"Ah. And you're happy your friend was defeated?"
"Lydia, there's not a thing in this world I wouldn't do for Brogan, but I told him he was gona make a bags of this whole situation if he insisted on doin' things the way he thought he needed to, and so some defeats are victories in disguise. I like to think that party was one of them. Maybe even for the both of ya, shur ya know like." He winked again.
"Okay, um, make a bags . . ."
Fionn leaned against the counter. "Ya want a lesson in Irish slang, Lydia?" he asked, laughing again. I loved the way he said my name, the same way Brogan said it when his accent emerged: faster than those with American accents, and with an emphasis on the a.
"Yes," I said. "Can you stay for dinner? I'd love it if you would."
"Well, that's the best offer I've had in donkey's years." He glanced at me as he started unpacking a bag. "That means a long time."
Grinning, I grabbed dishes, napkins, and silverware and took them to the small table next to the kitchen. Fionn carried over the numerous cartons of food and retrieved a bottle of wine from the wine fridge at the end of the island.
He opened it and brought that over with two wine glasses. Pouring, he said, "Okay, the first thing ya gotta know is how to greet someone. Ya ask, what's the craic? It means, what's up, what's the news?"
I remembered Rory had asked me that at Brogan's office what seemed like a hundred years ago. "What's the craic?" I nodded. "Okay. What about the shur ya know like phrase?"
"Em." He nodded to the cartons, indicating I should start, and I grabbed one with some kind of noodles in it and started dishing it onto my plate. "That's just a sayin' like ya might put 'ya know' on the end of a sentence."
"Got it."
We ate dinner, talking and laughing, Fionn teaching me enough slang to get me started and educating me on some sayings.
Saying, "Relax the cacks," meant "Calm down." "I'm as sick as a small hospital today," meant "I'm feeling rather ill," and was usually used after a heavy night of drinking. The question, "Do you fancy a few scoops?" meant, "Would you be interested in an alcoholic beverage?" scoops pertaining to pints in particular. "Her face looks like the back of a bus," referred to a very unfortunate-looking person, as did a woman with "a body from Baywatch, and a face from Crimewatch."
I had to believe Fionn made up some of the phrases himself as they were too outrageous. But by the time we were done eating, we'd finished off the bottle of wine, and I was laughing me cacks off, which meant laughing my pants off. I didn't remember ever laughing so hard, and my cheek muscles hurt.
The keypad beeped and Brogan came through the door. "What's the craic?" I called out, raising my empty glass of wine.
Brogan closed the door, an amused look on his face as he walked toward us. "I see there's a party going on without me."
I smiled at Fionn, but when I looked more closely at Brogan, he looked worn and tired. "You okay?" I asked. "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah." He sat down and grabbed a container, taking my fork and eating straight from the takeout box.
"Should I open another bottle of wine?" Fionn asked.
"Definitely," I said. Fionn stood up to grab a bottle.
"Did everything go all right today?" I asked Brogan. "Any news on my brother?"
"I'm negotiating with them. I don't have a definite answer yet." His gaze skittered away from mine, and I wondered if there was something he wasn't telling me.
"Oh," I chewed at my lip, "okay. Do you think—?" I was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.
Brogan's brow furrowed, and he set the container of food down. Whoever it was downstairs rang again. "Jaysus," Brogan muttered as he stood up and walked to the monitor near his door. He opened the cover and looked at the camera, seeming to still. I heard him utter another curse, his shoulders moving up as if taking a fortifying breath. He pressed the button, and a woman's hysterical voice came over the speaker.
"Brogan, let me up!" It sounded as if she was crying.
"Be the Lord Jaysus," I heard Fionn mutter. I looked over at him in confusion, and his face was tense. He glanced at me and there was none of the amused laughter that had been there only moments ago.
"Courtney, this isn't a good time," Brogan spoke into the monitor. "I'll call you."
"He's getting out," she screeched. "Oh my God, Brogan, I've been calling you for days, and you haven't answered. Let me up!" Brogan leaned his head against the monitor. I watched him, nervous dread moving through my stomach. Who was she?
He turned toward me, our eyes meeting across the expanse of the room. "I'm sorry, Lydia," he said softly before he pressed the button, allowing access to the screaming woman on the street below.
I felt my face blanch, but I blinked, trying to gather myself. I'd just been happily sipping wine and laughing, and now something I didn’t understand was about to happen and apparently it wasn't good.
Brogan looked at Fionn. "Will you—?"
"You don't have to do this, Brogan," Fionn said quietly. They traded a few quick, tense lines in Gaelic, the language flying by me so quickly I couldn't even attempt to grasp a word. But then Fionn sighed and nodded. "Yeah."