Lilac Lane (Chesapeake Shores #14)(39)
“Kiera has nothing to do with anything,” Bryan insisted emphatically, which only seemed to make Luke’s grin spread.
“Whatever you say,” his boss commented with a knowing look. “Just be sure to lock up when you do leave.”
“So you’re done badgering me?” Bryan asked, startled.
“For tonight anyway,” Luke responded. “Unless you’d really like to sit down and talk this through, man-to-man.”
Bryan rolled his eyes at the offer. He’d stopped discussing girl troubles with his buddies in ninth grade. “Nothing to discuss.”
“Then I’m going home to my wife, whom I’m happy to admit I’m eager to see.”
“Have a good night, then,” Bryan said, his relief plain, though he held his breath until Luke was out of sight and he heard the front door of the pub close and the lock turn. Then he released a heartfelt sigh, well aware that his escape from the knowing looks and intrusive questions was only temporary. O’Briens, from everything he’d observed in recent years, seldom kept their noses out of others’ business for long. And heaven forbid that Mick O’Brien scent even a whiff of romance. He was the absolute worst of all with his meddling.
*
Sitting in the shadows outside her cottage, Kiera heard Bryan’s car as it drove in, saw the glow of the headlights go out and then heard what sounded like a muffled curse as he came into view.
“You’re still up,” he said, sounding not the least bit happy about it.
“I am, and since we’re stating the obvious, you’re later than usual. Any problems at the pub?”
“No, I just had some things to finish up,” he claimed.
Kiera didn’t entirely believe him, but she let it go. “I’m having a glass of wine,” she said. “Would you like one?”
“Are you sure you want company?” he asked. “Especially mine? We parted on a bad note this morning.”
“A common enough happening,” she retorted. “I can suffer with the company, if you’ll tell me why you took off so abruptly. I know I ask too many questions sometimes. Did I hit a nerve again?”
His laugh sounded forced. “You should probably know that I’m a bundle of nerves. It makes me an easy target to hit.”
Kiera stood up. “I’ll get you a glass of wine and perhaps you’ll tell me how that came about.”
“Or not,” he said, his tone wistful.
She paused, looked into his troubled eyes, then nodded. “Okay, then. I can leave it alone for now. We’ll just have a chat about inconsequential things or say nothing at all.”
When she came back with his wine, he’d finally settled into the chair beside hers, his long, denim-clad legs crossed at the ankles. He accepted the wine in silence, then glanced her way. “On nights like this, with a full moon and stars scattered about in a pitch-black sky, I can almost believe it’s possible to find peace.”
Kiera nodded in perfect understanding. “I’ve just been thinking much the same thing.”
He regarded her with surprise. “Are you in need of finding peace, Kiera?”
“Isn’t everyone to one degree or another? If life’s chaotic enough on a daily basis, the idea of calm holds great appeal.”
He smiled at the evasive answer. “Now who’s dodging the personal questions?”
“Not dodging them,” she insisted. “Just trying not to spoil a rare moment of agreement between us.”
She waited several minutes, allowing the night’s soothing calm to steal over them before saying, “I noticed your garden earlier. Would you mind if I helped out with some weeding sometime?”
She held her breath, anticipating an immediate rejection. Normally the thought of her invading his space would have annoyed him, but tonight his mood seemed mellower, so she concluded it was a chance worth taking. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as territorial about his garden as he was about his kitchen at the pub.
Instead of objecting to her request just on principle, he asked, “Do you enjoy gardening?”
She nodded. “Though it’s not as if I’m any sort of expert. I only had a tiny bit of space in Ireland, nothing like what you have here, so I only grew a few herbs, many of them in pots sitting in the wee bit of sun they’d get on my back steps, but I found it soothing.”
He smiled at that. “And I find it practical, which just shows even when we have something in common, we’re coming at it from different perspectives.”
“Does that mean we have to be at odds on this, too?”
“No, the two views can be compatible, I suppose. And I can admit that I like the feel of the sun on my shoulders when I work in the garden and the feel of the soil on my hands. But I also appreciate knowing that the vegetables I’ve grown are going into the food I prepare at the pub, that my ingredients are organic and grown close by, so they’re as fresh as they can possibly be.”
“There’s a movement toward that, isn’t there?” Kiera asked, trying to recall what she’d read.
“Farm to table,” Bryan replied. “Restaurants have been built around the concept. Most chefs rely on nearby farmers and markets to meet that goal. Here, for me, it’s been even more satisfying to know that much of the produce I use I actually grow myself. And what I don’t have room to grow, I get from a couple of local farmers I’ve gotten to know. Our eggs and milk are supplied locally, too. And, of course, you already know that our fish are freshly caught in local waters and picked up at the docks on the day we serve them.”