I nod. But as I look around the shop, it’s unfamiliar. I’m not sure I’ve ever been in here before. It’s small and classy and impeccably clean, with a long, glossy counter housing scones, breads, and biscuits, and a display of tea so impressive it nearly boggles the mind. Chai and herbals, mints and blacks, whites and fruity.
“Just a plain cup of tea, please,” I tell Cormac. He goes to the counter to order while I look around me, taking in every detail. At the counter, a petite, rotund woman with white hair piled on top of her head, ruddy cheeks, and tiny spectacles perched on her button nose, grins at him from behind the counter.
“Is that your wife, Cormac?” she asks with a grin. She knows him, then. I like that there’s familiarity here for him. He has a home here. Even through my dim fog of memory, I know that I’ve never had anything like that before.
“Of course,” he says. Several people sitting nearby are watching, though they’re pretending they aren’t. Seems the McCarthy brothers are sort of celebrities here.
The jovial woman reminds me of Mrs. Claus. She comes to the table with Cormac, holding a tray with two steaming cups and a plate of pastries. She slides it on the table and reaches her hand to me.
“So pleased to meet, you. Name’s Isobel.” She beams at Cormac. “Oh, isn’t she a picture, lad?”
I smile to myself at her calling him lad.
“Aye,” he says, unabashed. “She is.”
I smile bashfully.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say and point to the tray. “I’m Aileen. Your shop’s lovely, and this looks delicious.”
“Oh, go on with ya,” she says, waving a hand but flushing with pleasure. “Now I’ll let you two newlyweds to yer tea. Do come back?” She bustles away to serve more customers.
“She’s a doll,” I tell Cormac.
“Aye. One of the best.”
I notice the people around us watch us with curiosity but keep a safe distance. Caitlin and Maeve have refreshed my memory, and I know now that he’s one of the heads of the McCarthy Clan, an underground crime ring in Ireland. I also know that I came from a similar clan, the Martins. My memories do resurface in bits and pieces, but it’s like a sketch made of chalk. The clearer, more concrete details are blurry. At times only shadows remain.
I lean in and lower my voice. “They know who y’are? What you do?”
His gaze sharpens. “And you do?”
“What do you think I’ve been talking about with Caitlin and your mam? Prams and nursery rhymes?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Aye. Figured as much. It’s just as well. Would rather you know. And the answer is, aye, of course they do. I’ll explain more later. Not here.”
In privacy then.
He hands me a small plate with a scone and a cup of tea.
Chatter continues, but it seems as if everyone’s more alert. It isn’t lost on me that my husband is a dangerous man. Caitlin explained to me just today that the residents of Ballyhock aren’t ignorant to the ways of The Clan, but because the McCarthy men take good care of their villagers, giving generously to the church and seeing to it that crime is mitigated, they turn a blind eye to their illegal dealings. Some do, anyway.
I can’t believe how good it feels, just being out together like this. “What else is in town?”
“Oh, lots,” he says. “There’s the fishy. The Cheeky Mackerel, a bit down the road, but before you get there, down Main Street we have D’Agostino’s Italian food. Pretty high end stuff, best calamari you’ll ever put between your lips. Homemade bread and tiramisu that’ll melt in your mouth.”
“Mmm. Can we go there sometime?”
He smiles. “Absolutely.”
“Today?”
He wags a finger at me. “Now you’re pushin’ it, eh?”
“You like that I like to eat so much,” I say. “But it might not be so good for the fleshy face.”
He snorts. “Give it a rest, Aileen. Your face is perfect.”
I take a large bite of scone, and thank him around a mouthful. “Why, thank you.”
“There’s the Blimey Pub and Lickety Split Ice Cream Shoppe.”
“Oooh.”
“Crumb’s Bakery, a laundry, and several little clothing shops.”
“And I get to shop in any of them?”
“Aye.”
“Can we go?”
He looks heavenward and releases a labored sigh. “To the shops? Sure.”
“You look as if you’d rather I poke your eyes out with thumbtacks.”
“Something like,” he grimaces.
I giggle around another bite of scone, then wash it done with hot, strong tea. “Not a fan of shopping?”
“You might say that.” He leans in and whispers in my ear. “But you could make it up to me tonight.”
I grin. “I could. I’ll think on it.”
He growls, but just then the door to the shop opens. Cormac stills. His eyes have gone from jovial to murderous in the space of a second, so quickly my heart skips a crazy beat.