They move to a nook that’s off the breakfast area. Shane says a few words and then brings out his phone and shows his grandfather something. I wonder if he's telling him about the fire and showing him pictures of the house. Mr. Sullivan’s attention to the screen lasts longer than I expect, though.
When I finish my coffee, I rinse the cup and move a bit closer to them.
Shane notices and puts his hand out to his grandfather, who gives him the phone back. Shane slides his cell away as they start toward me.
To Shane, Mr. Sullivan says, “Yeah, someone will look into it.” When his grandfather reaches the counter where I’m waiting, his serious expression lightens, and he gestures for us to sit down at the island.
Even though Mr. Sullivan has a whole room full of men waiting for him, he doesn't appear rushed. Instead, he asks me how the weekend is going.
I tell him about the party we went to and show him a couple of pictures that someone posted of Shane and me.
His grandfather smiles. “Where are the close-ups of the two of you? Did you get one at the house before you left? Send me one of those.”
“There are no shots from the house,” Shane says. “It wasn’t a high school prom, Pops.”
His grandfather leans back, giving Shane an assessing look. It’s exactly the same look Shane gives other people. “A pretty girl dresses up for you, and you don’t get a picture? What’s wrong with you? Your cousin Jack takes pictures of his cheeseburgers.”
I chuckle.
“Idiot,” Shane says with a smirk.
“Who? You or him?” Mr. Sullivan’s expression is bemused.
Shane rolls his eyes.
“Tell me about the party, Avery love.”
I scroll through images and find another slightly blurry shot of us to show. “We had a good time until I started causing trouble, and Shane had to get me out of there.”
Mr. Sullivan laughs. “You caused trouble? I doubt that.”
“No, I did.” I glance over at Shane to see if it's all right to tell his grandfather what happened. When Shane doesn’t move, I lean toward him and whisper, “All right to share the story?”
Shane’s arm comes to rest on the back of my chair. “Little late to ask now,” he says, but he looks more amused than annoyed.
“Come on,” his grandfather says, beckoning me with his fingers. “You can't start a story and leave it unfinished. On you go.” His Irish accent is charming, and I can’t resist being charmed.
With a last glance at Shane’s profile, I press my lips together, and then turn to Mr. Sullivan. I explain about seeing the guys with the Casanova roses.
Mr. Sullivan says darkly, “I've heard about Casanova. Someone needs to deal with him.” That’s the exact wording Shane uses. He has so many mannerisms and turns of phrase that seem to come from his grandfather.
Mr. Sullivan sips his coffee, and his expression remains grim. “You're sure the lads at the party wore those flowers as a tribute to Casanova?”
I nod. “It’s the first thing I asked when I confronted the guy from my class. I wanted to know if he realized that color rose is Casanova’s calling card. He smirked at me, making it very clear he knew exactly what he was doing. Wearing it was like a slap.”
My teeth grind together as bitter anger hits me again. “To sneer and celebrate someone who stalks women and completely erases them from the world…those guys were trying to intimidate us. Again.” I look away, scowling. “I wasn’t in the mood to be intimidated, especially by a bunch of shitty fan boys.” I exhale, trying to get control of myself. “Sorry for swearing. I guess I’m still upset.” After a hard swallow, I shake my head. “I tore off every rose I could get my hands on and smashed them.”
Stealing a sip of Shane’s coffee, I study Mr. Sullivan over the mug’s rim, trying to determine whether his impression of me has changed.
His gray brows crowd each other, forming an angry crease. “So it was you who had to confront them? Then what?”
My voice is distant. “That’s it. What more could I do?”
Mr. Sullivan looks at Shane. “And what did you do, my lad, while this went on?”
My gaze shifts to Shane’s handsome face, which gives nothing away.
“Shane did the perfect thing,” I say. “He stopped them from trying to squash my rebellion.”
