Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(34)

“What’s going on in here?” Rowen sticks his head in. His brow spikes with surprise. “You don’t wear that as well as Nuala.”

I jab a thumb toward the box. Rowen’s the one who takes care of T-shirt inventory. “Are those the only shirts we have?”

His lips sit pressed together tightly, twitching. He’s trying not to laugh. “They are. Told you to stop giving T-shirts away to customers because we were running low.”

Fuck.

“We’re getting slammed out front. I need you,” he adds in a serious tone.

“And I need to get home before some arse reports me to the gardai for being seen with Jimmy,” Aengus says through lingering chuckles, though the glint in his eye tells me he hasn’t forgiven me for that one.

Shaking my head, I trail Rowen out.

Preparing my healthy male ego for the bashing that’s about to come.

TWELVE

Amber

I spot Ivy’s slender figure leaning against the old stone wall of Delaney’s as soon as the cab turns the corner. Those high lace-up boots crossed at the ankles are impossible to miss. She’s exchanged her earlier Diva shirt and jeans for an asymmetrical gothic outfit, complete with black lace and burgundy satin. Her hair hangs smooth and shiny, framing a face that’s been painted with a heavy hand of makeup.

I’d look trashy in that getup, but somehow Ivy can pull it off.

The customers passing her on their way into the raucous bar take a second look, not that she notices, her face glued to her phone.

In my short white shorts, flowing bubblegum-pink blouse—the single long sleeve ideal to cover the bruising on my right side—and silver jeweled sandals, we couldn’t be more ill-suited to each other.

“Hey, Ivy.”

Her inky-eyed once-over of me says she’s thinking the same thing. “Are you really sure this is the kind of place you were looking for?”

“A local Irish pub? Of course. Why wouldn’t I want to come here?”

Three middle-aged men stumble out the front door, laughing and slapping each other on the back as they pull cigarettes out of their pockets. Blithering drunken idiots by nine.

“Meet the locals,” she murmurs, leading the way through the propped-open door and into a crowded, rowdy scene. The same guy who played yesterday plays again, only now he has a companion on a second guitar and they seem to be dueling. I shrink into myself as we move farther in. From what I can see, every last table is taken and the bar lineup is two deep. Whatever the fire code is in this country, I’m guessing this place isn’t adhering to it.

“Wow. I didn’t expect it to be so packed this early.” It’s just another pub, and if I’ve learned anything about Dublin in my wanderings, it’s that they have a lot of pubs to choose from. “We’re not going to find anywhere to sit, are we?”

“No one’s leaving this place until the music stops playing and the beer stops pouring. Or they get kicked out.”

I feel eyes on us as we carve our way through hot, sweaty bodies, avoiding the sloshing drinks. Having learned my lesson, I keep my small purse zipped up and tucked under my arm as we make our way to the far side to cram into an empty nook next to a bronze statue of a man.

“Are we allowed to just stand here?” I ask.

“Where else are we going to stand?” She shoots me a perturbed look, like this is my fault.

“Well . . .” I glance behind me. We’re practically hovering over someone’s table. I’ll be getting a perturbed glare from them soon, too.

“I’ve had a long day, Welles.” I bristle a little at the way she uses my last name, but I don’t say anything. “There are plenty of places like this around Dublin. It’s really nothing special. Or, worst case, we can go to Temple Bar. If you like loud drunks, you’ll love it there.”

She’s wrong about Delaney’s not being special. And I don’t want to go anywhere else. Not if River is here. I stretch onto my tiptoes and search the horseshoe-shaped bar through the crowd, but can only make out the short, curvy blonde manning the taps. River said he’d be here tonight, didn’t he? Unless that was just an excuse to get away from me? No, I have to stop thinking like that. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have left things as he did. “Can we just wait a bit, to see if something frees up?”

Ivy purses her wine-colored lips in answer, her dark eyes surveying the crowd with disdain. I’m guessing I have about five minutes before she simply walks out.

“Just stay for a bit. Please? I’ll buy you a drink.”

Her inky gaze, heavily lined with black shadow, settles on me.

“Two drinks?”

She sighs. That seems to win her over. “Well, we’re not going to get served standing here. So—”

Hoots and hollers erupt near the bar, cutting her words off. First just a few, but soon everyone seems to be joining in on the fun. I lift to my tiptoes again, to peer over the crowd. Three heads—two golden brown with a hint of copper, and one clearly a redhead, only shaved—bob along.

The energetic singer stops mid-lyric and his laughter carries over the speakers to the tune of the strumming guitar. “Well, well . . . would you look at that strapping young Delaney fella! Did Marion shrink your laundry this week? Or did you lose a wager?”

A loud chorus of laughter erupts as more heads turn.