One inheritance. One exile. One very inconvenient attraction.
Wren
Divorced, broke, and inheriting a bar I never wanted. Except it's not just a bar—it's a sanctuary for magical outcasts built by my grandmother. The shirtless, grumpy bartender? Exiled leprechaun king. The dripping woman? Selkie without her skin. The napkin army? Possibly sentient.
Now a fae lord wants to buy it, my ex-husband just vandalized it, and I just found out I'm half-selkie.
I have until 11:59 pm on St. Patrick's Day to claim a ley line—whatever that is—or lose everything, including the grumpy bartender who runs warm, refuses to wear shirts, and looks at me like I'm the best thing he's seen in a century.
Ronan
A century of exile taught me not to trust anywhere to be permanent. Then Eleanor gave me a home. A job. A place where I didn't have to hide.
Now her granddaughter's here, and she's everything I didn't expect: fierce, sharp, disaster-prone, and glowing with magic she doesn't know about or understand.
She wants to sell the bar, and I am sure she'll throw me out.
Instead, she defends me. Protects a homeless changeling. Stands against my enemy without flinching.
And when she learns what claiming the ley line really means—forever bound to this place, responsible for everyone's safety, unable to leave—I'm terrified she'll choose freedom.
I stopped running when I found this bar. Now I'm ready to fight to keep it… and her.
