Delicious Heat cover against a background of shamrocks. Text: #SundaySnippet Enjoy this taste of Bangers Tavern's St. Paddy's Day bash!

Top o’ the mornin’ to ye! (Well, it’s still morning here in Las Vegas)

Before I start my St. Patrick’s Day cooking–chicken & Guiness stew and Irish soda bread–let me share a snippet from Bangers Tavern’s St. Patrick’s Day bash! There’s a sassy nun, an over-the-top green bar owner, and a nasty clash between pregnant heroine Anna’s dad and her beau (not the father), Bangers’ chef Diego. Erin go bragh!

☘️☘️☘️

Dawn O’Malley stepped up to the microphone in an outfit so outrageous Anna couldn’t hold back a giggle—green Doc Martens, snug green jeans cupping her wide hips, light-up shamrocks twinkling from a green satin vest over a T-shirt reading “Irish whiskey makes me frisky,” green tinsel wound around her neck like a feather boa, and a green bowler hat atop her green-tipped dreadlocks.

“Erin go bragh!” she bellowed into the microphone. The crowd cheered and raised their glasses.

Dawn patted her tawny, freckle-dusted cheek. “Being a true Irish lass, Saint Patrick’s Day is me favorite holiday.”

She was probably aiming for an Irish accent, but she sounded more like a movie pirate.

Someone hollered, “Bullshit.”

“Ain’t you ever heard of the Black Irish?” Dawn flashed a teasing grin. “And watch your language in front of the good sisters. Where you at, Sister Mary-Agnes?”

“Yo!” A stout woman in a dark green pantsuit waved a roll of raffle tickets.

“That’s a nun?” Dad grumbled. “Where’s her habit thingy?”

Anna elbowed him. “Don’t be a Neanderthal, Dad. Nuns can wear regular clothes.”

Sister Mary-Agnes hopped up on stage and took the mic. “Top o’ the evening, Bangers.” Her Irish accent sounded one hundred percent real to Anna’s ears. “And huge thanks to Ms. O’Malley for hostin’ us tonight. We’ve got some lovely raffle baskets from local businesses.” She winked and cupped a hand beside her mouth. “I’ve got my eye on that basket from Paradise Garden Dispensary.”

A wave of gasps and giggles swept the room.

“What?” The nun blinked in mock innocence. “Their CBD cream does wonders for my arthritis.” She held up her coil of tickets. “We got T-shirts, hoodies, caps, gift cards, all manner of good things from the fine merchants of Tacoma, so dig deep. All proceeds from tonight’s raffle support Saint Benedict’s free clinic and community medical outreach.”

Dad obediently dug for his wallet. “You know Barney from my poker group? One of them nurse nuns visits his dad twice a week.”

Dawn took the microphone back. “And don’t forget, there’s still plenty of shamrocks hidden around the bar. Each one is good for a free drink, so get to huntin’, little leprechauns.”

Dad hopped down from his stool and snatched up his cane. “I’m off to find my pot of gold.”

While Anna scanned the noisy crowd, her stomach rumbled. “Chill out, Turnip. [Right now, the baby’s the size of a turnip] Empanadas are coming.”

“Hey there, angel.” A muscled arm set a plate before her.

“Diego!” she squeaked. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

He gave her an adorable, crooked grin. “Charlie said you were here, so I’m taking my break. Tell me what you think of my Irish empanadas.” He crouched and placed his hand on her belly. “Hope you like them too, Turnip.”

“What the ever-lovin’ fuck are you doing?”

The empanada in Anna’s hand went flying. Dad had popped up at her elbow like some sneaky Lebanese ninja. She would’ve toppled from her barstool if Diego hadn’t thrown a steadying arm around her shoulders.

“Dad,” she hissed, “watch your language around the nuns.”

He waved a fistful of raffle tickets. “Thought I might win something nice for my pregnant daughter.” His death-ray glare jerked from Diego’s reddened face to his chest, where Anna clutched his T-shirt.

“You makin’ a move on my baby girl, Domingo?”

“Dad, for frick’s sake—”

Diego straightened but didn’t release Anna’s shoulder. “Yes, sir. I am.” He searched her face, his expression solemn. “I’m crazy about her.”

Dad spluttered, “But she’s—”

“Still technically married. I know.” Diego lifted one shoulder. “From your point of view, this probably makes no sense. But there it is.” His grip on her shoulder softened into a caress.

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Wishing you a rollicking good time on St. Patrick’s Day!