Escape With Me (The O'Callaghans #3) - Kristen Proby Page 0,1
the front door of my pub opens, and I feel my eyes go wide.
Having worked in this establishment all of my life, I’d thought I’d seen everything there was to see.
I was wrong.
Because right there, before my very eyes, is a princess.
There’s a princess in my bar.
She walks in, looking a bit lost and worse for wear now that she’s inside.
Soaking-wet from head to toe, her gown looks damn heavy. Her blond hair is saggy and coming loose from some sort of fancy up-do. Her makeup is smeared under her eyes as if she’s been crying or got caught in a torrential downpour.
Given the state of the rest of her, I’d say it was the latter.
Or both.
“Come on in, lass.”
She looks at me and walks to the bar, hops up onto a stool, and leans on her elbows.
“I’m getting your floor wet,” she says as her phone starts lighting up in her hand.
“It’ll mop up easily enough.” I pour her a shot of whiskey without her asking and set it in front of her. “You look like you can use that.”
Her blue eyes focus on the glass, and then she shoots it back and coughs. “That’s good.”
I laugh and pour her some more. “Is it raining out there?”
“Not right now,” she says. “I was driving a convertible, and it rained between here and Portland.”
I blink at her. “You could have pulled over and put up the top.”
She nods. “Oh, I guess I could have. I didn’t think of it.”
“Do you need a doctor, darling?”
She shakes her head and drinks the whiskey, still ignoring the phone on the bar. “No. I don’t know what I need, to be honest. I was supposed to be married by now, but I escaped that, just in the nick of time.”
And here we go. It’s natural for people to spill their guts to bartenders. Why, I have no idea, but they do. So, I do what I do best and start washing glasses behind the bar while the gorgeous little thing gets ready to babble away.
But to my surprise, she clenches her lips and just stares at her phone.
“Are you going to check that?”
“I should.” But she doesn’t reach for it. Finally, she pulls it to her and huffs out a breath. “My father just fired me.”
I raise a brow. “You work for your father?”
“Not anymore,” she says, then taps the screen a few times before tossing her phone into her bag. “They’re pretty mad.”
“Perhaps if you explain the why of it all, they won’t be angry.”
She watches me. “You’re probably right. But for now, I do not want to go home. I don’t want to see him or talk about why I left. I just want to be gone for a while. You know?”
“Like a vacation?”
“A vacation from my life,” she agrees. “I don’t even know how I got on this island. I drove until I came to the ferry terminal, and then I got on it—and ended up here.”
“Well, it’s a fine island to get lost on.”
“Okay, I think I can handle whatever the day might throw at us—” Maggie stops short when she sees our customer and frowns. “Oh, honey. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
The other woman laughs and shakes her head. “I must really look horrible if everyone is asking me if I need medical attention.”
“I think you looked better this morning,” Maggie says. “Are you hungry?”
“Actually, I’m starving.”
“I’ll get you some stew. I’m Maggie, by the way.”
“Izzy.” She smiles. “I’m Izzy.”
Maggie bustles to the kitchen to fetch the stew, and Izzy continues watching me.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Keegan O’Callaghan.”
“You’re a handsome one,” she says, then her eyes go wide. “And that’s the whiskey talking. But it’s true. But I’m off all men, so you’re safe from me. No need to throw me out or anything.”
I laugh and decide not to give her any more whiskey.
“I’m not throwing you out of here.”
“Good.”
Maggie returns with the stew, and Izzy digs in. “This is delicious.”
“Thanks.” Maggie smiles. “It’s a family recipe.”
“Our ma used to be in charge of the kitchen here at O’Callaghan’s,” I say.
“You two are siblings?” she asks.
“That’s right,” Maggie says. “And three others come in and out from time to time. Shawn and his wife are manning the kitchen today.”
“Where are the other two?” Izzy asks, seeming enthralled by the story.
“Kane is probably working on something in his barn,” I reply, “and Maeve is likely showing houses.”