Winning his Irish heart

Becca has lost several local contests to her town rival, Brody, until the luck of the Irish gifts her an unexpected win: a chance at love

- Lisa Weaver

Spotting the blue ribbon adorning the window of the bakery across the street from my coffee shop, my stomach sinks. Brody O’Gowan has done it again. There’s no disputing he has inherited the muchreputed lucky streak of his Irish ancestors. In the four months since he moved here, the man has managed to best me in every competition we’ve gone head-to-head in.

Our rivalry started on Thanksgiving when he took first place to my second in the Fastest Fowl 5K. In December, his gingerbread house annihilated mine at the Santa’s Sweets Festival. That’s when I made it my mission to beat him in the St. Patrick’s Day window decorating contest, planning an elaborate leprechaun garden display that I was certain would make Brody green with envy.

But my handsome adversary has trumped me again, this time with a leprechaun trap bedecking his bakery window.

Giving in to the need to vent my frustration, I grumble to my barista Kay. “Is there anything that man isn’t good at?”

Grinning, she shakes her head. “Not from what I hear, Becca. But if you have to choke down a slice of humble pie, aren’t you glad he’s the one serving it? If I was single like you, I’d be marching myself over to congratulate him. You don’t want the most eligible bachelor in town thinking you’re a sore loser, do you?”