Chapter Twenty-Four
Orla
I stood behind the bar, stirring a Latin-Irish Rose, a new cocktail I’d come up with. It was a mixture of Irish whisky and rose tequila with a bit of lime juice. It was a knock-off of a margarita, and I served it in a margarita glass with an extra shooter of Patron Silver. Our guests loved it. Placing the finished cocktail in front of the lady who’d ordered it, I smiled. “And here is your Latin-Irish Rose, ma’am.”
“It looks beautiful,” she said in her American accent. “Thank you, dear.”
I watched her as she took her drink and walked away. That accent made my heart ache. I missed him so much—not a day went by that I didn’t think about him.
Three months had passed since I’d left. Three months that seemed more like three years. My heart was getting no better. My
