She nodded, then turned back to the man beside her. “About the pub, are you still leaning towards selling it?” She placed a hand on his arm, but he quickly pulled away. “Molly and I hoped we could change your mind.” 

The sound of shattering glass came from the storage room at the end of the bar. Anne sat up straight and looked around. “What was that?”

Liam and Tim continued as if nothing had happened.

“Just Kellen being dramatic. Ignore him,” Liam said. “Why were you discussing the pub with my daughter?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“She’s my sister-in-law, remember. We talk about a lot of things.” 

Liam shook his head but said nothing. 

Tim set the gin and tonic in front of Anne, then picked up a towel and wiped down the far end of the bar.

Anne got up from her stool and walked around the pub. Liam watched her stop and look at each antique, knick-knack, piece of memorabilia, and the old black and white photos of San Francisco and long-dead family members that adorned the walls. She paused at the tattered 1958 Giants pennant, the year the Giants moved to the city. Then at a black and white photo dated 1904, taken in front of the pub of a young Finn Greely, standing in front of an Oldsmobile runabout; then the tricolor flag of Ireland and a miniature Irish Republic flag like the one that had flown over the Dublin post office in the 1916 Easter Rising. 

“How long has the pub been here?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Her late husband had talked lovingly about the pub when they were dating and how he’d take over one day. 

Liam’s shoulders relaxed. “Since the gold rush. But you knew that.” 

She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know the details.”

 He blew out a breath. “My great-great-grandfather, Sean, and his brother Paddy opened it in 1855. It moved to this location thirty-odd years later.” He picked up his glass. “This is my home. My heart and soul are here.” He sipped the whiskey.

“I understand.” She retook her seat.

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