Books

IRISH EYES is a contemporary romance set on the south coast of Ireland. It’s the first book in a loosely connected series of four stories which take place in the same small town. I recently completed the second book, LUCK OF THE IRISH.

Chapter One

Ballybeg, County Cork, Ireland

Fiona Byrne didn’t believe in fate. People forged their own destinies. Through hard work and forward planning, everyone could carve their own paths. When Fiona left Ballybeg ten years ago, she’d imagined a triumphant return, preferably in a fancy car and designer clothes. And yet here she was, right back where she’d started from: broke, jobless, and of no fixed abode. She glared up at the twinkling stars. This had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

“That’ll be five euros,” said the beefy bouncer guarding the door.

“Five euros? To get into a pub? Gareth, that’s moonlight robbery!”

Gareth shrugged. “We’re a club now. We’ve got a dance floor and all.”

“You mean the shed out the back? Sure, that’s always been there.”

“Either pay up or leave, Fiona. There’s a queue of people behind you.”

Grumbling, Fiona rummaged through her purse. It was a lot easier to argue with an anonymous stranger than a guy she’d known since primary school. She had exactly twenty euros to last her until the end of the month. So much for a cheap night out. She inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar sting of salt-tinged sea air. Ballybeg on a Friday night. Home sweet home. May God help her! Handing the money to Gareth, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The pub was packed. As the only venue in several towns to cater to punk rock and metal fans, O’Connor’s attracted a plentiful clientele. With the exception of the gothic metal music which boomed through the speakers, O’Connor’s made no effort to appear either alternative or trendy.

Fiona automatically scanned the room as she squeezed her way through the heaving throng. A lot had changed in the years she’d been away, but O’Connor’s was still as shabby as ever. It was a far cry from the trendy clubs in Dublin. The same pictures of long-dead martyred heroes adorned the walls, all men who had fallen during Ireland’s troubled history. The leather seats were even more ripped and patched than they had been ten years ago. The wooden bar was the old-fashioned kind, once richly polished, now dulled and scratched in places. Guinness was on tap, as were several other beers. The drink selection was impressive for a country pub, but that was Ireland for you.

A small courtyard out the back served as a smokers’ den, leading to the converted shed in which the dance floor was located.

But dancing was the last thing on Fiona’s mind.

Finally, she spotted her friends at a table in the far right corner of the pub. Sinéad was engaged in a desperate attempt to ward off the unwanted attentions of a guy with a mullet. As usual, Olivia was flirting up a storm with the nearest thing in trousers.

Fiona waved over to them and jerked her thumb in the direction of the bar, indicating she wanted to order a drink before joining them. There were a few people ahead of her. While waiting to be served, Fiona’s gaze drifted over the crowd.

And froze.

Gavin Maguire!

At that moment, he looked up, his sky blue eyes riveting her in place. She felt her stomach lurch, and quickly averted her gaze.

Fiona had known she’d run into him sooner or later. She’d just been banking on the “later” part. When she arrived in Ballybeg two weeks ago, her aunt mentioned Gavin was in Belfast for a couple of months on a work-related course.

Apparently, he was back.

He was standing at the far end of the bar beside Jonas O’Mahony and a couple of other guys she vaguely recognised from way back when.

All her hopes that he’d developed a beer gut and a receding hairline in the past decade evaporated. Gavin was just as handsome as she remembered. Damn him! At 5’9”, Fiona was hardly a small woman, but he topped her by several inches. He’d cut his hair since she’d last seen him, and added a few piercings. The close-cropped dark blond hair accentuated his ruggedly handsome features. His build was broad and muscular, and he carried himself with confidence. His well-muscled shoulders filled out his leather jacket to perfection. All in all, he was a sight to behold. Her heart hammered in her chest. Even after all these years, she wasn’t immune to his charms. And she despised herself for it.

Refusing to look in his direction again, Fiona paid for her drink with shaking hands. Taking a fortifying sip of her gin and tonic, she headed towards her friends.

Olivia was her usual fashionable self. Her glossy red hair was done up in a chic chignon, exposing her graceful neck. Fiona guessed her dress was one of her own designs. The vibrant green stood out in a crowd of mostly black-clad customers. Somehow, Olivia managed to pull it off.

Sinéad was dressed in her regulation dark jeans and t-shirt. She wore her blonde hair loose tonight, providing an attractive contrast to the relentless black of her outfit.

Fiona shrugged off her coat and slid gratefully into the seat her friends had saved for her. In her black trousers and stretchy top, she blended in with the crowd. Her only nod to fashion was the addition of a sparkly silver belt. It certainly wasn’t what she wore on a night out in Dublin.

“Hey, sweetie. How’s it going?” Olivia disentangled herself from her Man of the Month and sent him off to the bar to get her a drink. Fiona had a vague recollection that his name was either Seán or Séamus, but it hardly seemed worth asking him for clarification. Olivia would most likely have dumped him by this time next week.

