Love and Blarney by Zara Keane

was hope for them after all.

    By the middle of her second day helping out at the pub, Jayme’s feet were screaming for a massage. She stretched her stiff bones and rubbed the small of her back. When was the last time she’d been on her feet this long? Probably not since her residency at New York-Pres.
    Ruairí poked his head around the kitchen door. “How’s it going?”
    She gave him a warm smile. “It’s going.”
    “Can I tempt you with a coffee?”
    “Coffee sounds wonderful.”
    “Coming right up.” He hovered in the doorway. An emotion she couldn’t pinpoint flickered across his face. “Want to come out to the bar for a break? It’s pretty quiet at the moment. Most of the lunchtime customers have left.”
    “Yeah. That would be great.” She untied Marcella’s crazy apron—a green, white, and gold monstrosity featuring a picture of a demented-looking leprechaun drinking a pint of Guinness atop a pot of gold—and hung it on the hook by the door.
    Out in the main bar, John-Joe and Buck were playing a game of cards with a couple of their drinking pals. An attractive redhead of about thirty sat at a window table, leafing through a glossy magazine. Otherwise, the pub was deserted.
    “Trade will pick up again this evening,” Ruairí said, reading her mind. He placed a cappuccino in front of her and handed her a teaspoon and a packet of artificial sweetener. “But Marcella will be back by then, and she can deal with the throng.”
    Jayme tore open the packet and stirred the sweetener into her coffee. “Any word on how her interview went?”
    “Not so far.”
    The redhead approached the bar, clutching a gorgeous purse. It was a Gucci model Jayme had admired in Saks a few months back. The woman gave her a warm smile and extended a hand. “You must be the mysterious Mrs. MacCarthy. I’m Olivia. Welcome to Ballybeg.”
    Jayme blinked and accepted the handshake. “I… thank you.”
    “News travels fast in this town.” Olivia’s dark blue eyes twinkled. “Did Ruairí tell you Ballybeg literally means ‘small town’? It comes from the Gaelic baile beag. As you’ve probably discovered, it more than lives up to its name.”
    “No, I didn’t know that. The only Gaelic I know is sláinte.”
    The other woman laughed. “That’s the only Gaelic you need to know around here.” She slid a banknote across the bar to Ruairí. “Thanks for the lunch. I’d better get back to the office.”
    “Any word from Gavin and Fiona?” he asked.
    “I had an e-mail from Fiona yesterday,” the woman said. “Seems they’re having a grand old time in Australia.”
    “Good to hear it.”
    “Say, Jayme.” Olivia leaned on the counter. “If you’re staying in Ballybeg for a while, maybe we can do coffee. The Book Mark Café is a good spot to meet for a scone and a chat.”
    “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here,” Jayme said, deliberately not looking in Ruairí’s direction, “but if I extend my vacation, I’d love to meet up with you.”
    Olivia’s smile widened. “Excellent. Ruairí has my number. Give me a call and we’ll sort something out.”
    As Olivia opened the pub door to leave, Marcella marched in. She had a triumphant grin plastered across her wide face. Her black pants and shirt would have looked conservative had they not been accompanied by a multicolored top hat. A pretty woman a couple of years Marcella’s junior lagged a few steps behind her. She gave Jayme a tentative smile.
    “I totally rocked my interview.” Marcella beamed at Jayme. “Thanks a million for filling in for me. I owe you one.”
    “No problem.” Her delight was infectious. “It was my pleasure.”
    “This is Máire, my girlfriend.” Marcella jerked a thumb at her shy companion.
    “Pleased to meet you,” Jayme said with a smile.
    “To show how grateful I am for you filling in for me at such short notice, Máire’s offered to help me run the pub for the next couple of days. Sharon says she’s already