CHAPTER 179: CHAPTER 179 TABLE FOR TWO

*LORENZO*

“Hi, Jago,” I said to the barman. “Table for two for lunch?”

“Megan will sort you out.” Jago pointed to the far corner.

“Megan?”

Shit.

“Yeah, she’s working here now.”

Fuck.

I gave Danica a sideways glance and she looked puzzled. “Are you sure you’re hungry?”

“Yes,” She replied.

“Doom Bar?” Jago asked, staring with overt appreciation at Danica.

“Yes, please.” I tried not to glare at him.

“And for the lady?” Jago’s voice softened, his eyes still on Danica.

“What would you like to drink?” I asked.

She peeled off her hat, releasing her hair.

Her cheeked were flushed from the cold.

“The beer I had yesterday?” she said. With her loose, dark curls falling almost to her waist, her shining eyes, and her radiant smile, she was an exotic beauty. I was beguiled. Totally and utterly beguiled.

I couldn’t blame Jago for staring. “Half a pale ale for the lady,” I said without looking at him.

“What is it?” Danica asked as she began to unzip the quilted Barbour jacket. And I knew I had been gawking at her.

I shook my head, and she gave her a shy smile.

“Hello, Lorenzo. Or should I say “Don’ now?”

Shit.

I turned around, and Megan was standing in front of me, her expression as dark as her clothes. “Table for two?” she asked with a saccharine tone and a smile to match.

“Please. And how are you?”

“Fine,” she snapped, and my heart sunk, my father’s voice ringing in my head.

Don’t fuck the local girls, boy.

I stood aside for Danica to precede me, and we followed in Megan’s dour wake. She led us to a table in the corner by a window that overlooked the quays. It was the best table in the establishment. So that was something.

“This okay for you?” I asked Danica, deliberately ignoring Megan.

“Yes. It is good,” She responded, with a confused look at a moody Megan. I held out her chair, and she sat. Jago arrived with our drinks, and Megan sauntered off, presumably to fetch menus...or a cricket bat.

“Cheers.” I held up my pint.

“Cheers,” Danica replied. After a sip she said, “I do not think Megan is happy with you.”

“No, I don’t think so either.” I shrugged, brushing off the subject. I really don’t want to discuss Megan with Danica. “Anyway, you were saying about religion?”

She eyed me dubiously, as if pondering the Megan Situation, and then she continued, “At the orphanage, we all grew up being Catholics”

“That explains your gold cross.”

“One of the sisters gave it to me.”

“Menus,” Megan interrupted us, and hands us both a laminated card. “I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.” She turned abruptly and headed for the bar.

I ignored her. “You were saying?”

Danica watched Megan’s exit through suspicious eyes but said nothing about her.

She continued, “We always had masses and we used to pray a lot.” Danica fondled her gold cross. “And you?”

“Me? Well, I suppose I’ve gone to church with my mom when I was younger. But I’m not religious at all.” Father Trewin’s words came back to me.

We lead by example, my son.

Bloody hell.

Maybe I should go to church tomorrow.

“Have you really never seen the sea before?”

“No. I have never traveled. I had never seen the sea until you brought me here.” Her glance out the window was wistful, but it gave me an opportunity to study her profile: long lashes, pert nose, pouting lips. I shifted in my seat, my blood thickening.

Steady.

Megan appeared with her pinched, angry face and scraped-back hair, and my problem subsided.

Boy, she was still bitter. It was one summer three years ago. One fucking summer.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked, glaring at me. “Catch of the day is cod.” She made it sound like an insult.

Danica frowned and glanced quickly at the menu.

“I’ll have the fish pie, please.” And, irritated, I cocked my head, daring Megan to say anything.

“For me also,” said Danica.

“Two fish pies. Any wine?”

“I’m fine with the beer. Danica?”

Megan turned to the lovely Danica. “For you?” she snapped.

“The beer is good for me, too.”

“Thank you, Megan,” I grunted in warning, and she shot me a look.

She’d probably spit in my food, or, worse, in Danica’s.

“Shit,” I murmured under my breath as I watched her march back to the kitchen.

Danica studied my reaction.

“That goes back several years,” I said, and tugged at my sweater collar, embarrassed.

“What does?”

“Megan and I.”

“Oh,” Danica said, her tone flat.

“She’s ancient history. Tell me about the orphanage?” I asked, desperately trying to move on.

“Hmm...” she bit out abruptly, and it was obvious she was still considering Megan and me.

“The orphanage?”

“I grew up there since I was a baby.” She raises a beautiful, arched eyebrow.

“Throughout the years of my stay, some kids got lucky and got adopted. I didn’t. But when I was younger, I would always hope I get parents someday as well as all the kids my age. But not every one of us got lucky enough and as the years passed, and we got older, we started to lose hope about ever getting adopted. The sisters were nice though. They always did all they could, as well the donations we got to take care of us. We...”

Danica was interrupted by Megan and the fish pies. Megan plunked the plates down on the table and left without a word.

Her face was sour, but the fish pie was warming and delicious, and there was no sign that anyone spat in it.

“I feel like donating to an orphanage.”

She smiled at me. “That will make the kids there so happy.”

“What do you do for fun?” I asked to lighten the mood.

“Most times, I just play the Piano...” Her voice trailed off, and I didn’t know if it’s because she was feeling nostalgic or if it was for another reason. “Tell me about your work.”

It was clear she wants to change the subject, and because I don’t want to tell her what I do yet, I filled her in on my DJing career.

“And I’ve done a couple of summers in San Antonio in Ibiza. Now, that’s a real party place.”

“This is why you have so many records?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And what is your favorite music?”

“All music. I don’t have a favorite genre. What about you? How old were you when you started playing?”

“I was four.”

Wow. Early.

“Did you study music? I mean, music theory?”

“No.”

That was even more impressive.

It was gratifying to see Danica eat. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes aglow, and I suspected that after two beers she was a little tipsy.

“Would you like anything else?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Let’s go.”

It was Jago who brought over our bill. I suspected Megan had refused or she was on a break. I settled up and took Danica’s hand as we left the pub.

“I just want to make a quick detour to the shop,” I said.

“Okay.” Danica’s lopsided smile made me grin.