Page 17 of Doyle

Some of the others were staying in town, at a hotel Declan owned, the Stone Harbor.

“It’s okay, Tia. They’re here for a week. We’ll get our chance.”

And now the man read minds?

“We just have so much riding on this.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, as if trying to force himself not to reach out to her, and nodded.

And for a second, she had to try not to step closer.

Aw, what was wrong with her? Now she needed ahug?

“It’s too late to give our little talk.” She sighed.

“It’s fine. The kids met the right people. The donors saw the artwork, and they had a good time. And, most important, nothing tragic happened, right?”

She took a step away because he smelled good, too, and the firelight was picking up the blue-gold in his eyes. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Listen, glass-half-empty woman. We have an entire week to impress these people. I promise you that by the end of the week, we’ll be so far into the black you’ll be able to buy a fleet of X-ray machines.”

She laughed. “I don’t need a fleet.”

“You need a fleet. An armada.” His eyes twinkled.

Trouble.She headed back down the stairs. “I think I’ll go help clean up.”

“I’m drying.”

“What?”

“Oh, in our home growing up, whenever someone said it was time for dishes, someone always called dryer. No one liked washing.”

He lifted a hand to someone, and her gaze followed the gesture to the...Oh, the woman.She grinned up at him, warmth in her expression.

See. Calm. down.The guy was taken. And frankly, she’d been there, done that. Had no desire to be the second choice.

She headed over to the tables, where the nuns had already started packing up the food. So much callaloo left. Maybe that had been a bad choice. The patties had vanished, as had the conch fritters and the flatbread. But the cou-cou and flying fish had hardly been touched, along with the curried goat stew.

Even though she’d omitted the wordgoatfrom the placard.

Oh well.

“We can clean up, Miss Tia,” said Rosa, putting plastic over the rice-and-pea dish—rice, coconut milk, allspice, peppers, and pigeon peas.

“Sorry no one ate your delicious food.”

“Oh, honey, more for the children. And now I don’t have to cook tomorrow.” She grinned, her eyes shiny. “You go on now.”

Fine.

Doyle was walking the woman, along with Declan and Stein, out the front gate. The music played, and a few of the girls twirled on the dance floor. Some of the boys threw twigs into the fires, still alive in the fountain. That hadn’t been a terrible idea.

Still, they shouldn’t play with the fire—oil filled the floating containers, and it could splash on them?—

“Stop. Lionel, Jaden—” She headed over to the two. They ignored her, and she stepped up to them, hands out. “Stop!”

Jaden held a skewer from the olives and tried to flick it past her, into the flames. She reached out to grab it?—

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