“Glad to finally have a night off,” said Fiona, pushing an unruly curl back from her face. Her hair was doing its usual uncontrollable frizz thing, certainly not helped by the wind and the salty sea air. One of her former colleagues at the bank had described her as resembling a poodle. Although Fiona was annoyed by the description, privately she agreed the guy wasn’t far wrong. “If it weren’t for Bridie’s bingo friends collecting her and dropping her home again, I wouldn’t even have tonight free.”

“That bad, eh?” asked Olivia.

Fiona smiled wryly. “The shop is no problem, but I’m definitely not cut out for the nursing profession. And Bridie’s not exactly a model patient. She’s incapable of taking it easy. I caught her trying to sneak down to The Book Mark today, would you believe. Said she needed to make sure I’d sorted the new stock correctly. I have no idea how I’ll manage to keep her out of the place for the next couple of months, especially with Christmas fast approaching.”

Olivia grinned. Bridie’s formidable personality was the stuff of legend.

“I think I’d go nuts if I was holed up in that dusty old shop all day,” said Olivia, wrinkling her perfect patrician nose in distaste. “Although I must admit that the café part is nice.”

“Ah, now, come on. You know me and books. Working there is hardly a sacrifice.”

Olivia looked at her with knowing eyes. “After living so long in Dublin, I’m surprised you’re content to run a shop in Ballybeg, particularly at this time of year. At least there’s some bit of life to the place during the tourist season. And you were always so keen to get away.”

“Ah, but according to Bridie, the population of Ballybeg has increased “significantly” in recent years.”

Olivia snorted. “Yeah, from about 3,999 to 4001 inhabitants. Great. Besides, most people who live here commute to Cork City for work. There’s not much happening in Ballybeg during the day.”

“I’m only here temporarily,” insisted Fiona. “Just until Bridie’s back on her feet again. And I find a proper job.”

“If you say so…” Olivia looked unconvinced.

Fiona willed her not to pry further. She wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Admitting she’d been laid off was bad enough. Telling people she was in imminent danger of losing her house was humiliating, especially since she’d been foolish enough to saddle herself with a high mortgage. Add the disaster with Philip into the equation, and it was more than she could cope with right now. And wasn’t it just typical that the music was uncharacteristically low this evening? It was usually loud enough to preclude any serious attempts at conversation.

Fiona was rescued from Olivia’s concerned look by an unlikely source of salvation. Sinéad’s Mullet chose that moment to drunkenly stumble into their table, almost upsetting their drinks.

“Hey, babes,” he slurred, his eyes bloodshot and unfocussed.

Olivia shot him a quelling glance. The Mullet finally got the message that his company was not desired and staggered off in search of further prey.

Sinéad breathed a sigh of relief and sat down beside Fiona.

“I swear he gets more persistent every week. Seriously, do I look like a Billy Ray Cyrus fan?”

Fiona laughed. “No,” she replied, “But you did like Bon Jovi back in our dim and distant youth.”

“What?” exclaimed Sinéad in horror. “Bon Jovi never had a mullet!”

“Oh, he definitely had a mullet,” insisted Fiona. “And a permed mullet no less. Just look at a few pictures from the late 80s.”

“Ladies,” interjected Olivia sternly. “Enough already with the mullets. We’ve got more serious business to attend to.” She turned to Fiona. “Like finding you a decent man.”

Now it was Fiona’s turn be horrified. “Now wait a minute, Olivia. I just got out of a relationship. Finding a man is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”

“Rubbish,” said Olivia, waving a perfectly-manicured hand dismissively. “Every heterosexual woman wants a man in her life. There’s only so much a vibrator can do for a girl after all.”

Fiona stifled a grin. “Thanks for your concern, Olivia, but I assure you me and my vibrator are doing just fine.”

“But what about sex? Don’t you want some action between the sheets? You were with Whatsisface for an age, after all. It’s time for some fun!”

“His name is Philip,” said Fiona. “And trust me, ladies, I’m so over men right now that sex is the last thing on my mind.” Liar, liar! she thought to herself as images of a naked Gavin flooded her mind. But if her experience with Philip had taught her anything, it was that she was better off single. At least until she’d had time to reassess her life and regain her self-confidence.

Olivia raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Seriously, Olivia, the last thing I want right now is some eejit who leaves the toilet seat up and his underwear on the bathroom floor.”

But Olivia’s tenacity was legend and she wasn’t giving up without a fight.

“Right,” she said, opening her purse and extracting a piece of paper. “I’ve compiled a list of all the eligible bachelors in the area. We can go through it and see if any of them strike your fancy. I’ve tried to leave out anyone I’ve slept with, as I knew you wouldn’t like that.”

Fiona was suitably aghast at the prospect of being set up with one of Olivia’s many former conquests.

“I don’t need help! I’ll find a man. In my own time.”

Olivia snorted. “If it was left up to you, you’d still be propping up the bar post-menopause. No, what you need is a helping hand and a little decisive action.” She returned her gaze to the list in her hand. “So…what about Dermot O’Brien? He’s just split up from that harridan he married, so he’s on the market.”

