Page 51

Dark walls and floors, low lighting hanging from the ceiling and mounted sconces on the wall. When he was alive, they’d all been gas fixtures. Now, the hum of electricity whirled through the space.

The decor had barely changed, though there were a few pictures on the wall now with faces he didn’t recognize. There was a time he was here almost nightly, dragging himself up from the docks or through town just to find a moment to breathe. To lean against the bar and drink a cold ale and let the tension in his shoulders ebb away.

Avery stepped inside, eyes roving over the room.

She catalogued every detail, flicking that unearthly stare over the small staircase in the corner that led to the second floor, the tiny stage in the back of the room, and the sticky bartop that extended nearly wall to wall. Wolfe ran his hand over the top, a lifetime of memories rising to the surface under his fingers.

Nights with Patty where they stumbled home up the dark path, drunk and laughing like loons under a star-filled sky. Weathering out a storm inside, watching lightning flash out over the sea. Dancing in the heat of the room, sweat sliding like a river down the column of his spine. More than one beautiful woman catching his eye and tossing him a sly wink.

He missed it.

He thought he talked himself out of missing things, that with time it would all fade away, but that old familiar ache was back.

He missed his family.

His brother.

The man behind the bar shouted for Avery to take whichever seat she wanted. Wolfe moved around her, fingers trailing over her waist. He was a glutton for punishment, surely, but he didn’t feel real unless some part of him touched her.

He led her to his favorite table, the one tucked under the stairs that gave him a perfect view of the room. He nudged her seat out for her and dropped into the one right beside it, wishing for all the world he could order himself a drink and actually taste it.

Seeing her in another one of his spaces did something odd to his chest.

On the table between them, her phone lit up. A pink box appeared, and then another and another. Avery sighed, flipping it over.

“What’ll it be?” A man appeared by the table, rapping his knuckles across the top of it.

Avery shot him a subtle look, nerves getting the better of her. He’d never met someone so hesitant in his life.

“Go on,” Wolfe encouraged.

“Guinness, please.”

“Right away.” The man paused, lingering. “American? Are you the one renting out Kilmorran then?”

Avery straightened in her seat, tight smile across her face. “I am.”

“Grand. I hope the ghosts aren’t giving you too much trouble.”

A dry laugh escaped her. “Would you believe me if I told you he’s a thorn in my side?”

Wolfe nudged her under the table, lips curling. He liked that teasing him delighted her. He liked the sparkle in her eye, the flush on her cheeks, the way she could barely contain her smile over their own private joke.

“A thorn, huh?” Wolfe murmured. “How interesting.”

Avery ignored him, keeping her attention on the man hovering by their table.

“Oh, aye. I’ve heard plenty of stories. You’re a brave lass, indeed. One moment.” He scurried away from the table, leaving them alone in the shadows.

There were only a few other patrons inside nursing their drinks or digging into a late lunch. No one paid them any mind and so Wolfe leaned his arms on the table, chair rocking with the movement.

Her phone vibrated again.

“What is that?”

“My agent, Marissa, told me I needed to show signs of life,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “People are engaging with it.”

He jerked his chin toward her phone. “Show me.”