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He loosened his necktie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, releasing a long sigh.
He could have walked right by the bar and headed upstairs to the apartment he shared with some of his cousins. After all, it was empty right now. Darcy had gotten a new job recently and had been putting in long hours, excited to prove herself as a graphic artist, while his other roomies, Oliver and Gavin, were working late at a construction site with Uncle Killian and Uncle Justin.
Colm would have had the entire apartment to himself, something that was rare, given the number of family members who treated the place—the Collins Dorm—as home base for…well…practically everything. Pretty much every Collins celebration took place either here in the pub or upstairs. From graduation parties to bridal showers, his huge, crazy, fun family always managed to find something to celebrate, and damn if they didn’t do it in style.
Just this morning, Darcy was buzzing around the apartment, her excitement almost tangible as she pointed out that with their annual Halloween party happening this weekend, they were kicking off the official “Collins social season.” After the Halloween party—which Sunnie and Darcy had been planning for ages—it was one festivity after another as they hosted Friendsgiving, Thanksgiving dinner, a Christmas party, and then rang in the New Year in serious style.
Colm was exhausted just thinking about it. Which was unusual for him. He always looked forward to family events, but this year…this year it felt like hard work.
Shit. The job really was getting to him.
He rubbed his eyes, then kept them closed, breathing in and out slowly. He’d almost found peace when there was a loud scratching sound of the stool next to him, sliding across the floor.
“Fucking fuck of a fucked-up day.”
Colm sighed. He should have gone upstairs.
He didn’t bother to open his eyes to acknowledge the new arrival. “Hey, Kell.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He glanced over and saw her looking at him curiously.
“Were you asleep?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I was relaxing. And it was working. Until you showed up.”
Kelli rolled her eyes, completely unrepentant about disturbing him. Not that he should be surprised. They knew each other far too well for her to ever genuinely take offense over anything he said. Same went for him.
Kelli had been Padraig’s best friend since kindergarten. Leave it to his twin brother to pick a girl as his best friend. And not just a girl but Padraig’s polar opposite. Padraig was an easy-going, quiet, gentle soul.
Kelli, on the other hand, was brash, loud, opinionated. She and Colm had butted heads for as many years as she and Padraig had been friends. Probably because, as Colm’s mother liked to point out whenever he bitched about her, she and Colm were too much alike. Which Mom insisted was probably the reason why Padraig adored Kelli so. As if that was supposed to make him like her better.
“Hey, Paddy,” Kelli called out when Padraig returned from the stockroom with a new bag of peanuts. “I need a glass of cab sav. A big glass.”
“The nine-ounce pour?” Padraig teased.
“You stop at nine ounces and I’m going to kick your ass. Actually, save the glass. I’ll just drink straight from the bottle.”
Padraig laughed as he placed the wineglass in front of her, pouring red wine all the way to the rim.
Kelli lifted it gingerly, careful not to spill a single drop as she took a big sip, then sighed dramatically. “God, Paddy. You’re the greatest man I’ve ever known.”
Padraig rolled his eyes, then put the bottle of wine in front of her. “Just in case I’m not here the second you drain that first glass.”
“Marry me,” she said, the joke a standard. Kelli had asked Padraig to marry her no less than seventeen million times over the years.
And Padraig always gave her the same response. “You’re too much woman for me, Kell. It just wouldn’t work.”
“Speaking of marriage…where’s Emmy?” Kelli asked, wiggling her eyebrows playfully at Padraig.
Only Kelli could get away with such a segue.
Over the course of the past year or so, Emmy Martin had become a regular at Pat’s Pub, the quiet romance author achieving what only one other patron in the history of the business had managed. Her own saved spot at the bar. Padraig had placed a permanent reserved sign at the end of the counter for her since it was the place Emmy set up camp almost daily as she wrote her books.
The only other person with a saved stool was Pop Pop, though his was front and center, as the fun-loving man needed to be right in the thick of “the action” at the pub. Colm had figured out a long time ago that “action” meant Pop Pop had the seat with the best view of the big screen TV that hung behind the bar to watch whatever sport was in season, and a prime location for hearing any and all of the gossip shared.
Padraig pretended to be annoyed by the question. “Ha ha, Kell. Emmy is not here tonight.”
