She knew a few of the clientele that evening, the deep voices and the accented laughs of her dad’s old friends. Now the younger crowd had slipped in behind them, making the pub as much theirs with their iPhones glowing and their selfies taken at the bar. The faces weren’t so homogeneous anymore either. It wasn’t New York, but it wasn’t the old Watersend either.

A few people called out Colleen’s name and others waved. She slipped behind the bar and poured herself a Guinness, the foam even with the top. Hank returned and tipped his hat. “Nice job.”

“Anytime you need an extra hand, you let me know.” She shot him a grin before sliding onto a bar stool next to a young couple that was obviously on an awkward first date. She smiled at them both and spun around to face the room.

“You look so intense,” Beckett said as he appeared before her.

“That’s me, intense.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He smiled and nodded toward the group she’d seen him with earlier. “I was just about to leave when I saw you.”

Beckett grabbed a free bar stool two over, dragged it next to hers and sat. “So where do you live now, Colleen Donohue?”

“New York City. Brooklyn, to be exact.”

“Wow. You left here to live there?”

“I did.”

“Why? Must have been a hell of a job offer to ditch this place and this pub and your family.”

“No. A hell of a something, though.” She tried to smile but instead took a long swig of beer.

“A hell of a something.” He leaned forward. “I can’t wait to find out what that something is.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “That’s not happening.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows and threw back his head, raised his water glass and clinked it with hers. “Cheers.”

Colleen tilted her head. “Can you toast with water? I thought that was against the rules.”

“Not in my book.” He patted the bar and then his shirt pocket as if looking for a book.

“Oh, you have your own book?”

“I do. Maybe one day I’ll let you read it.” He extended his hands across the bar. “You know where ‘cheers’ came from?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“In medieval times, two men would clink glasses together before they took a sip so that the liquid would splash into each other’s drink and that way they would be sure the other hadn’t poisoned their drink.”

Colleen’s eyebrows rose. “Well, aren’t you a fount of knowledge.”

“That’s me. A fount of useless historical information.”

The fiddler began a jig and for a moment the pub patrons all quieted in appreciation of the musician’s skill. When they resumed their chorus of conversations, Beckett held out his hand. “Dance?”