do my best to make it work,” she said. She’d spent years under similar restraint in her old job. She’d had far more freedom and say at Peter’s pub, but she could put that aside for now. At least she hoped she could, if only in the name of family harmony.
* * *
Bryan looked up from the Irish soda bread he was about to put into the oven to see Kiera Malone regarding him intently, her expression radiating disapproval.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
“Just observing,” she said, backing off a step.
“But you have something to say. I can see that you’re practically biting your tongue. Just say it.”
Ever since Kiera had been introduced to the staff at O’Brien’s, she’d been lurking about, observing as she put it. It was driving him a little bit crazy. He didn’t like extra people milling about in his kitchen, especially with an unmistakable hint of judgment in their eyes. He’d grown used to being respected, thanks to regular praise from not only the customers, but from Nell O’Brien, who was his go-to person for inspiration with the menu and its execution.
To be fair, from what he’d seen, Kiera was a hard worker in general and she got on well enough with the customers and even the waitstaff. She wasn’t still for a minute and was always eager to take on any task that was given to her, even pitching in to help out washing dishes or scrubbing the floor after hours. All of that was admirable.
It was the way she watched him as he worked, though, that made him want to banish her from his kitchen. It was only out of respect for Luke and Moira that he’d kept his mouth shut till now and tried to accept her presence underfoot.
He studied her expression and could tell she was torn between speaking out and staying silent. “Just say whatever’s on your mind before your head explodes,” he told her impatiently.
“The soda bread is going to be hard as a rock,” she blurted finally.
He frowned at her. “And just why is that?”
“You were pounding it as if you had a grudge against it,” she told him.
Bryan drew in a deep breath to try to calm himself before he said something he’d regret. It was true, he’d been taking out his frustration over Kiera’s presence on the dough. And, quite likely, she was right. Overkneading would be the kiss of death for the soda bread. It would likely be inedible.
Rather than admitting as much, however, he simply gestured to the array of ingredients. “Would you like to show me how it’s done?”
Her expression brightened at once. “You won’t be offended?”
Given that it was his way of saving face when his own loaves of bread were tossed in the trash, no, he wouldn’t be offended at all.
“Have at it,” he said, instead. “I have other work to do if we’re to be ready when the doors open for lunch.”
When he turned back a few minutes later, Kiera was lovingly kneading the bread with a touch that stirred an annoying hint of longing. Out of the blue a shocking image of those hands on him, massaging his shoulders at the end of the day, made him more irritable than ever. Images like that were not only inappropriate, they were totally unwelcome. At this rate, the woman was going to drive him to the brink of insanity and she hadn’t even been underfoot a full week.
When Kiera emerged from her room on her day off, she found Moira on the porch with a cup of tea, looking far more relaxed than she usually did during the family’s hectic mornings.
“What are you doing all alone out here?” Kiera asked, drawing her robe more tightly around her to ward off the early-morning chill. “And where’s your sweater? The air’s cool and damp today. You’ll catch a cold.”
Moira chuckled. “It’s been a few years since you’ve scolded me like that. You call this weather cool and damp after living by the sea in Ireland? Have you been away so long already that you’ve forgotten what cool and damp are truly like? I remember it clearly. The fog rolling in off the water, the dampness seeping into your bones. This weather today is nothing that a nice cup of tea can’t improve. May I get you one?”
“I’ll do it for myself in a minute,” Kiera said. “So what are your plans for the day? Usually by now you’re already out the door with your camera in hand.”
“I have the whole day entirely to myself,” Moira said. “Luke took Kate over to Carrie’s today. The babysitter will pick her up later. Since you’re off as well, I thought you and I could do something together, perhaps starting with breakfast at Sally’s.”
“Why there, when I could fix something for us here?” Kiera asked.
“It’s become a tradition for the O’Brien women who have businesses downtown to gather there every morning before they start their workday,” Moira explained. “You’ve been here a couple of weeks now. You should really get to know them. I find listening to them talk about balancing work and family to be inspirational. On my bad days, they help me to believe I can successfully juggle it all.”
“I’ve already met them all,” Kiera reminded her.
“At Christmas in Ireland years ago and at Nell’s when you first arrived here. That’s hardly time to get to know them. I’ll bet you can’t even put names with faces yet.”
Kiera lifted a brow. “Is that a dare I hear in your voice? Your husband seems to think your marriage depends on these little bets you have between you. Are you taking that tack with me, too?”
Moira blinked and color rose in her cheeks. “Luke told you about our bets?”
“He did,” she said, chuckling at her daughter’s dismay. She had a feeling they weren’t talking about precisely the same bets. Some must take an interesting and intimate twist from time to time. It was probably best that she didn’t know the details of those.
“Are you daring me to name the O’Brien women when we see them at the restaurant?” Kiera persisted. “Have you forgotten that a good waitress must have a knack for keeping her regular customers’ names straight in her head, along with their food preferences and any other details they might reveal over time?”
“Then you’re accepting the challenge?” Moira asked, sounding surprised.
“Of course, but what’s the reward if I prove myself?”
“I will treat you to a full day of pampering—a manicure, pedicure, all the spa treatments you can imagine, including a new hairstyle.”
Rather than succumbing to the temptation of such an indulgence, Kiera bristled. “And what is wrong with my hairstyle?”
“Nothing at all,” Moira said hurriedly. “But twisting your hair into a tight knot on top of your head isn’t exactly a style, now, is it, at least not of the sort they show in fashion magazines? In your case it’s merely a convenience.”
“It’s the way I’ve worn it for years.
