Love & Luck(56)

My face attempted a copycat of Ian’s. Miriam’s attention felt sparkly, and a little too heavy. “What about me?”

She poked her finger at me. “I hear you are quite the mechanic. That’s a talent. Maybe not one I can book, but a talent just the same. Ian said this trip wouldn’t have worked without you.”

Happiness bloomed in my chest. “Ian, you said that?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Rowan piped up. “If it weren’t for Addie, we’d still be dragging our tailpipe across Ireland. She even saved us today. Right after Blarney, my car started overheating and she managed to get us to the mechanic shop down the street.”

Miriam sighed. “Let me guess, Connor Moloney’s place? I hate to say it, but that man is as useless as a chocolate teapot.” She crossed her arms. “So, mechanic. What do you have to say for yourself?”

What did I have to say for myself? “Uh, cars are just something I enjoy.”

“And that you’re good at,” she insisted.

“I call her Maeve,” Rowan said. “Because the first time I saw her, she was tackling Ian in a parking lot. She’s like a warrior queen.”

Now I was really blushing. “Sorry, why are we talking about this?”

“Because we need to!” Miriam pumped her arm. “We need more warrior queens around here. Especially ones that own up to their power.” She leaned in, studying my embarrassed expression. “Addie, you know what I do, right? For work?”

I nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah . . . you book talent.”

“Wrong.” She jabbed a finger at me, her voice rising into an enthusiastic crescendo. “I empower. I find people who are out there singing their songs, and I put a microphone in front of them and make sure the world is listening. And you know what? I want to do that for you, Addie.”

What was she talking about?

Before I could figure it out, she leapt to her feet and wrapped her arm around mine, dragging me up to the stage.

“Hey, Miriam, I don’t sing. Or play anything.” Or do stages. Unless it was on a field, I hated being in the spotlight. I desperately tried to wrench away, but she just yanked me up onto the platform, positioning me in front of a standing microphone. Ian and Rowan watched with wide eyes, but neither of them attempted to rescue me. Traitors.

“Pat! The microphone!” Miriam yelled.

One of the bartenders ducked under the bar, and suddenly the mic stand crackled to life. Miriam shoved it into my face. “Go on, Addie. Tell the nice people what you did.”

I looked at her in horror. True, the pub wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been earlier during the live performance, but there were still plenty of people, and every one of them looked up from their tables, amused smiles etched on their faces. They were clearly used to Miriam’s antics.

“Go on,” she insisted, giving me a nudge. “Tell the nice people your name and how badass you are. Making a declaration can be very powerful.”

Do I really have to do this? Right as the thought entered my mind, her arm constricted around me like a boa. There was no way she was letting me off this stage. I cleared my throat. “Um, hello, everyone. My name is Addie Bennett.”

“Queen Maeve!” Ian shouted from the audience, his hands cupped around his mouth.

I blushed straight down to my toes. Once this was over, I was going to murder him. “So . . . Miriam wants me to tell you that for the last couple of days I’ve been on a road trip. Our car keeps breaking down, so I’ve been fixing it. And . . . that’s it.” I hastily shoved the microphone back toward Miriam’s hands and attempted to dive off the stage, but she grabbed hold of the back of my shirt.

“Wait just a minute, Addie. You know what I like to see? A woman who knows her strength. A woman who owns the fact that she is smart and creative, a woman who can get things done. Addie, you are a powerful woman.” She grabbed my hand and raised it over our heads, victor-style. “Go on, Addie. Say it.”

I cringed. “Say what exactly?”

Rowan and Ian grinned at each other. They were loving every minute of this.

“Say, ‘I am the hero of my own story.’?”

“I’m the hero of my own story,” I said quickly.

“No, no, no. Louder. Open up the diaphragm. Really belt it out.”

Was she not seeing the irony in forcing someone to declare how powerful they were? Just get this over with, I told myself.

I took a deep breath and yelled right into the microphone, “I am the hero of my own story!”

“Yes! Again!” Miriam shouted.

This time I really let loose. “I AM THE HERO OF MY OWN STORY.”

“Good girl.” Miriam dropped my arm, her face glowing with perspiration.

It actually did feel good to yell. It would probably feel even better if I believed it.



“So that was weird,” I managed, dragging my and Ian’s suitcases over to the staircase. As soon as Miriam had dismissed me from the stage, Ian had jetted off, intent on seeing our rooms.

Rowan grinned. “You stood on a stage and yelled to a bunch of strangers about what a hero you are. What’s weird about that?”

I attempted to slug him, but the suitcases made it impossible.