Take A Chance With Me (With Me in Seattle 18)

“You always said that when the glassblowing wasn’t fun anymore, you’d stop doing it.”

“I’ll never stop,” he says, his voice hard. “It’s in my blood. Part of my DNA. I’ll die while making glass.”

“Just like I’ll likely die at a computer.” We pause while the server delivers our food, and I break off a piece of bacon, popping it into my mouth. “But you don’t always have to do it for a living. Christ, you have more money than you can possibly spend.”

“I don’t do it for the money, you know that.”

“I know it. That’s why I’m saying that. Don’t let anyone bully you into a certain number of pieces. The museum is your baby, and it’s important to you and your family. Your legacy. Fulfill that obligation first and then work on other exhibits if you want.”

“That is exactly what I need to do,” he agrees. “Stasia’s been craving a trip to the coast. We haven’t been down there since before the baby was born, so maybe we just need a few days away.”

“You live on the water, and you’re planning to vacation at the coast?”

“We like it,” he says with a shrug. “If I thought we could get away for longer, we’d escape to Ireland.”

“Now that I understand.”

I’ve only been to Galway, Ireland a few times with the O’Callaghan family, but it’s safe to say it’s as close to heaven as I’ve ever been, with the greenest hills I’ve ever seen, and that coastline alive with temper. I could spend weeks there and not see everything.

“You should spend more time there,” Kane suggests. “It’s a lovely place to recharge, and that’s the truth of it.”

“I have work, and everyone is here. But the next time we all go over as a family, I might take extra time to explore a bit.”

“Good idea. I heard from the private investigator.”

My gaze whips up and finds Kane watching me. “And?”

“He didn’t have much more information than before,” my friend replies. “It was a quarterly check-in.”

After Maggie’s husband died, and the family discovered all of Joey’s secrets, Kane hired an investigator. He’s turned up very little information that Maggie and the others didn’t already know.

Because there’s nothing to find unless you’re a government operative.

I know everything. Every detail.

And I’m not allowed to say a word to the people I love the most.

It’s been the worst torture of my life.

“Here’s your stew, some bread, and save some room for dessert.” Maggie winks as she sets my food in front of me. “I made some cobbler. No, it’s not Irish, but it sounded good today.”

“You can go ahead and save me some.”

She smiles brightly and then loads her tray with the drinks Keegan set out for her before setting off to deliver orders to her tables.

I’ve been doing this for years, coming into the pub to have a beer and some dinner—and watch Maggie as she weaves and shimmies through the tables and stops to sing with the band. There’s nothing like Mary Margaret’s voice filling the room.

I chat with the other regulars and enjoy banter with Maggie’s siblings.

But it’s Maggie that keeps me coming in so often. Always has been.

She lights up a room.

I notice a table of college-aged kids in the corner booth, laughing and joking with Maggie as she takes their orders. She asks for their IDs. Everyone must pass muster because she doesn’t throw anyone out.

When she returns to the bar to place her order, Keegan leans over to talk to her.

“They look a little rowdy over there.”

“Loud but harmless,” Maggie confirms. “I’ll keep them in line. But there’s another table there in the middle.”

She jerks her head in the general direction but doesn’t point so she doesn’t get too much attention from other customers.

“The one with the redhead?” I ask her.

“Yes, that one. She came in here alone and ordered a soda and dinner. That guy sitting with her just plopped himself down. I don’t think she’s comfortable with it.”

“She’s smiling,” Keegan points out.

“It’s forced,” I reply, watching the couple in question. The dude puts his hand on her arm, and she pulls away, then says something and walks up to the bar between Maggie and me.

“Excuse me,” she says to Keegan, and the man from the table walks up right behind her, listening. She frowns. “May I please have an angel shot?”

“You got it, lass.” Keegan smiles and winks at her. “I’ve got you covered.”

“She needs a beer,” the asshole announces. “Not a shot.”

“I’m talking with the lady,” Keegan replies, then looks at the woman. “Do you want extra lime with that, lass?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Keegan nods and then meets my eyes. Maggie immediately walks into the kitchen to fetch Shawn, and I glance up as Hunter joins us, as well.

Operation angel shot has begun.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to leave the lady alone,” Keegan says.