Love of the Irish, Part 1 (of 3)

By Katie Fitzgerald ...

“Drive safe now,” Sean Harrigan told the final patrons of the night as they exited O’Malley’s Pub. He slid the lock into place behind them, then turned to flash a grin at Molly Byrne. “We did it!” He always loved closing down the bar with Molly. They were both efficient workers, and they were always perfectly in step, operating together like a well-oiled machine.

As Sean approached the bar, Molly said, “Whoop whoop,” making a raise-the-roof gesture with her hands.

Sean laughed out loud. “You’re such a dork,” he teased, but he meant it in a good way. The way Molly could be serious about work and silly at the same time was one of the best things about her. That, and her smile. And that long blonde ponytail. And the freckles across the bridge of her nose. And her laugh. Ahem. Sean refocused his thoughts. Wipe down the bar. Right.

As he ran a rag over the shiny wood, Sean said, “So, what’s with the schedule for St. Patrick’s Day? How did you manage to get the day off?”

“Luck of the Irish.” Molly infused her voice with a hilariously terrible fake brogue.

“Oh really? Well, I’m more Irish than you are, and I have to be here.”

“If you must know,” Molly grabbed the broom to start sweeping the dining area. “I’m in a parade that day.”

Sean instantly imagined a float decked out in shamrocks with Molly standing on the back in a gown, waving to admiring fans. She’d look amazing dressed like that, but he didn’t think a St. Patrick’s Day beauty pageant would be her thing. Something talent-based seemed more likely. “Are you… in a marching band?” he guessed.

“Close.” While Sean puzzled over that comment, Molly leaned her broom against a bar stool and started dancing what he could only call a jig across the tile floor. After a few kicks and turns, she stopped and took a little bow, then laughed mischievously. “Step dancing,” she said.

“I bet I can do that.” Sean tossed the wet rag he was using onto the bar and came around to join Molly. He put his hands on his hips and assumed a serious facial expression. Then, humming his own version of an Irish folk song, he did the can-can, kicking as high as he could and trying not to crack a smile.

Molly, however, got the giggles instantly, and that broke his defenses. Roaring with laughter, he leaned into Molly, allowing himself to use her shoulder for support for a few seconds until he could breathe normally again.

“That was terrible,” Molly said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’re a disgrace to your Irish ancestors.”

“You love it,” Sean said. He hoped so anyway. All he wanted was for Molly to love – er, like – him and his antics.

Molly just shook her head in amusement and resumed sweeping.

As he returned to the bar area, Sean reached into the pocket of his apron and toyed with a small item he’d been hiding in there all evening. He couldn’t quite say why the little leprechaun figurine had made him think of Molly, but he’d picked it up when he was out with his grandma the other week, and if he wasn’t going to see Molly on St. Paddy’s Day, it only made sense to give it to her today.

“Hey, Moll,” he said suddenly. “Catch.”

When she looked up, he tossed the little green-capped, bearded, plastic man in her direction.

He watched as she caught the figure, furrowed her brow in confusion, then, to his relief, smiled warmly down at the little man. “What’s this for?” she asked, glancing back up at Sean.

“Just a little good luck charm I guess,” Sean said, shrugging. “Take it with you to your parade.”

For a moment, Molly’s eyes locked on his, and Sean felt exposed, as though she could read his every thought about her: the playful ones, the professional ones, and the more private ones. Was this the right moment? Should he say something more, reveal how he felt? He opened his mouth to speak, but then Molly broke eye contact. “Thanks,” she said, her cheeks going slightly pink before she dropped the leprechaun into her own jeans pocket and went back to sweeping the floor.

“Don’t mention it,” Sean said with a swipe of the rag across the bartop, but that was the opposite of what he meant. What he wanted, deep down, was to talk about this, and a whole lot more. He just needed a little bit more luck to get him there.

☘️☘️☘️

Katie Fitzgerald is the author of Library Lovebirds, an ebook collection of bookish romances, and a novel in flash, The Bennetts Bloom. Her short stories and flash fiction appear online at Spark Flash Fiction and Micromance Magazine, as well as in various anthologies. She is a 2024 Sparkie Award recipient for Best Romantic Suspense and a nominee for the Pushcart Prize and the Cupid Prize. A graduate of Vassar College and a trained librarian, Katie resides in Maryland with her husband and five kids.