Who's Your Paddy?

Chapter 2

"Liam!" The woman next to me screeched.

My reverie shattered and reality came into focus with embarrassing clarity. The gorgeous musician wasn't looking at me, he was looking in my direction because he knew her.

"I fergot it was session night!" she said. "I may be joinin' ye for a sing song or two if you'll have me."

Her shift in demeanor was almost scary. She went from crusty matron to gushing schoolgirl in a matter of seconds. She even squirmed when he kissed her on the cheek.

"Anytime, Roisin. Yer a star," the gorgeous musician, Liam lilted. "With a voice like yers, sing anythin' ya like."

I slumped a little, trying to be invisible. I hoped he didn't take notice of my embarrassing mistake. Staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar, I felt a chill and knew he caught me. Liam lingered just long enough to catch my eye and when he did, he delivered a knowing chuckle before turning to leave.

Under ordinary circumstances, I might've used a moment like that to open my mouth and break the ice. But there was nothing ordinary about the way my skin came alive with thousands of tiny goose bumps. They crawled from the soles of my feet to the base of my neck and intensified.

Whoa.

"May I have that third drink now?" I asked the bartender.

"Sure thing missus, but if it's authenticity yer after, me advice would be to try a samplin' of me specialties."

"Specialties?" I wasn't quite sure if he was being serious, or hamming up the blarney for my benefit.

"Aye. Heard ya introducin' yerself and askin' Roisin about Irish stuff a bit ago." He nodded toward the woman at the bar.

"Oh, yes. That. Sorry." I sat up straight, tweaking my concentration a notch.

"Me name's Mick." He offered his hand over the bar.

He gestured at the woman. "This here is Roisin."

"I'm Annie. Great to meet you both." I swiveled to face the woman. "Roisin, what a lovely name." She ignored my compliment.

Mick leaned over his side of the bar and whispered, "She's a softy once ye get to know her."

Even though I acknowledged his comment with a polite smile, I wondered if she was worth the effort.

"So a newspaper lady aye? What kind of story ye writin', Annie?" His round were eyes in perfect symmetry to his cute, chubby cheeks. He reminded me of a twenty-something year old version of Wilfred Brimley.

"I'm interested in local immigrants, bands or musicians primarily."

"Bands? As in Paddy's Day sorta stuff?"

"Well, yes, but I was hoping I could offer a bit more than that. Know anyone I could speak to?" I hoped he'd choose the obvious.

"I do. We have a lotta fine musicians comin' round here." He bent low, sliding a tray of dirty glasses into a washer. "I'll get ya some names, will that work?"

"What about him?" I bobbed my head toward Liam. "Is he Irish?" Judging by the accent I copped, I was fairly certain what the answer would be.

"Aye, Dublin lad. Runs our music session every Monday."

"Great. That'll be a good start."

"I'll check an see if he's interested."

Interested? It wasn't the answer I expected. Most musicians couldn't resist a chance for free press.