Page 42 of Broken Blood Ties

“And who might ye be?”

“This is Miss Smith. My teacher!” Aoife coughs wide open onto the man named Cormac, and he makes a face, stepping back a couple steps.

“Sick, little bug?”

“Uh-huh,” Aoife says. “Nanny Allie’s sick, too. Miss Smith made soup. Want some?”

He looks at me, and I wince. I’m not sure why I’m uncomfortable. Perhaps I’m worried he’ll assume the worst about why I’m here, though I can’t imagine what that might be.

“I-I dropped some work off for Aoife and noticed Allie was barely holding on. From what I understand Mr. O’Donnell is out of town. It didn’t feel right to leave while they were both sick.”

Cormac rubs the back of this head while kicking off his boots. “Aye. That’s mighty nice of ya.” He shucks off his coat, exposing a rust-colored button down and black dress pants. “Soup, ye say?”

He moves toward to the stove where the pot of soup is, helping himself to a bowl full and sliding on the opposite side of Aoife.

“Have you talked to Daddy?” She’s comfortable with this man. I vaguely remember seeing him before at the bar. He must be a restaurant manager for Kieran or something. The way he helped himself by coming in is a bit odd, but maybe they’re really close. Or related. They both have strong accents. Honestly, who am I to say him coming into this house is odd? Jeez, Summer.

“Aye. Once or twice. He misses you.”

I bite back a scoff. Has Aoife spoken with her father? Why is Cormac telling her he misses her when Kieran should be the one calling his little girl? Does he even know she’s sick?

Memories crack open, flooding my mind, and I wince at the emotional pain. Like the time I injured myself during a tennis match and my parents couldn’t be bothered to take me to the doctors themselves. Not when it meant canceling an important meeting with some of my father’s associates. Or how I’d party until the early morning hours, sneaking back into my house smelling of alcohol just to see if my parents would notice or even care.

Somehow, though, I can’t quite equate my father with Kieran. My father would’ve never volunteered for a class field trip, regardless of motivations. Not when it meant losing out on an entire day’s worth of work.

Aoife lets out a yawn and mild shiver. I palm her forehead feeling for a resurgence of her fever. She’s warm. I brush the hair out of her face, and when I look up, Cormac is studying me.

I pull my hand back. “What do you say, Aoife? How about getting ready for bed? Do you want me to see if Nanny Allie can?—”

“Can you put me to bed?” She pleads up at me.

I offer her a soft smile, then glance up to Cormac who’s plopped his face in his palm, elbow leaning on the counter. He raises his eyebrows at me.

I’m fairly certain I’m about to cross a line here. But I know it’d be doing Allie a favor.

“I, uh, sure. Are you finished with your food? Let me clean up these bowls.”

“I’ll go pick out my book!” Aoife darts off the stool again and rushes out of the room. When I’m left with Cormac, my brain stumbles for something to say as his gaze follows me while I clean up.

“Teacher, ye say?”

I nod, soaping up the bowls in the sink, my back turned away from him.

“Ye’re very tan for winter. Must be nice. Or is that because ye’re Italian?—”

My mouth goes dry. What did he just say? My gut screams at me and my heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my hands moving methodically over the dishes slowly.

“—or Brazilian, maybe Mexican …” he continues. I glance over my shoulder at him, but he’s not looking at me. More like mumbling into his bowl. “I don’t know. That was rude of me. I’m pasty white, so I’m jealous.”

He looks up, and I plaster a shaky smile across my mouth. He smiles back, before standing and setting the dish next to the sink. “I’m going to check in with Allie.”

He exits before I finish up the dishes, my heart finally returning to normal. I dim the lights in the cleaned-up kitchen and make my way to the stairs, as I told Aoife I would.

Allie’s door is cracked open, and I pause at the raised voices inside.

“—were you thinking?” A male’s voice. Cormac.

“She’s her teacher, not a criminal.” I swallow the baseball-sized lump in my throat. If they really knew …

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