Page 1 of Only You

One

Declan Fitzpatrick groaned when his phone vibrated on his bedside table. He’d had a long night, thanks to a couple of drunk firefighters. Why any man would fight over a woman who had been playing them both was beyond him. Those assholes not only lost the young woman since she’d hightailed it out of the bar, but the guys were both sporting black eyes. The only thing that saved them from being arrested was that they were both too drunk to do much damage—other than to their pride. He didn’t think either of them would ever hear the end of it from their firehouse.

Finally, his phone stopped vibrating. Thank God. He rolled over, snuggled deeper into his bed, and drifted back to sleep. Since he’d closed last night, and his restaurant was closed for his parents’ anniversary party, he could roll around in bed as long as he wanted today. He just had to be at the restaurant no later than two.

Just as his mind started to shut down and his body was completely relaxed, his phone vibrated again.

With a groan, he rolled back over and grabbed the phone. Without looking at who called—because he was sure it was his sister Kaitlin calling about the party—he answered.

“What?”

“Oh, now that’s rude,” his mother said.

Dammit. “Sorry, Ma.”

“No, I’m sorry because I just realized you closed last night. I shouldn’t have called this early, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help with the party.”

He smiled despite the way his head was pounding. Deidre Fitzpatrick was crafty, but he knew her too well. “Let me guess. You tried to help, and Kaitlin wouldn’t let you.”

There was a pause. He could almost hear her brain moving through her options for attack. Deidre Fitzpatrick had raised six kids, five of them boys, so she had a hard time letting go. She didn’t interfere, like his sister’s aunt-in-law, Joey Santini, but she always wanted to help. He and his siblings had already told her she couldn’t help them. This was their present to their parents, and his mother hated that everyone was doing something for her.

“No.”

He chuckled. “Should I call her and ask?”

Another long pause, then a sigh. “Oh, pooh. I just wanted to help.”

Declan was a stereotypical Irish American man when it came to his Ma. Worse. His love of cooking had always kept him underfoot in the kitchen. He was probably the closest to her out of his brothers, so he knew her well.

“Did she offer to let you babysit? That will keep you busy.”

Kaitlin had recently had the first Fitzpatrick grandbaby.

“No.”

“Call her back and tell her you want to watch Little Mike.”

“She’ll probably tell me that she doesn’t need help.”

His mother was a helper. Always had been, always would be. He was sure she would still be trying to help in her nineties.Kaitlin had joked that their mother had probably already written down a plan for her wake and funeral.

“Tell her you want to spend time with your grandson on your special day.”

“You are my favorite child.”

That was a lie because his mother didn’t have a favorite child. She loved them all with abandon. All six of them knew they could count on her to be in their corner no matter what.

“And, next week, we could do a baking day.”

Fitzpatricks had been in the fire department since the first fire department opened in Baltimore. Declan had been the one to break tradition. He had been the kid who was more interested in how to make the perfect Shepherd’s pie rather than how to put out a fire. He tried to carve out one day a month to spend with his mother in the kitchen.

“Oh, now, that sounds like a grand idea. Okay, we’ll do that on Wednesday.”

That was his regular day off. And, yes, he baked on his day off. It was one of his favorite things to do, and when you ran a bar and grill, you didn’t do a lot of baking.

“You got it. We need to plan our Memorial Day cookie drive.”

“Of course.”

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