Hell, I hadn’t slept much either, but my reasons had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with the image of Finn’s hand on the small of her back as they’d climbed those stairs.
I crossed my ankles, my foot bumping hers beneath the table. “Sorry. So. What else do you suggest for the celebration?”
“How long have you worked here?” Bree lifted her head, a sheen of tears in her eyes.
Ah, so she needed a bit of a distraction before we worked through the details. I could give her that. “Let’s see. I started out cleaning tables in high school, then moved behind the bar once I was old enough to sell drinks. Maeve made me manager ten years ago.” I’d grown up with the Sullivan woman as my role models. Maeve cared for me like a mother. Shayla treated me like a brother, and I’d always thought of her as a sister.
Seeing Bree as anything except Shayla’s daughter and someone I should look out for created a problem for me I’d never expected. I shouldn’t be attracted to her.
The rational part of my brain screamed that she was off-limits. Shayla’s daughter. Maeve’s granddaughter.
But the rest of me–the part that noticed how her fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, how her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she was thinking–didn’t give a damn about rationality.
Feeling any kind of sexual way toward the woman sitting across from me made me a sleaze…right?
Damn it all. I didn’t need this right now. Not ever, really, but especially not when faced with her vulnerability and my own suddenly questionable moral compass.
“I used to sit in Nana’s office and draw pictures of you as a leprechaun.” Bree grimaced and finished her coffee. “I don’t know why I thought of that. You’re definitely the wrong size for that.”
I snorted, grateful for the subject change even if it did dredge up memories of a tiny Bree with crayons clutched in her fists. “How old were you? Seven? Eight?”
“Nine. And you had the most ridiculous green hat in my drawings.” She traced a pattern on the table with her fingertip. “Nana hung one on her office wall for years. It’s probably still there.”
My chest tightened. Yeah, I’d seen that drawing. Maeve pointed it out every time she wanted to embarrass me. Time to bring the subject matter around to someone else. “I’m the wrong size for a lot of things, but if you want someone who’ll dress in green tights and prance around the pub, you’ll have to ask Finn.”
A bright, easy laugh took all the worry off her face. “I bet he’d do it too.”
“He would.” Especially if she smiled at him like that.
Hell,I’dbe tempted to do it for one of those smiles.
The knots in my stomach relaxed.
We could move on to business now and get this whole mess behind us.
And I could box up the jealousy blistering my skin every time I thought about Finn walking her up the stairs last night. It had taken him a while to come back down.
I hadn’t timed him, but I knew Finn. I knew what he was capable of, and how fast he could get the job done.
I’d seen him at work often enough.
The thought made my jaw clench. Bree wasn’t some random hookup. She deserved better than Finn’s usual MO of charming a woman into bed, then acting like nothing happened the next morning while he moved on to the next willing woman.
I’d watched him operate for years. Hell, there were times I’d helped him operate, running interference when things got messy. Like that whole shitshow with Bethany.
This was different. This was Bree, and I had an obligation to protect her. Even if I was protecting her from herself.
“Is tomorrow too soon? Mr. Devaro said he’d have her ready in the morning.” Swallowing hard, Bree crossed her arms on the table and rested her chin on top of them. “I hate this.”
My lungs forced every bit of air out in a rush. “Yeah. Me too. She’d hate missing St. Patrick’s Day, but that’s the pub’s biggest and busiest day. Not sure we could pull off having our annual party and her celebration at the same time.”
“We need to decorate. She’ll haunt me if I don’t at least bring out her favorite shamrock mugs. And we have to switch the coffee creamer over to her Bailey’s Irish cream.”
It was one of Maeve’s stranger idiosyncrasies about the holiday, but she insisted they only use Bailey’s in coffee the day before, day of, and day after St. Patrick’s. “I’m willing to make the exception in her honor. It’s already in the refrigerator.” I scratched my cheek, where a rough edge of my nail nearly tore off a hunk of skin.
Bree either didn’t hear or chose to ignore my muttered curse. Turning her head to the side, she rested her cheek on her forearms. “When I decided to become an event planner, I never thought those skills would come in handy for this.” She sighed, eyes fluttering shut.
Exhaustion carved itself into every line of her face. Without thinking, I reached across the space, my hand hovering near hers before I caught myself and retreated.
