The Pub Across the Pond by Mary Carter

horse. Guaranteed to send shock waves through the Killarney Races! Only a few lads knew about it. They would keep their bets low until the very last betting second to keep the odds in their favor. Howards End would win. He had to. Otherwise Ronan was sunk, and so was the pub.
    â€œHello there, how ya keeping?” a female voice rang out. Ronan was so fixated on his upcoming win, he’d forgotten that he was walking right past the Collinses’ hardware shop. Sally Collins stood outside smiling and waving. Petite, raven-haired, and perky. She was wearing a green jacket with rhinestones, a white cap with rhinestones, and jeans with rhinestones. Ronan was on such a high he had half a mind to swoop her up and give her a good-luck kiss, but knowing Sally, she would take it as a sign that he was madly in love with her.
    â€œGrand, grand,” Ronan said without slowing down. “What’s the craic?”
    â€œDamn all,” Sally said.
    â€œYou’re awful sparkly today,” he said with a wink. She smiled. Every time she looked at him like that he’d think: ovulating.
    Nod and smile, just nod and smile. Sally Collins had been chasing him since they were kids. She was seven years younger, but still, getting up there. He really thought she would have married someone else by now. Instead, she was waiting for him. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting. She held on to any sliver of attention he showed her, even innocent things that were never intended as a romantic gesture, like the “romantic love letter” he’d left in the abbey when they were fifteen. He’d told her plenty of times to forget about him. He’d been nice about it. He’d been an ass about it. He’d avoided her. Now, he had to admit, he was slightly worn down. He couldn’t help but admire her pluck; he couldn’t help hating her for being so damn sure she wanted him. It was starting to confuse him.
    â€œHow does a June wedding sound?” Sally said.
    â€œExpensive,” Ronan said.
    â€œSeptember?”
    â€œI’ll get back to ye,” he said.
    â€œAny month will do,” Sally said. She twirled a strand of dark hair with her finger and smiled. That wasn’t fair. A guy could take advantage of that. She didn’t know how lucky she was that he never had. He gave her a quick salute and headed on. Her disappointment trailed after him like a wet, smelly dog.
    Â 
    The pub beckoned like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. A good walking distance from Main Street, the pub and Joe’s shop were surrounded by land. Ronan thought it was the best of both worlds, even if some customers were too lazy to make it out here. As he bounded up to the door, he heard the lads coming up behind him. Anchor’s tractor was parked underneath the enormous ash tree that stood guard in front of the pub. Eoin, Collin, Billy, Ciaran, and Danny were coming up the walk. They all had newspapers and betting cards out and they walked on autopilot, feet heading steadily for the front door. Ronan prayed none of them would bet on his shock wave; he couldn’t afford for the odds to decrease. He had to get the dough from the bar and run to the bookmakers.
    Anchor was the first to smack into the door. The rest rammed into him like a six-car pileup. They grunted and swore, then swore some more, then stepped back, stared at the door, and swore some more.
    â€œChrist,” Anchor said. “The door’s closed?” Declan always left the door open. Said it made it easier for the lads to saunter in and stagger-wobble out.
    â€œWell, open it, you eejit,” Eoin said. He had a wife and kid waiting at home; he was always hurrying people along. He stepped forward and gave the knob a rattle. Then he pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. They all looked at Ronan. A vague worry flickered through him. He still had three weeks to pay off Uncle Joe. He put his shoulder against the door and heaved.