He kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. When we separated, I felt something settle inside me—a certainty, a rightness that had been missing for too long.
“We should probably get going,” I said reluctantly, glancing at the clock. “It’s almost eight, and I need to relieve Michael and Shelly.”
“And I need to save Mrs. Kowalski from the morning ruckus.” Patrick sighed dramatically. “Back to reality.”
“Not the worst reality, though,” I pointed out, standing and stretching. “It has its perks.”
His eyes darkened as they followed the movement. “Indeed, it does.”
We showered together, which took considerably longer than if we’d showered separately, then dressed in last night’s clothes. As I zipped up my dress, I caught Patrick watching me.
“What?” I asked, smoothing my hands over the fabric.
“Just memorizing this,” he said simply. “You, in this room, looking like that. I want to remember it.”
The raw honesty in his voice made my breath catch. “I’ll remember too.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then offered his hand. “Ready?”
I laced my fingers through his, feeling the strength in his grip, the warmth of his palm against mine. “Ready.”
We stepped out of the hotel room and into whatever came next—not just surviving, but seeking joy, messy or otherwise. I was most definitely looking forward to the future instead of dreading it.
As we rode the elevator down to the lobby, our reflection in the mirrored walls caught my attention—Patrick’s tall frame besidemy smaller one, our hands linked, his head bent slightly toward mine. We looked like a couple. We looked like we belonged together.
And maybe we did.
Chapter
Seventeen
PATRICK
The front doorclicked shut behind me, and I stood in the hallway of my rented house, still smelling like Theresa’s perfume. Sunday morning sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust in the air. Everything looked the same as when I’d left yesterday afternoon, but I felt completely different.
“Daddy!” Maggie’s squeal broke through my thoughts. She toddled toward me, arms outstretched, and I scooped her up, breathing in baby shampoo and whatever sticky substance had found its way into her curls at breakfast.
“There’s my girl.” I held her tighter than necessary.
Kitchen sounds drifted down the hall—silverware clinking, chairs scraping, Eoin’s high-pitched giggle followed by one of the twins telling him to stop. Normal Sunday morning chaos.
“You didn’t come home last night.”
Alec stood in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, trying to look imposing despite being only nine years old. His eyes held an accusation I wasn’t prepared for.
“I—” My throat went dry. “Work meeting ran late. Stayed at a hotel in the city.”
“On a Saturday night?” His tone could have frozen Loch Eidheann.
Brody appeared behind his brother, his face brightening when he saw me. “Dad! You’re back! Mrs. K made pancakes, but they’re not as good as Mum’s, and Carson put syrup in Cory’s hair and?—”
“That’s enough, Brody.” Mrs. Kowalski’s voice cut through his rambling as she emerged from the kitchen. Her expression was perfectly neutral, which somehow made it worse. “Children, go finish your breakfast. Your father needs to clean up.”
The younger boys scattered back to the kitchen, but Alec stayed put, still watching me with those knowing eyes.
Mrs. Kowalski waited until they were out of earshot. “I hope yourbusiness meetingwas productive, Mr. McCrae.”
The emphasis on ‘business meeting’ wasn’t subtle.