“Dermot O’Brien?” cried Fiona, almost choking on her drink. “He wears white tank tops! Even in winter! Did you know the Americans call those things “wife beaters”?”

Olivia was dismissive. “You can work on his wardrobe, sweetie. He owns land. Okay, being a farmer’s wife is hardly glamorous, but you always say you don’t buy into that Big City thing anyway. Come on, just one date. What have you got to lose? I know he likes you…”

“Hell, no! I am most emphatically not going out with Dermot O’Brien.”

“How about Mick Hennessy? He’s a nice guy. Yeah, he’s had a few brushes with the law, but he’s been straight for at least five years. He’s pretty sexy, too.”

“No, Olivia. Enough already. I really don’t want to date a gaol bird, nor any of the other guys on your list. Besides which, if they’re that great, why aren’t you dating them?”

“She has a point, Olivia,” said Sinéad.

Olivia shrugged. Capitulation wasn’t in her nature. “I’m trying to find guys who’d suit Fiona, not me. Besides, I’ve got Séamus, haven’t I?”

“Er…yeah. About Séamus…”

“Besides,” continued Olivia, blithely ignoring Fiona’s attempt to change the subject, “I’ve barely started going through my list. You don’t know who all else I’ve got lined up for you.”

“If Dermot O’Brien and Mick Hennessy are a good indication of what to expect, please don’t continue.”

When Olivia had originally mentioned the list, Fiona had been sure she was joking. Now she realized she was very serious indeed.

“And we don’t even need my list to work from!” said Olivia with a beam. “Just take a look around you at all the hot men in here tonight.”

Sinéad and Fiona exchanged dubious glances.

“Olivia,” said Sinéad carefully, “There’s the same crowd there always is. If they haven’t looked hot for the past five years, I don’t know why they should start to tonight.”

“Well, most of them are new to Fiona. Right, sweetie?”

Fiona started. She’d been stealing a surreptitious glance at Gavin’s impressively taut buttocks as he stood at the bar.

“What do you mean? I’ve been back in Ballybeg two weeks. I’ve yet to see any man here who earns a second glance.”

“Oh, come off it, Fiona. What about that guy over there with the Celtic Cross tattoo? He’s pretty cute, in a dishevelled sort of way.”

“What?” said Sinéad. “He looks like a gang member, Olivia. You can’t possibly want to set Fiona up with him!”

“I’m not trying to set Fiona up with anyone. She’s quite capable of doing that all by herself…with a little nudge in the right direction of course.”

Sinéad cast Fiona a sympathetic look. They’d both known Olivia for years and were well acquainted with her tenacity.

“Besides which,” continued Olivia with a sly grin. “Who says we need to confine ourselves to new blood? Surely there’s someoneFiona recalls fondly from her formative years here.”

Fiona gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t remember thinking the menfolk of Ballybeg were all that hot when I was a teenager.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you sneaking glances Gavin Maguire’s way. You’re not as indifferent to our “menfolk” as you’d like us to think!”

“He’s not with Maren anymore,” piped up Sinéad. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Fiona fidgeted with her glass. “It makes no difference to me whether or not he’s still with Maren. That’s his business.”

“Yeah, right! We believe you…not! If you tell any more porky pies, your nose is going to be longer than Gavin Maguire’s…legs.”

Sinéad and Olivia roared laughing at the obvious sexual innuendo, and Fiona felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. While Fiona wasn’t as shy as Sinéad, she certainly lacked Olivia’s unabashed sexual confidence.

“So what if I had a teenage crush on him? That was years ago,” said Fiona, feigning a nonchalance which bore little resemblance to her inner turmoil. “Besides which, I hardly want Maren’s cast-offs.”

“To be fair,” said Sinéad, “He dumped her, so technically, she’s his cast-off.”

“I don’t care which one of them ended their relationship. The fact that Gavin went out with her at all doesn’t bode well for his character.”

“Speaking of Maren…Have you seen your cousin since you got back? Or is she still incarcerated?”

Fiona tried to stifle a grin but failed.

“No. According to Bridie, she’s still in the clinic, ostensibly for exhaustion.”

“What the heck?” bit out Olivia. “Does she think she’s a bloody celeb, or something? Drying out is more like it.”

“Where is she, anyway?” asked Sinéad.

“Some place near Cork with the unfortunate name of Serenity Pines,” answered Fiona with a wry smile. “It’s hard to imagine Maren bringing serenity anywhere.”

“Indeed not,” snorted Olivia. “Well, I hope she stays there, and good riddance. Now, about my list…”

“Of course,” said Fiona dryly, “I should have known you wouldn’t let that drop.”

She shifted in her seat and reached for her drink. “No thanks, ladies. I’m free and single and I intend to stay that way for the foreseeable.”

If she told herself that often enough, thought Fiona, she might even start to believe it.