Flynn gulped at his coffee and sucked in a breath between his teeth as he probably burned the entire length of his esophagus.“Look, Carlos wants to put all the special cocktails I make on the menu permanently in rotation. Yours would be up the monthof your birthday.”
“Isn’t that nice!” Norah positively beamed.
Sierra loved knowing that Flynn had made the veteran feel special. Especially since it had been Flynn’s idea—not Carlos’s—tohighlight the locals in this way. But he also wanted neither the credit for the idea, nor the responsibility of tracking downthe birthdays. Her guy sure liked to fly under the radar.
Norah took back his cup and scrawled her name and the number eleven after it. “The month’s November. I’ll tell you the dateif you promise to give me a free drink on it.”
“Fair enough.” Flynn leaned over. Dropped his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Don’t tell anyone else, though.”
Norah tapped her index finger against her chin. “The thing is . . . I need you to make up two more.”
“Why? You don’t like the flavor? Because I think I watched you suck down three of them last Tuesday.”
“Love it. I’m going to make you a very special coffee as turnabout.”
Flynn reared back dramatically, waving his hands. “No. I’ve heard what you put in your ‘special’ coffees. I want to be ableto pass a drug test after my morning jolt.”
“Most of what I sell is purely medicinal.” She winked broadly. “Especially if the State Board is the one asking.”
“Of course.” Flynn took a much more cautious sip of his coffee.
“In the meantime, I want you to make Mollie and Rafe their own drinks. For their engagement party.”
Flynn did an actual spit take. It was sort of amazing how much of a mess one little mouthful of coffee made as it sprayedonto the counter. And onto Sierra’s drink. And the cranberry muffin that just got plated. As awkward as Sierra felt lettingFlynn pay for her, she’d feel no guilt in asking him to replace that muffin for her.
“No. No freaking way. Rafe’s not engaged.”
His shock would be funny if his tone wasn’t so adamant. Oddly adamant, given that Sierra had watched Rafe and Mollie interactquite a bit at the Gorse. They weren’t just into each other. They were seriously head over heels, ignore the rest of the worldgone. How could his own brother not see that?
With a roll of her eyes, Norah whipped a towel off a magnet shaped like an anchor on the side of the enormous espresso machine.“You and your commitment phobia are a menace to my establishment, Flynn.”
With a wince, he said, “Sorry.” His apologetic grimace encompassed Sierra, too. “This isn’t me playing the man card. Rafehas no plan for getting engaged. No offense to Mollie. It’s that it’s only been a few months.”
Odd how the more he explained that it wasn’t about Mollie or a fear of commitment, the more that was exactly what it sounded like. A few weeks ago, knowing Flynn didn’t want a relationship would’ve thrilled Sierra.
Now it made her sad. For him, as well as for herself. Curious, too, to know what was behind his strong stance.
“They’re established adults who know their own minds. It’s obvious they love each other.” Norah waved the metal pincer prosthesisthat stood in for her missing hand in the air. “Life’s short. If you ever take that for granted, just look at me. Or what’sleft of me. When you realize what makes it good, what makes it worth getting up each morning, you embrace it. No matter whatthe timing or rules or any little life complication that might stand in the way.”
Norah’s words resonated right through to Sierra’s heart. It was why she’d decided to take a stand and stay in Bandon. Whyshe’d risked telling Flynn the truth. Being here, being with him—that definitely made it worth getting up in the morning.
Norah’s words seem to have struck a chord with Flynn, too. Because he stared at her prosthesis—no, through it, his gaze fixed on the window behind her. Was he happily imagining standing next to Rafe in a tuxedo?
Or imagining that with dread in his heart?
Fuck a duck backward.
Trouble had found the Maguire brothers . . . again.
Flynn’s heart raced like it’d been juiced up with a shot of adrenaline mixed with five shots of espresso. Patrick O’Connorstood just across the street. Patrick O’Connor, a loud, brutal, mean-spirited soldier in Danny McGinty’s crew.
The Chicago mob was here. They’d found the Maguire brothers.
“Flynn? Do you want a muffin, too?” Sierra’s question dragged his gaze off the mobster and back to the sweet, wonderful, beautifulwoman at his side.
The woman he refused to let be touched by any of the filth of his past life. The one he’d fucking defend to his death.
He needed to get away from Sierra. Right now. He couldn’t risk Patrick even catching a glimpse of them together.
Flynn whipped out his phone as though it had vibrated. “You know what? I’m sorry, I have to bail on breakfast. Forgot thatI promised to help Rafe with something for the Festival. I’m late already, and he’s pissed.” He waved the phone as if a pissytext burned up the screen. “You stay here and enjoy yours. Enjoy your night off. Norah, I’m sorry about the mess.” He droppedanother ten to cover the replacement drink for Sierra. Kissed his girl on the cheek as if he’d see her again tomorrow, noproblems.
He was on his way out of the café and in the front of the store before Sierra could even respond. He angled himself behindsome big-ass smoking-related thing with eight long tubes coming out of it. Kept an eye on Patrick while texting Rafe to meethim behind the shop now.
And not to get out of his car.
Then Flynn added a shamrock emoji. It was their warning signal. The unofficial symbol of McGinty’s crew, the one every mangot tattooed upon full membership, was a mashup. The pale blue stripes of the Chicago flag, but instead of the red stars,in between were three shamrocks. A reminder that you were
