The Summer Garden

“More than likely,” Matthew agreed. “So what brings you by here at the end of the day?”

“I was hoping you’d have time for a drink.”

“Sure. Mind if Laila tags along? I was going to meet her for dinner in an hour. You can join us.”

“That’ll work. There are some things I’d like to run by her, anyway.”

His brother regarded him suspiciously. “Just what do you and my wife have to talk about?”

“Maybe we’re conspiring to throw a surprise party for your birthday,” Luke teased, knowing how much his brother abhorred the whole concept of surprise parties, even though he’d determinedly pulled off his own almost-surprise wedding in Ireland, keeping Laila mostly in the dark until his Christmas Eve proposal.

“My birthday was just a couple of months ago, and neither of you is that much of a long-range planner,” Matthew retorted. “Try again.”

“How about I explain it over drinks?” Luke countered.

“Fine. Brady’s okay?”

“Actually, I have someplace else in mind. I need to stop by Dad’s office first. Why don’t I meet you on Shore Road in front of Panini Bistro in twenty minutes?”

“Suits me,” Matthew said. “I’ll call Laila and let her know. If I get there first, I’ll grab a table.”

“Actually, don’t do that,” Luke said. “Wait for me in front, okay? Tell Laila to grab a table, though, if she gets there before we’re back.”

“Back?” Matthew gave him an odd look. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

“Trust me, okay?”

“Always,” Matthew said at once. “See you in a few minutes.”

Luke gave him a wave, then headed for his father’s office. He was hoping to find his father gone for the day and perhaps only his sister still there. Susie might give him grief over his request, but she was less likely to pull rank and demand answers.

Even better, he found the real estate management company run by his father to be closed for the day. Using the key he had for the occasions when he helped out showing properties, he went in, plucked a key off the board for the properties they owned or managed and closed back up.

He beat Matthew to their appointed meeting spot by mere seconds.

“Where to now, o secretive one?” Matthew inquired.

“Not far,” Luke said, heading down the block to a large empty space that had been occupied by a French restaurant that had gone belly-up, unable to survive during the slower winter months. Personally, he thought it had failed because of the god-awful uncomfortable chairs that had made the customers squirm through the torturous minutes it took to eat their overpriced food, but what did he know?

He led the way inside and flipped on lights, then turned to his older brother. “What do you think?”

Matthew looked blank. “Of what? It’s an empty space.”

Luke held his gaze. “Think you could help me turn it into a warm and welcoming Irish pub?”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he heard a hoot from the doorway and turned to see his uncle Mick standing there.

“I come to check on why lights are blazing in an empty property and find you making plans to open a pub?” Mick said, his expression incredulous.

Luke sighed. He hadn’t wanted such a tough audience right from the outset, but maybe it was for the best. Mick had a good business head and a real understanding of what this town needed. He wondered if Mick would see the value of a gathering spot in the heart of town, a warm and welcoming place in the Irish tradition.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Luke confirmed, looking Mick directly in the eye. “What’s your opinion?”

Mick’s gaze narrowed. “What makes you think you can do this? You never worked as a bartender, as far as I know. Never worked in a restaurant, either.”

“Not entirely true,” Luke said. “When I stayed on in Ireland, I worked for a time at McDonough’s, the pub where we spent so much time while we were there. I also traveled all over the country visiting every pub I could find, from those in cities to those in small villages. I asked a million questions, took copious notes and cooked my share of fish ’n’ chips. I even bought an antique bar in a place that was closing. It’s being shipped over here for arrival in a month’s time.”

Matthew’s expression was now as stunned as his uncle’s. “I thought you stayed in Ireland after the family and Kristen left because you developed some misguided crush on the impossible Moira.”

“That’s what I wanted everyone to think,” he admitted, and it had been partly true. “I wasn’t ready to have all of you shoot down this idea of mine. I was still formulating it, testing it out in my heart and my head to see if it felt right.” He leveled a look into his brother’s eyes, pleading with him to understand and back him in this. “It does.”

“But a pub?” Matthew said, his concern evident. “Why?”

“In a weird way, it was something Mack said a while back,” Luke explained, referring to his sister Susie’s husband. “I was giving him some advice and he made an offhand comment that maybe I should consider being a shrink like Will. He was actually being sarcastic, but the idea stuck.”

“And that led you to this pub idea?” Mick said. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“Everyone knows people pour out their troubles to bartenders,” Luke explained. “I like listening, not in any official capacity, the way Will does, but just being a sounding board. When we were in Ireland, I saw that kind of thing happening in every pub we went to, and it all kind of fell into place. Pubs create their own kind of community, not just for drinking but for food and friendship, for music and laughter. At least when they’re done right. I’d like to be at the center of something like that.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Matthew said.

Luke studied his brother’s face to see if shock was edging toward approval. “So, do you think I’m insane?” he prodded.

“A little,” Matthew said. “But I can also see it working. How about you, Uncle Mick? Look around. Imagine that antique bar across the back wall with a big mirror that will bring in the view of the bay, at least during the day. Maybe not as dark as the usual Irish pub, but one suited to a seaside town. Laila and I saw one like that in Howth with a view of the marina.”

He glanced toward Luke. “You mentioned music. Does that mean you’d like a small area for a band?”

“Absolutely,” Luke confirmed. “Nothing too large or fancy, just an area where musicians can set up. I’m hoping to book some authentic Irish groups from time to time. Bands, singers, whatever I can find.”

“Got it,” Matthew said, jotting notes on the pad that was ever-present in his pocket. “Uncle Mick, what do you think?”

Mick shook his head and began to pace. Only after he’d been at it a few minutes did Luke realize he was mentally measuring. When he halted in front of Luke, he looked him in the eye. “You have a business plan? Times get tough around here in winter. You have to be able to weather that.”

“I think the music will keep the locals coming in and maybe draw people from around the region. My figures seem sound enough to me, but I was hoping Laila could take a look at them,” he said. “Math was never my strongest suit. I’m hoping she’ll have time to take over that end of things for me, keep the finances on track and yank my chain when I’m tempted to bust the budget for one thing or another, as she does for Jess.”

“Ah, so that’s why she’s waiting for us now at Panini Bistro,” Matthew said. “We should probably get over there. Uncle Mick, care to come along?”

“Try to keep me away,” Mick said at once. “I’ll just walk to the corner, which is where I was headed when I spotted you two, and get Megan. She should be closing up her gallery about now.”

On his way to get his wife, Luke surmised, Mick had apparently crossed paths with Luke’s cousin Connor, who was meeting his wife, Heather, at her quilt shop and invited them along, because Connor and Heather accompanied Connor’s parents to the restaurant.

By the time they were actually seated at Panini Bistro, they needed just about every vacant seat in the tiny restaurant. Naturally, it was Mick who seized the moment to announce Luke’s news, which caused a noisy eruption of input from everyone in the room, until Mick finally slapped a hand on the table to get their attention. Then he turned to Luke.

“What do you plan to call this bar of yours?”

Luke grinned. “O’Brien’s, of course. If I have a good Irish name, why would I call it anything else?”

A grin spread across his uncle’s face. “And we’re the first to know about this idea of yours?”