“That’s a concoction my new girl made me special, she did.” There’s a teasing note in his voice, the Irish accent kicking up a notch. “I told her my lad has a bit of a sweet tooth for chocolate cherries.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I murmur, but I laugh in spite of myself. “And what new girl?”
“The very one,” he says with mock reverence. “Finally managed to get her on the line, so I could reel her in. I’ve been after a date for ages. She’s a younger woman, dontcha know.”
No, I definitely don’t know, I think grimly. “How young?”
“Fifty-two,” he says with a shrug of his brows.
“Cradle robber,” I deadpan.
This brings on a riot of laughter from both him and Avery. Then I notice he’s poured her another drink, and she’s finished most of it.
“Avery,” I say, circling the counter.
With a quick gulp, the last of it is gone, and she’s licking her lips. “Yes?”
“You know that’s got liquor in it?”
Her head jerks down at the glass like I’ve said it was full of hemlock.
“Oh, just a touch,” my grandfather says dismissively. He’s full Irish and, even at seventy, couldn’t be brought low by a whole bottle of Bush Mills, let alone a cherry cordial.
In this case, his opinion doesn’t factor, and sure enough, Avery looks warily into her empty glass.
“I don’t really drink.” Pouty lips purse, and her head tilts. “It was delicious, though.” She takes her glass to the sink and sets it there as a companion to mine.
“No worries. The food will be ready soon.” The old man peeks in the oven. The smell of bubbling gravy escapes, making my stomach growl.
Pops pours himself another whiskey and regals Avery with tales of my boyhood shenanigans. Low chuckles from her sound like purring, which sends my mind in the direction of sex.
A glance at the oven reminds me we’re here to eat. “Is the Shepherd’s pie another thing from the girlfriend?”
“Yes.” Pops grins. “She claims she’s no grand cook, but I call it false modesty. She’s dead brilliant at Shepherd’s pie and potato hash and every other thing she’s made me.”
“Pretty?”
“Gorgeous. Since the day she was born, I expect. I’ve known her going on twenty years or more, and she’s always been.”
“Surprised you found her single,” I say.
“Well, she’s widowed, you know. Wasn’t very keen on taking up with anyone. And she has a notorious son, which keeps some away. I like the lad.”
Hmm.“Do I know him?”
“You’ll know of him, I expect. Name’s Scott Patrick. Goes by Trick.”
Christ.Trick Patrick’s notorious, all right. Before I can comment on that bit of news, my attention shifts to Avery who sways as she takes a step.
“Whoa,” she mumbles. Avery’s hair falls over her shoulder when she looks back at me. “I didn’t eat lunch…that spiked cocoa’s hitting me, I think.” The tip of her tongue traces her lips, as if checking their general disposition. My guess is they’re tingling from her buzz. When she turns she teeters slightly. “My shoes are tall.”
“And they’ve grown a couple inches in the past hour,” I say with a sympathetic smirk.
Perfect white teeth nibble her lower lip. It is dead fucking sexy. Then a delicate hand reaches out for me, like I’m exactly what she needs. And that’s an entreaty that will never fail to land. Without even thinking, I step forward, so she can grab on. Her hand slides up, past my elbow to my bicep. Her fingers are cool, but the touch is anything but.
“You’re strong,” she whispers. “It’s a good thing.”
She has me, a hundred fucking percent.
