“Yes—” Serena started.
“Actually, I met Serena about five years ago.”
She flinched, giving me the impression, I wasn’t supposed to say anything about our past hook-up.
“Oh?” Her mother said intrigued. “How was that?”
“The St. Patrick's pub crawl.”
Serena closed her eyes, as if she was embarrassed.
“I was smitten and asked her to run away with me.” I grinned at her, enjoying making her squirm a bit.
“Devin is embellishing.” Serena glared at me.