Page 1
Prologue
Downtown Boston, March 2011
Louisa
The green lights strung around the room cast an eerie emerald glow over the empty bar. I’d taken the train to Boston and sacrificed my St. Patrick’s Day weekend because Mike swore he’d be slammed, but the place was dead. I killed time wiping down the bar top again, fiddling with my clover-shaped glasses in the mirror behind the liquor bottles.
Through the reflection, I saw the crowd start flowing in all at once, looking glum and decked out in suits and dark dresses. A tiny ball of dread formed in my gut. I hated collecting tips from sad people.
Mike leaned across the bar, towel in hand. “They’re coming straight from a funeral—the owner’s friend,” he said, looking over his shoulder. I moved to pull my costume glasses off, and he stopped me. “Keep them on. Connor was Irish and a total character. The whole bar will be toasting to his life in no time.”
A heads-up would have been nice, Mike.
I shot off a text to my friend.
Me
Your boyfriend is -10 points right now. IT’S A FUNERAL PARTY
I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I’m dressed like a leprechaun.
Miss Jay
Tell him you have to pee and sneak out the back
“I like your hair that color. It was blond the last time I saw it,” Mike said.
“Thanks,” I laughed. “I can’t resist a dare.”
The owner glided through the crowd of mourners like a swan—her skin gleaming under the lights, hair swept up into a veil. I threw my phone behind a keg.
“Whatever you do, do not let Liam behind the bar,” she said. “He’ll try to help, but the boy just needs to drink tonight.”
“Which one is Liam?” I scanned the room.
She pointed at the man holding the front door open for the group coming in. He was kind of beautiful and looked like shit at the same time. Grief personified.
“Connor’s son,” Mike said quietly. “I went to high school with him, but we weren’t friends.”
Liam was talking to a teenage girl with her back to me, one arm slung over her shoulders. When her hand clenched the fabric of his suit jacket, he abandoned the door to wrap both arms around her, rocking gently. A sister, maybe. He clocked me staring, so I busied myself with the cocktail fruit.
“Well,” Mike said, “let’s get some spirits to lift their spirits, shall we?”
“That was lame,” I scoffed with my mouth full of cherries.
He tossed his towel on my head, laughing. By the time I pulled it off and cleared the hair out of my face, Liam was standing on the other side of the bar, right in front of me.
“Hi.” The side of his mouth ticked up in amusement.
“Hi,” I mumbled before swallowing the cherries. “I’m Isa… I’m helping out tonight.”
He nodded. “Thanks for that, I’m—‘’
“Liam!” An older man interrupted him with a hearty thwack on the back as he passed. “Ye gonna be singin’ with us tonight, lad?”
He tipped his chin to the man over his shoulder before turning back to me with a wry smile. “My dad’s the dead one.”
A snort escaped, and I grinned. “Well in that case, what can I get you?” I set three shot glasses down on the bar, filling them with Jameson as I went.
