weeks, actually, she thought. Her nights were usually spent in prepping for the next morning's menu, or going over the café's books, which, if not extensive, still challenged her elementary mathematics skills. The idea of sitting down to a ledger suddenly seemed very unappealing.
Julian was looking at her expectantly.
Bahar was not impressed when her older sister stuck her head in the kitchen a minute later. “Back by ten,” Marjan said, whipping off her apron. “Lock the front door, will you?” Before Bahar could voice an opinion, Marjan found herself seated in the Confessional, a carafe of the pub's house red between her and Julian.
He held up the carafe. “Now this is something you don't see every day in a pub,” he said, pouring her a glass of the rose-colored wine.
“It's a new addition,” said Marjan, taking the glass in both hands.
“Something tells me you had a hand in that suggestion.”
Marjan laughed. “Maybe. But Margaret—she runs the pub— is really good with new ideas.” She tipped her head toward the bar, where a buxom woman with gingery curls was laughing uproariously with a few punters.
Julian persisted. “I think you're underestimating your powers over this little hamlet of ours. I've seen you rushing about in that van of yours, spreading those peace signs all over the place.”
Marjan gave an indulgent nod. “It's not the most glamorous car, I know. But it's been really handy when I've needed it.” She raised the glass to her nose, inhaling cherry, vanilla, and blackberry tones. Delicious.
“It's a grand piece of machinery. Especially those peace signs. Quite apropos to the responsibility you've taken on.”
Marjan turned to him with a curious look. “Responsibility? What do you mean?”
“Well, it's not every day a backwater gets a taste of the world's greatest culture. The seat of all learning.”
“I wouldn't exactly call it a backwater,” Marjan said. “But thank you for the compliment.”
“Don't mistake me—I think this is one of the loveliest spots on the planet, right here, this town, the Bay. I come from a long line of Mayo men, after all.”
“But you've never lived here yourself?”
“Boarding school and Oxford, London all the way. But I always knew I'd come back to Mayo,” Julian said, a fondness in his voice.
“So you're renovating your family home?”
“Yes, that's right. Restoring the ancestral seat to its former glory—that sort of thing. I've hired a firm from Dublin to oversee the finer details. Don't want some local Mick taking a sledgehammerto its precious walls.” He turned to her intently. “I would love to show the old place to you sometime.”
Marjan paused, took a sip from her wine. “I'd like that,” she said softly. She glanced up. Fiona Athey had just come in with Father Mahoney.
Her friend raised her eyebrows and nodded provocatively at Julian, a large grin spreading across her face. Marjan's eyes widened, embarrassment rushing over her.
She'd be hearing about this tomorrow, she could bet on it.
She turned her attention back to Julian. “So, why Iran?”
“Why?”
“Yes. I mean, how did you get interested in traveling there in the first place?”
“I fell in love with a Persian girl. At Oxford.” Julian settled back in the booth. The tasseled curtain brushed over his hair, ruffling it attractively.
“Ah. A Persian girl.” Marjan nodded.
Julian chuckled. “That's all there is to know, isn't there? Fall in love with a Persian girl, and you'll never be the same?” His lips twitched with amusement.
“I didn't mean that,” Marjan started. “I just meant—”
“I know, I know …” He reached over and touched her hand. A ripple of pleasure ran up Marjan's arm. “I just wanted to see your reaction.”
“Oh.” Marjan blushed. She sipped some more wine to steady herself. “What was her name? The Persian girl from Oxford?”
Julian looked off into the distance. “Mina Khalestoun. I met her in the
Julian was looking at her expectantly.
Bahar was not impressed when her older sister stuck her head in the kitchen a minute later. “Back by ten,” Marjan said, whipping off her apron. “Lock the front door, will you?” Before Bahar could voice an opinion, Marjan found herself seated in the Confessional, a carafe of the pub's house red between her and Julian.
He held up the carafe. “Now this is something you don't see every day in a pub,” he said, pouring her a glass of the rose-colored wine.
“It's a new addition,” said Marjan, taking the glass in both hands.
“Something tells me you had a hand in that suggestion.”
Marjan laughed. “Maybe. But Margaret—she runs the pub— is really good with new ideas.” She tipped her head toward the bar, where a buxom woman with gingery curls was laughing uproariously with a few punters.
Julian persisted. “I think you're underestimating your powers over this little hamlet of ours. I've seen you rushing about in that van of yours, spreading those peace signs all over the place.”
Marjan gave an indulgent nod. “It's not the most glamorous car, I know. But it's been really handy when I've needed it.” She raised the glass to her nose, inhaling cherry, vanilla, and blackberry tones. Delicious.
“It's a grand piece of machinery. Especially those peace signs. Quite apropos to the responsibility you've taken on.”
Marjan turned to him with a curious look. “Responsibility? What do you mean?”
“Well, it's not every day a backwater gets a taste of the world's greatest culture. The seat of all learning.”
“I wouldn't exactly call it a backwater,” Marjan said. “But thank you for the compliment.”
“Don't mistake me—I think this is one of the loveliest spots on the planet, right here, this town, the Bay. I come from a long line of Mayo men, after all.”
“But you've never lived here yourself?”
“Boarding school and Oxford, London all the way. But I always knew I'd come back to Mayo,” Julian said, a fondness in his voice.
“So you're renovating your family home?”
“Yes, that's right. Restoring the ancestral seat to its former glory—that sort of thing. I've hired a firm from Dublin to oversee the finer details. Don't want some local Mick taking a sledgehammerto its precious walls.” He turned to her intently. “I would love to show the old place to you sometime.”
Marjan paused, took a sip from her wine. “I'd like that,” she said softly. She glanced up. Fiona Athey had just come in with Father Mahoney.
Her friend raised her eyebrows and nodded provocatively at Julian, a large grin spreading across her face. Marjan's eyes widened, embarrassment rushing over her.
She'd be hearing about this tomorrow, she could bet on it.
She turned her attention back to Julian. “So, why Iran?”
“Why?”
“Yes. I mean, how did you get interested in traveling there in the first place?”
“I fell in love with a Persian girl. At Oxford.” Julian settled back in the booth. The tasseled curtain brushed over his hair, ruffling it attractively.
“Ah. A Persian girl.” Marjan nodded.
Julian chuckled. “That's all there is to know, isn't there? Fall in love with a Persian girl, and you'll never be the same?” His lips twitched with amusement.
“I didn't mean that,” Marjan started. “I just meant—”
“I know, I know …” He reached over and touched her hand. A ripple of pleasure ran up Marjan's arm. “I just wanted to see your reaction.”
“Oh.” Marjan blushed. She sipped some more wine to steady herself. “What was her name? The Persian girl from Oxford?”
Julian looked off into the distance. “Mina Khalestoun. I met her in the
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