Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle 15)

She hurries away, and I watch Keegan as he pulls the taps and starts to build a Guinness. I didn’t know it was described as building a Guinness until this evening.

I’m storing all of this information up for a future book. It’s too interesting.

“Do many murders take place amongst the Irish?” I ask Keegan, who raises a brow.

“Are you planning to kill him, then? What’ll it take to get you to wait until this evening is over? I don’t have anyone on hand to fill in in the kitchen.”

I laugh and shake my head. “No, I’m wondering because I might like to write a thriller with an Irish foundation.”

“Would you now? Well, of course there’s murder to be had when humans are involved. Maybe a man wandered from his marital bed. Or a lad got tied up with the Irish mafia—which is a thing, by the way. There are all kinds of possibilities. Or, you could take the story in another direction.”

“What kind of direction is that?”

“Well, the land of Ireland is full of legends. Ghosts, the Tuatha de Danann—what you’d call faeries. You name it.”

“Are you suggesting I write a story with a paranormal twist?”

“Why not? It would be a story I’d read, I’ll tell you that.” Keegan winks at me as he finishes loading Maggie’s tray, just as she bustles out of the kitchen with two bowls of stew.

“That smells amazing.”

“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Maggie says. “She used to make it every day for the pub when she and Da still owned the place. Now, I make it instead. But the recipe is the same. I’ll fetch you some.”

“I ate already.”

“You danced and have been here for a couple of hours. A little bowl of stew won’t hurt you,” Maggie says, talking me right into it.

“Do you mind if I go back and see Shawn?” I ask.

“Not at all,” Keegan says, pointing to the door. “Help yourself. Be at home here, Lexi. And I mean that.”

“Thank you.”

Shawn’s family is so kind. So welcoming. I’m enjoying myself more than I have since I arrived in Seattle a week ago.

I push through the door to the kitchen and see Shawn wiping his hands on his apron. He reaches for a ladle and scoops some stew into a bowl, then lowers a basket of fries into some hot grease.

“How did you get roped into this?”

His head turns in surprise at my voice, and then he smiles when he sees that it’s me. He 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.”