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That’s not saying Conor and Brenna didn’t know how crazy it gets on the holiday—they’re well aware—but they’ve been part of the pub life their entire lives.
St. Patrick’s Day is just another busy day, in their books.
Every time the door opens, the crowd erupts in cheers. Saint is working the entrance right now, handing out coins as appropriate, and the cheers usually have something to do with the attire of the group coming in. With half a grin on my face, I echo the cheers as well, pouring another glass of OG. The room is getting louder, but it’s not unpleasant—simply a constant chatter.
A loud white noise.
There are cheers and laughter and loud—off-key—singing happening to the songs on the jukebox. Colie comes up to give Shayne a break, and everything is moving smoothly.
“Colie!” a patron yells, and we both look up. It’s one of our regulars, Janet—a woman who’s probably in her forties and comes every Thursday with two of her girlfriends. Some nights they drink beer, but most nights they drink wine. All nights, they shoot darts. “Isn’t this Jaxon?” She points up to the ceiling, her motions clear that she wants Colie to listen closely.
Sure enough, through the vibration of voices, Liam Jaxon’s latest country single is playing.
We don’t have the music on a random playlist, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Janet put it on to see if she could get a rise out of Colie.
I watch my friend. The towel she’s using to quickly dry a glass slows around the lip, but instead of a negative reaction at hearing her former boyfriend singing an upbeat song about country nights and bright stars, a small smile breaks out on her face.
“Yes,” she nods. “It is. He’s done really great, hasn’t he?”
Before I can check on Janet’s reaction, someone is calling me at the other end of the bar and I move to attend to others.
I never met Jaxon, but he and Colie started here at the same time. In fact, they grew up together and moved out to San Diego together. But, as luck would have it, Jaxon was “discovered” by someone in the music industry and left for Nashville.
Why Colie didn’t go with, I don’t know. No one talks about it. I didn’t know the guy, so it’s not like I have much to offer in conversation.
Therefore, I don’t bring it up.
The hours move quickly, and soon both Colie and Shayne are off the floor and Ben is on bar with me. I’ll get a break as soon as Cash is able to switch off with me, but with how busy we’ve gotten, I may forfeit the thirty and just jump in the back for a quick bite to eat.
The groups of people change over, one set for another, but if you didn’t know names and faces, you’d never realize. It’s getting closer and closer to nine, and on aregularnight, the party would only be beginning. I have a feeling that come closing time, we’ll still have a pretty full house.
With as many patrons as we’ve had tonight, I couldn’t tell you who’s come and who’s left. At any random point, you realize that a regular was here and no longer is, but the movement is so quick—and the time is moving so fast—it’s easy to lose track of everyone.
So explain to me why then, when the front door opened for over the hundredth time tonight, it felt like the world stopped moving for a fraction of time?
Why it felt like the sounds dimmed, and the lights brightened?
Why it seemed like Saint moved in slow motion to allow the next guests to come inside?
The moment the two females step inside, the world zooms back to real time as if in fast forward, and I catch my first glimpse of Sophia in nearly forty-eight hours. She and her friend—the roommate—step inside. Both women are wearing Kelly green shirts, although Sophia’s seems a little darker. The roommate is wearing black cropped leggings with her shirt, and Sophia wear’s denim shorts, showing off shapely thighs.
Shit. She’s gorgeous.
I remind myself that she’s just coming off a relationship, but it doesn’t stop the desire from swirling in my gut.
I thenalsoremind myself that I left her my number, and she didn’t use it.
Maybe she was embarrassed.
She has nothing to be embarrassed about, but I know from having sisters that females think differently than men.
Before I can wave Sophia and her roommate over to the only seat at the bar, Saint is escorting them to the karaoke stage.
Oh no.
I can’t stop the wide smile from breaking out on my face, wondering which of the girls broke the Irish St. Patrick’s Day “rule.” Except, instead of stopping at the stage, he walks them to the prize buckets. From my spot across the bar, I can make out that he’s grinning and chuckling.
Probably flirting.
