Page 23 of Giving Grace

“Molly.” Laughing a little, because of course this is about Ryan, I collapse back onto the bed, my feet still stuck to the floor. “What time is it?”

“Seventy-six ten.”

Still laughing, I flail my hand in the direction of the nightstand. “Hand me my phone.”

Huffing a little, she steps on my feet (probably on purpose) on her way to the nightstand. “Here,” she says, slapping it into my hand. “When can we—”

“Shit.” I drop the phone and cover my face with my free hand. “Molly Grace, it’s 5AM.”

Which means I’ve been in my bed for all of three hours.

I was in Ryan’s bed for a hell of a lot longer.

“You said a swear,” Molly informs me. “You gotta put money in my jar.”

That damn swear jar.

Another reason to hate Ryan.

Like I need one after last night.

Uncovering my eyes, I stare at the ceiling above my bed. “Go get dressed,” I tell Molly without looking at her.

“Are we going to see Ryan?” I can hear the hope in her voice and it nearly kills me.

Sitting up, I give her a lopsided grin. “Yup,” I tell her because all roads lead back to Ryan O’Connell—for both of us it, seems.

When she runs out of the room with a whoop to do as she’s told, I pull a pair of yoga pants out of my drawer and top them with a baggy sweater before heading to the kitchen.

I find Patrick standing at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. Like every other Sunday since I’ve been here, he’s wide awake, ready to head to the park to coach baseball.

“You’re up early,” he says when I walk into kitchen, spoonful of raisin bran halfway to his mouth. “If you want, I can take Molly with me to the park.” He delivers the cereal and chews for a few seconds before he finishes his offer. “You and Cari can mee—”

“Are you still looking for shotgirls?”

My question is met with silence. His spoon makes another trip. He shovels in a mouthful of cereal, chewing while regarding me thoughtfully. When his mouth is finally clear, he shakes his head. “No.”

Shit. He just hired Tess, so I knew it was a longshot, but I was still hoping that Gilroy family nepotism would work in my favor.

Before I can even start to feel disappointed, he keeps talking. “I’m thinking about adding a beer station by the pool tables, a few nights a week—bottled domestics. Imports on special. Try to relieve some of the pressure at the bar.” He sets his bowl aside and crosses his arms over his chest. “You have any experience?”

“Yeah—” I nod, never so glad to have served warm beer to factory workers in my whole life. “I cocktailed at the local dive back home. I can get you references if you want. My old boss there will—”

“I don’t need references—you say you have experience, then you have experience.” He doesn’t say anything else for a second. Probably trying to figure out how much shit my sister is going to give him if he hires me without talking to her about it first. Finally he cocks he head and sighs. “Like I said—it’s more an experiment than anything else. Just a few nights a week and the pay won’t—”

“I’ll take it.”

He laughs a little at my enthusiasm and swipes a hand over his face. “What about school?”

“I can do both,” I tell him, sounding a hell of a lot more confident than I feel. “Besides, I’m not even sure I got in—and even if I did, the program I applied for has a waiting list. It could be—”

“The medical assistant program.” He walks his bowl to the sink and gives it a rinse. “You got in.” He says it like it’s a fact, not even worth debating.

Before I can ask him what makes him so sure, Molly comes running down the hall at break-neck speed, sliding to a screeching halt in front of the laundry room door. “We’re going to see Ryan,” she announces to Patrick while she stands on her tip-toes to wrangle her jacket off its hook.

“Oh…” Patrick takes a discreet glance at his watch before shooting me a look that’s caught somewhere between amusement and concern because he undoubtedly knows where I was last night and that I wasn’t home when he dragged himself upstairs after closing down the bar, but when he looks back at Molly he gives her one of his full-dimpled grins. “In that case, don’t forget your swear jar.”

Sixteen

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