“No. It’s not surprising, though. We haven’t sent him much…businessrecently,” my father answers, a tight expression on his face.
Niall nods knowingly. It's a seemingly innocuous exchange, only a brief mention of Nessa’s father. But something significant underlies it, I can tell. I glance back and forth between the two men, searching their expressions.
“And of the Costas?” Niall asks my father, and he goes to answer, but Aisling interrupts his answer.
“Maeve,” Aisling asks loudly from my left. “Would you like to go to lunch with me this week?”
I glance around the table. Everyone has gone momentarily still, looking at me expectantly. Callum is like a statue beside me, holding his gaze down at his now-empty plate.
“Uhhh, sure,” I say awkwardly. “That’d be great.”
As if on cue, the clicks of silverware on plates and the soft murmur of conversation resume. Aisling is beaming at me.
“What day would be best for you?”
“Let me double-check and make sure I don’t have plans with Nessa,” I say. “But I’m sure whatever it is could be rescheduled.”
I feel Callum tense up again.
He grabs his glass of whiskey and tosses it back like water. I chance a quick look at his face. His brows are slightly furrowed, and his blue eyes are narrowed as he stares at a painting on the opposite wall.The lightning tattoo on the side of his neck ripples.
He obviously didn’t like that. Well, too damn bad. He liked her well enough backthen; he could deal with hernow. It seems we’reallgoing to be around each other again, so he might as well make nice. Just like I’m doing. But my stomach turns at the thought of them both in front of me at the same time. I finish off my glass of wine in a single gulp.
I’ll need about four more of those, I think as I slam my glass down a little more forcefully than I’d intended. I feel his gaze roving, but I can't stop wondering what all they aren't telling me.
When the servers emerge from the kitchen with the dessert plates, a wave of gratitude washes over me. I can’t wait for this dinner to be over, finally. They set the dishes in front of us, and a pang of nostalgia washes over me: strawberry shortcake, my mother’s recipe. I could tell by the slight aroma of almonds. It was my favorite. I hadn’t had it in years, of course, and my diet plan didn’t exactly include sugar. Lorcan rode my arse about eating plenty of protein. Said sugar makes you weak and slows your reflexes.
Fuck it.
I grab my dessert fork and carve out an embarrassingly large bite for myself, then I shovel it in. A soft groan of pleasure sounds in my throat before I can stop it.
I hear Callum and Ronan chuckle. I snap my head in their direction. Callum’s eyes widen, and a small smile spreads across his face before he ducks his head. Ronan, however, decides to shove his foot in his mouth.
“Looks like you still haven’t learned to eat dessert without acting like it’s going to run off your plate, Evie.”
Yep, Ronan’sstillRonan.Does this fecker not learn?
Everyone at the table laughs, but I just glare at him. Suddenly, I notice Callum punch him in the leg under the table. I stifle the giggle that rises in my throat. It was a brutal hit. Ronan flinches and holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“It was a joke!”
“You just don’t learn, do you?” Callum replies in a low voice.
My thoughts exactly. I’d had enough of Ronan’s shit already. I feel a slight surge of adrenaline as I realize that I was going to get my shot at him before the end of the night. Maybe then he’d learn. I smile to myself as I finish off my dessert, savoring the sugar rush and the memories of my mother.
Finley, the sous chef, Rory’s son, peeks his head into the dining room.
“How are we doing out here?” His voice is cheery and warm.
“Seconds?” I say hopefully, then my head turns sharply toward Callum in surprise. We’d said the same thing at the same time. He looks at me, too, the corner of his mouth rising in a half-smile. I’d forgotten that this was his favorite, too. That he’d probably also been thinking about my mother. I smile back at him for just a moment before turning away.
Get a grip on yourself, Maeve.
My father is watching us closely, resting his chin in one hand, a knowing smile on his face. I can’t take it.
“Never mind,” I say hurriedly, tossing my napkin onto the table. “I don’t think I could fit it anyway. Excuse me.”
I stand to leave, and the room goes eerily silent once more, but I walk out without looking at anyone.
