Page 51 of Broken Blood Ties

I internally cringe at the indigo wide-legged romper I wore today with black flats that are crispy with salt spots.

I shuffle my coat in front of my body and the corner of his mouth twitches. “I see calling me Kieran is for only when ye’re sick.”

My cheeks heat. I reach for the door handle again, at the same time he does,again. We bump shoulders and he grunts.

“Are ye really not going to let me open the door for ya.”

“Or maybe you should just say ladies first,” I say, fisting the handle but struggling to pull the door open. It’s then I realize the palm of his hand is planted on the door.Is he pushing?

“Thought all the lasses wanted treated equal these days?”

I narrow my eyes at him, and he lets his hand fall from the door. But before I can move to open it, he does. With the door now ajar, he gestures for me to go inside.

Soft music plays, and the warm lighting blended with the rich wood highlights some of the most decadent Italian treats. Makes me want to curl up into a cozy ball and stuff my face.

I walk to the counter where two other people are ahead of me. Glancing over my shoulder, Kieran strolls behind me, hands tucked into his pockets. He catches me looking at him and gives me a smirk. His tightly shaved beard looks like it would be rough, and the thought caresses something low in my belly.

Annoyed at myself, I ask, “Buying something sweet to try and balance out that personality of yours?”

He stares at me, and I swallow. “Ye always this pleasant, or is it just for me?”

“Oh, I save it all for you.” I let a grin spread across my lips, because I can’t help it.

He smiles back at me, and suddenly it’s too hot in here.

“—can I get you, ma’am?”

I jump at the women behind the counter who’s waiting for me to order, and I spin, ordering my cannoli with one to-go because life’s too short to only have one.

“And for you, sir?”

“Oh, no we aren’t?—”

“I’ll have the tiramisu and a cannoli to-go,” he says, standing right next to me. “And a bottle of water. Make that two.”

I open my mouth then close it before I reach down into my teacher tote for my wallet, but Kieran’s already handing the lady a black card before I can find the thing.

“I—let me get you cash,” I say, slightly frazzled.Why did he do that?I step to the side, one arm still blindly searching for my buried wallet.Where is it?

A strong hand dwarfs my bicep, and Kieran leans into me, mouth hovering near my ear. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart erupts with how close he is. I do everything to avert my eyes, but ultimately, they search him out.

“I don’t want yer cash, Summer,” he whispers.

Mouth dry, I lick my lips and watch his nostrils flare in response as he steps back, releasing my arm.

The room is suddenly brighter and louder. I scramble for something to break this spiraling feeling. “So, how does an Irish man, who owns too many restaurants to count, end up at an Italian bakery?”

He lets out a gravelly chuckle, rough and unrefined. It twists up my stomach.Jeez.

“Lizzy, my sister. She gave me the tip. I’ve never had better tiramisu.”

Our order is ready and at the customer pickup, but I linger not wanting this conversation with Kieran to end. What he does next surprises me.

He tilts his head over toward an empty two-person table and I nod, unable to help the swooping dip in my belly at his gesture. As I follow him to the table, the idea that he may want to spend time with me festers somewhere deep inside of me.

We sit in the flimsy iron chairs, and I tuck my cannoli to-go off to the side to focus on the one in front of me. Kieran digs into his dessert while I take a bite of mine. I must suck in a breath when the powdered sugar hits my tongue because I cough up a lung into my sleeve.

“Here. Drink this.” Kieran breaks the top of one of the bottled waters and places it in my hand. I drink it—guzzle it, really.

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