Page 61 of The Matchmaker
Nush snatches her drink back and pokes at the ice. “Does she know who?”
“Mr. Handsome by the door.”
“You mean Frank?”
Gemma blinks at her. “Frank?”
“Frank’s handsome.”
“He’s thirty years older than you!”
“And he’s still got it,” Nush says, stung. “A girl can appreciate.”
“What’s Callum doing here?” Adam’s joined us now because sure, why not?
“Callum?” Gemma’s gaze narrows. “You know him too?”
“He works for Glenmill. One of Jack Doyle’s guys.”
Nush’s smile drops. “Glenmill? He’s a spy?”
“He’s not a spy,” I say, which is dumb because everyone’s attention swings back to me. “He’s not! He just works on the site. A lot of people work on the site.”
“But a lot of people don’t hang around with Jack Doyle,” Adam says. “Did you invite him here?”
“No,” I say. “And they don’t hang around. They just work together. It’s not a big deal,” I add because all three of them have the exact same frown on their faces, which would be funny if it wasn’t directed at me. “He’s the one who helped me with my traffic problem. And he gave me a ride home from the city when it was raining.Andhe helped Granny out with the garden. He got a whole corner cleared.”
“Sounds like your new best friend,” Gemma says flatly. “You don’t think it’s weird that he’s just around all the time?”
“I think it’s a small place and he works nearby, so no. I bump into you all the time too.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the same thing.”
“Katie?” Frank appears at the bar, gesturing to Adam for another drink. “It’s almost time for the next prize.”
“I’ll be right there,” I promise, as Nush gives Gemma an exasperated look.
“How do you not see it?” she asks. “That is big silver fox energy.”
“Oh my God.”
I hand out the prize. And then I hand out another. And in between, I work the room, encouraging people to donate, explaining the festival, and ignoring Callum Dempsey. For two whole hours, I ignore him. Or I pretend to, at least. Because I find the man impossible to ignore. I’m aware of when he buys a raffle ticket from a beaming Bridget. I’m aware when he gets a drink from a stony-faced Adam and finds a spot along the wall. I’m aware when he starts talking to two men from Rossbridge, and I’m aware when he’s chatted up by a pretty redhead who keeps putting her hand on his arm before he politely excuses himself. I’m aware when he goes to the freakingbathroom. And I’m aware when he finally leaves. Slipping out around thirty minutes before closing time, with only a brief glance in my direction.
I try not to read too much into it. Especially when the other three are still watching me like hawks. I throw myself into my work instead. Eventually we run out of prizes, Adam calls last orders, and the pub begins to empty as, one by one, the designated drivers patiently take their friends and families home. A few of us stay to clean up and count the cash. I’m so busy that he’s almost gone from my mind when I grab the last trash bag of the night and push open the door to the back.
There were some smokers out here earlier, but now the patio is deserted. Empty except for Callum, who’s leaning back against the wishing well, facing the lake.
He doesn’t hear me step out, probably lost in thought, because it’s only when I toss the bulging trash bag to the side that he glances over his shoulder, straightening when he sees me.
“Hey.”
“I thought you left.”
“No.”
No. I take a step closer, pulling the sleeves of my fleece down over my wrists. “It’s weird that you came here.”
“Is it?”
