And by ‘go’ Riley meant he was probably calling his siblings to spread the news. His slow wit was the only winner in this situation—if he were faster on his feet, he would have snapped some photos to illustrate the group text that I expected to blow up the Walsh family phones any minute.
The snarky Facebook post practically wrote itself: Who has two thumbs and just walked in on his brother rounding third base with the apprentice? This guy.
Patrick bent to meet my eyes, his hand covering the fingers that attempted to fasten the ties of my shirt. “I’m going to talk to him. Fix this. Are you okay?” I murmured and Patrick squeezed my fingers. “I need you to give me more than ‘hm,’ Andy. Are you okay?”
Somewhere between resenting that Riley interrupted some scrumptious petting and recognizing that our cover was irrevocably blown, I met Patrick’s eyes with a shaky exhale and stiff nod. My turn to be twitchy. “Yeah.”
“Here.” He slipped his keys into my pocket and dropped a gentle kiss on my mouth. “Go home. Eat. Have a drink. I’ll be there soon.”
He was gone, and I was on autopilot. I stuffed most of my things in my bag, but in the back of my mind, I remembered contracts, designs, and notes I intended to review tonight littered my drafting table, plus an open jar of pecans and dried papaya.
I didn’t want to imagine the deal Patrick was brokering with Riley, or the changes inherent in taking our relationship public, instead focusing on the path to Patrick’s apartment. Left on Cambridge Street. Right on New Sudbury. Pass through Haymarket Square. Cross over I-93. Pass Bread+Butter, Neptune Oyster, and L’Osteria on Salem Street. Left on Prince Street. Fourth building on the right. Enter the code, up the stairs, unlock the door.
The vodka cranberry poured itself, and despite the evening chill, releasing the pressure building in my chest with some fresh air was mandatory. The hard structure of the teak chair was a welcome sensation, and I felt the initial shock of Riley’s appearance gradually subside.
In my ideal world, our relationship was the best-kept secret in town. In the world where I actually lived, I knew it would get out. The fact we made it to May without any real notice from Patrick’s siblings was worth celebrating—and examining closely, as we stopped being covert around the same time the daffodils started blooming, and their involvement in each other’s lives tended toward ridiculous levels.
I sat back, knees tucked to my chin and empty glass dangling from my fingers, expecting the panic to knock me flat on my ass. My bared breasts aside, I was experiencing a complete shortage of screeching angst and anxiety over the presumed shards of my career, and it was confusing as hell.
Halfway through my count of the pergola’s beams, the chair swiveled and Patrick’s hands gripped the arms.
“Everything’s fine, kitten. Riley’s not saying anything to anyone,” Patrick promised. “Come inside, you’re freezing.”
“Would it be so bad?” I asked, my eyes still studying the pergola.
Patrick frowned, and leaned against the edge of the teak dining table, his arms crossing over his chest. Something about those rolled up shirtsleeves knocked my train of thought off course every time. “Would what be so bad?”
Lowering my gaze to Patrick’s eyes, I hugged my arms around my legs. “You said you wanted to wake up next to me every single day.”
Patrick nodded, the muscles in his jaw pulsing. “Yeah.”
“What does that mean?” My hand swept out, gesturing between us. “What happens at the end of my apprenticeship?”
“What do you mean, what happens? You’re staying right here. We’re tearing up half of the office space in a few weeks because I’m building you your own fucking office, Andy, six and a half feet away from mine, because I can’t function without you.”
My own office.
At Walsh Associates.
“When did you plan on mentioning that? I’ve spent the past three months trying to figure out what to do when this ends. You could have spared me two dozen phone interviews and some of the most ludicrous performance tasks ever conceived.”
Patrick stared at me, irritation and sadness and confusion passing over his face. “You’ve been interviewing?”
“Yes,” I cried, my hands slapping the wooden seat. “Life beyond June hasn’t been a popular topic of conversation.”
“But you’re leading Mahoney and Castavechia, and Wellesley is far from finished,” he replied, his hands spread wide in front of him as if that evidence proved his point. “Plus the other nineteen projects you have going through June.”
“Right, and though those are late summer projects, you’ve never said ‘Andy, we’re hiring you at the end of your apprenticeship, so don’t waste your time interviewing with morons.’”
Patrick returned his hands to the armrests and leaned forward. We were a breath apart. “Andy. We’re hiring you at the end of your apprenticeship. Don’t waste your time interviewing with morons.” His lips brushed over my jaw and down my throat, then up, finally stopping at my lips. “I spent all day finalizing plans for your office with Riley—”
“Did he see my boobs?”
“Not that he’s admitting.” Patrick laughed, and dropped his head to my knees. “Andy…We need to talk about…a lot of things. Let me take you inside.”
“You said there were at least five things. You can sit,” I pointed across the table, “over there. Where you can behave.”
“Not happening,” Patrick murmured, and he dragged an ottoman in front of my chair. Sitting, he wrapped his hands around my ankles and rubbed small circles along my calves. “We start construction at the end of the month, and we’re sectioning my office to create space for you. I changed the design to put a glass wall between us, so it feels like one room and I can always see you. Deal with it. That’s one. I need you in that office because you’ve earned it. I also don’t have the patience for Mahoney or Castavechia, and you know my position on Wellesley. Don’t even think about taking another interview because you’re incredible and fucking gifted, and everyone agrees with me. And I’m beyond pissed that you were looking, and didn’t tell me. That’s two.”
