Irish Stewed Read Online Free PDF

his eyes—as gray as the marble candleholders displayed nearby—crinkled up at the corners. I was immune. Six years with the Beautiful People will do that to a girl.
    “It all must look incredibly boring to you.”
    There he was, reading my mind again even if he wasn’t exactly accurate.
    I sipped my tea and found it surprisingly delicious even though I wasn’t used to sugar in tea or in much of anything else. “I’ll come back someday and do a little shopping.”
    “But not anytime soon. If I’m not mistaken, the way you and Sophie were going back and forth over at the restaurant, it means you’re going to walk out and leave that poor, dear lady high and dry.”
    I shot a look toward the back room. Sophie was still at the table, her feet flat on the floor in front of her, her eyes closed, her head back, and her hands wrapped around her tea mug.
    “What I’m going to do or not going to do really isn’t any of your business,” I said, shifting my gaze back to Declan. “And your editorial comments aren’t going to change my mind.”
    A lesser man would have taken offense. This one simply smiled. “You heading back to LA?”
    I took another sip of tea, the better to try and drown the spurt of anger that exploded inside me when I thought about what Declan did—and didn’t—know about me. “How much has Sophie told you?”
    “About her wonderful, fabulous niece, Laurel, who she can’t seem to ever get tired of talking about? Only that you’re some Hollywood big shot. She mentioned some big movie star, but sorry, I’m not much into pop culture so I don’t even remember the name. She also mentioned a cookbook. And a TV cooking show. Now, that I could get into. I love those shows where they go to firehouses and let the firemen do the cooking. Or the ones out in the wilderness where the host is forced to eat grubs and berries.Something tells me that’s not the kind of show you’re going to be doing.”
    “I’m not going to be doing any kind of show.” This was the truth, and I refused to elaborate. If I did, it would bring back the wave of disappointment that engulfed me every time I thought about how I’d had my dreams snatched out from under me.
    “Sophie talks too much,” I told Declan instead.
    “She’s proud of you.”
    “She has no reason to be.”
    “Not even the cookbook and the big-time movie star?”
    “Ancient history!” Because I couldn’t continue to stand there and pretend like it didn’t hurt, I turned and strolled to a corner of the shop and a display of Irish-made beauty products.
    “This stuff should appeal to you,” he said, picking up a bottle with a distinctive blue and white label. “It’s made with all-natural botanicals. Sounds like something a California girl would like.”
    “This California girl has plenty of skin care products, thanks.”
    “It’s made with soy and wild oats,” he said, giving the bottle a little jiggle. “Guaranteed to soothe and soften and firm. None of which you need because your skin is perfect.”
    It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard my share of compliments in my day. Still, I felt my cheeks heat, and before he could notice, I wandered toward the front of the shop and the windows that gave anyone in the Irish store a bird’s-eye view of the Terminal.
    The ambulance in which Jack Lancer’s body had been placed was gone, but the police cars with their flashing lights were still there. So were the TV trucks and the gawking neighbors.
    “Did you know this Lance of Justice guy?” I asked Declan.
    He’d followed me to the front of the shop and I knew he was right behind me because I heard his leather jacket scrunch and figured he’d shrugged. “Everybody in this part of Ohio knows the Lance of Justice. He’s a TV personality. Well, he was.” He paused a moment, no doubt aligning his mind with this new reality. It wasn’t
Jack Lancer
is
a TV personality
. Not anymore. From now on, anybody who talked about Jack would use the past