"Women are funny creatures," Pappy starts. I can tell by the look in his eye that a story's coming and I try to give him my attention, but it isn't easy. What the fuck am I going to do? "When I was a lad, I had an anger in me that I couldn't deny. I still don't know why I was so angry, but if someone looked at me the wrong way, I'd punch him. I'd drag him to the ground and beat the shat out of him."
Pappy chuckles to himself and I'm shocked. My dad is such a calm man, so peaceful, I can't imagine him beating the shit out of anyone.
"I know, ye're surprised," he says, reading my thoughts. "But ‘tis true. I can't tell ye how many times yer mother had to practically carry me home from the pub, not because I was drunk, but because I'd broken a rib or had my foot stomped on and broken a toe. Or she'd have to pick me up at the station, when I beat up an outlander, someone who wasn't willing to let it go.
‘Twas hard for yer mum because she didn't know why I was so angry all the time. Hard because I'd leave the house at night and she wouldn't know if I'd come home in one piece. And o' course, people talked. I expect ‘twas a bit embarrassin' for her as well.
One night, after a particularly bad beatin' I managed to pull me sorry arse home and I began packin' a bag. Her da had been at the pub and he gave me a right harsh chewin'. Told me I didn't deserve his daughter, said I was no good and could never give her the life she deserved. Well, he made sure I left that pub with me tail between my legs, and that I did. So I got home and started packin'. Now, I'd had a pint or two, so was a wee bit pissed and none too quiet, and she woke up. Naturally she wanted to know what the hell I was doin'. I told her I was leavin', that I'd put her through enough hell and I couldn't do it to her anymore. Oh, I was cryin' like a baby; I didn't want to leave, but I loved her so much and I couldn't keep hurtin' her.
And ye know what she said?" Pappy pauses to give me a chance to answer. I have no idea, so I just shake my head.
"She says, ‘If I'd wanted ya out o' the house, I'd have packed yar bags meself. Lord knows ya'd do it wrong and forget yar shorts.' And that was it. She got up, took the bag out o' me hand, threw it on the floor, and led me to bed. I tried to talk her out o' lettin' me stay, tried to tell her how I didn't deserve her, how I was hurtin' her. She just rolled over and went to sleep. She really did - she went right to sleep.
Gah, I loved that woman. Ye see son, women, they are stronger than us. Ye don't see how Kelli can handle the pain ye cause her, but that's because ye're a man. She's a good lass, yer Kelli. She's got a good head on those shoulders and she knows what she wants out o' her life. From the day she met ye, she's wanted ye, lad. She's been pretty clear on that."
I look at him still unsure. "I know she can do better, I know -"
"Gah, ye don't know shat," Pappy interrupts. "Ye can't know a woman's heart. Aye, she might be able to find a man who seems better for her - who drives a nice car, owns a fancier house, and buys her diamonds. But she's chosen ye, Ian, and if ye trust anything yer dotty old da says, trust me on this. Only ye can make her happy. Warts and all, ye're the one she wants.
Give yerself to her son. Give her yer heart and yer soul and that'll be enough."
I don't know why, but his words bring tears to my eyes. He gets up then and comes to stand beside me. Hitting my arm, he motions for me to stand up. I do and he pulls me into a hug.
"Ye're a good lad; she's a lucky lass to have ye," he says and I lose it.
"Fucking woman. I never used to cry, now I'm crying every other fucking minute," I grumble, wiping my eyes and pulling away.
Pappy smiles and nods his head. "Aye, women. Son," he pauses and looks at me, "have ye gotten … Well, did ye maybe want … " Now it's his turn to stutter and stumble, but I know what he's going to say.
"You think I might give her Mum's ring? I know she'd love it," I say, coming to the point of why I started this conversation in the first place.
He beams at me, "I think that's a grand idea!"
******
"Let's go over it one more time," I start to say before Bernie cuts me off.
"For fuck's sake, Ian, we know! We know! Kelli's gonna come on shift in 15 minutes. You're gonna put her behind the bar. We go on at 8pm and after a few, I'm gonna say, "We're gonna slow things down a bit – "
"Alright, alright, you know it. I just want it to be perfect," I say, running a hand through my hair.
Abby, who's been put in charge of distributing the signs, says, "It will be, Ian. You're asking her to marry you – I promise that is the only thing Kelli is going to care about."
"Well, that and the ring. She probably cares about the ring too," Tom pipes up.
"Fuck you," I say and escape into the kitchen. Who the fuck knew it was this hard to ask a woman to marry you? Fuck this! I start chopping vegetables for tonight's stew.
"Hey, honey," Kelli says as she wraps her arms around my waist. I was so lost in thought that I didn't even hear her come in.
"It's never a good idea to startle a guy with a knife in his hands," I grumble, even as I take immense pleasure in the feel of her body behind mine. She's got the best rack and feeling it pressed into my back never fails to get me a little stiff.
"Why do you think I'm behind you?" she murmurs, kissing my neck.
"Oh, so it's alright if I lose a finger, as long as you're safe and sound."
"Now you're gettin' it," she purrs.
I put down the knife and spin around and grab her by the waist. She squeaks at my manhandling as I lift her and plop her on a clear section of counter. I nestle between her legs and draw her to me. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist and I couldn't be happier. This is my ultimate favorite place to be – right here in her embrace, in my pub. Life doesn't get better than this.
Well, maybe it can. Maybe she'll commit herself to me forever. That could make it better.
I give her a slow, deep kiss, caressing the inside of her mouth with my tongue and gently thrusting my hips into hers. She loves when I do that and this time is no different – I'm rewarded with a low moan as I create friction between our bodies.
I pull back, making some space between our chests, but keeping up my light thrusting. My heart is racing with the thought of what I'm going to do in about two hours and I'm afraid she'll be able to feel it.
Trying to mask the emotions rioting inside of me, I look at her breasts, unable to meet her eyes lest she see the tumult there. "How was your Habitat for Humanity meeting, Madame Chairwoman?"
"Shut up," she says, swatting my shoulder.
"Seriously, how did your first meeting go as head of the Board?" I want to know.
"It was terrifying. Everyone else is so much more accomplished than I am. They are leaders in industry, or very rich spouses of leaders in industry, and have sat on a million boards. I felt like they were all staring at me thinking "How the hell did she get named Chair?" It was a disaster," Kelli sums up glumly.
Putting my hand under her chin, I nudge it up until she raises her eyes to meet mine. "You are the most intelligent, competent, and committed woman I have ever met. They named you Chair because you know your shit and you are going to whip that place into shape." I kiss the tip of her nose and she smiles up at me. "I'm going to need you behind the bar tonight, Baby."
"Great," she says excitedly. "Then I can watch the Fighting Irish from out front. Whenever you book them you always banish me to the kitchen," she says with a pout. "What's different tonight?"
"I'm hoping to get you behind the bar more, and if you can handle the Fighting Irish fans, I figure you can probably handle about any regular night of the week," I lie. "Of course," I can't help but add, "I'll be back here in case I need to bail you out."
"Fuck you!" she says, hitting me playfully and hopping off the counter. I have definitely contributed to her increased usage of curse words. When we first met she rarely, if ever, cussed. Now she sounds like a drunken sailor half the time. I love it.
"Let me just change into jeans and I'll head out," she says before giving me one last quick kiss, after which she saunters out of the kitchen and I'm once again left with my nervousness.
About an hour later, Pappy comes back.
"Ye ready son? Bernie's about to go on," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I don't say anything, choosing instead to let my look speak for me.