Colleen laughed and slapped her hand on the bar. “Seriously? No. I had no idea.”

“Yep. It was more important to him than the library or the town hall. He believed it would be the central hub of the town. And damn if he wasn’t right even all these years later. So I’ve been looking at old photos and records, and I recognized that smile of yours.”

Colleen set her palms on the edge of the bar. “So what does it mean to be a historic landmark?”

“It means a lot, actually. Historical preservation keeps us grounded in who we are as a town and as a state and even as a country. The past defines us. It matters. And we need to preserve it.”

He was so earnest she almost laughed, but that would have been cruel. She also wanted to tell him that there wasn’t any problem with preserving the past around these parts—it was as natural as greeting everyone you passed. She also wanted to tell him that she had spent the last ten years trying to do exactly the opposite of preserving the past. But instead, she smiled at him. “But don’t you think some history should be let go? Knocked down. Destroyed?” she asked.

He laughed, this guy who wouldn’t take her shot and who smiled at her like he already knew her. “But some things shouldn’t be destroyed. And if we can get a historical marker for your pub, it will always be preserved.”

“What about when it’s better to turn something old into something new?”

“Well, that’s part of what we decide.”

They were having two different conversations, two separate rivers rushing parallel, and Colleen wondered if he realized that, if he knew she was talking about something other than the structure where they stood. “But save it if you must. It’s a good old building. No one is trying to take it down.”

“Someone,” he said, “is always trying to take down old things. Trust me. Might not be now, but . . .”

Colleen eyed him—was he serious or teasing her? She spied the scar on his left ear that extended in a silver hairline to the edge of his cheekbone and crinkled when his cheeks rose with his smile. The drink warmed her and allowed an easy smile before she glanced over to see Hallie approaching the bar, her two girls twirling in their skirts. “Here comes another Donohue,” she said to the man. “They’re everywhere.”

He turned and watched Rosie reach the stool next to him and crawl onto it.

Sadie stood behind Hallie and peeked out to tell Rosie, “You ask her.”

“Aunt Lena,” Rosie said, placing her little elbows on the surface of the bar, settling her face into the cradle of her hands, “can you come for a sleepover tonight?”