Page 20 of Dublin Brute

A white delivery van crawls to a stop at the curb in front of my house. It’s not uncommon for my father to receive packages, so I gather my purse and grip the handle of the door. I step out of Kate’s car, trying not to grimace as my body reminds me of yesterday’s tumble.

“Let me know if you hear anything.”

“It’s notifI hear anything, it’swhenI hear,” she corrects. “Until then, get some rest, okay? I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at six.”

“Thanks. See you then.”

The delivery guy meets me halfway up the walk, balancing an enormous gift basket wrapped in emerald green cellophane and tied with an elaborate silver bow. “Nora Kelly?”

“Uh…yes, that’s me.” I prop the unwieldy package against my hip while reaching over to scrawl my signature on his electronic pad. When I finish, I thank him and move to the door. I wait until he drives away before I set the basket down and turn my back to the road.

My father might think I’m oblivious to the dangers of the world, but I’ve always paid attention to his safety teachings.

When I’ve got the door unlocked, I get inside, the cellophane packaging crinkling under my arm. Inside, I set the basket on the hallway table while I hang up my jacket and purse.

I pull the card tied to the ribbons and nestled among the folds of the packaging. My heart skips a beat reading the note: “Hoping this helps on a tough day. Take care of yourself, angel.”

It’s from Brendan—it must be.

My cheeks warm at the endearment, and I hear his voice in my head when I reread the card.Take care of yourself, angel.Yum. The way the deep timbre of his voice vibrates inside me when he calls me that is like some kind of aphrodisiac tuning fork.

I take the basket and slog my way up to my room and set it on my desk. I mentioned to my father that a man tackled me out of the line of fire, but thankfully he was too enraged at me not calling him to take notice and ask questions. If he sees this basket sitting in the living room, I might as well sit myself down in one of his interrogation rooms and expect to be handcuffed to the table.

Using the scissors from my desk drawer, I slice through the plastic film and get my first good look at what he sent me. There’s a large tube of wintergreen heat muscle cream and I laugh out loud.

He said he’d owe me a care basket because I’d be sore today.

He didn’t need to send one…but he sure was right about being sore.

The thought of him going through all this trouble for me makes my stomach flutter. I dig deeper to see what else he sent me. I unpack an assortment of Epsom salt bath bombs—citrus, lavender, lemongrass, and mint.

Then I go for the cookies. They aren’t packaged, store-bought cookies. This is an assorted dozen of freshly baked artisan cookies: raspberry macadamia, banana pudding, s’mores, and red velvet.

“What the heck…” I pull out the two romance novels and giggle when I read the book descriptions on the back cover.What does it mean when a man you just met buys you vampire mafia porn? I give him points for confidence, though. He really went for it.

Beside the novels sits a long lighter and two chunky candles, one of them spiced gingerbread and the other applejack.

And last, there’s a rectangular box wrapped in pretty mint green and purple paper. I rip through that quickly and gasp, staring at the box of a new Apple iPhone 16 Pro Max. “What the hell?”

Did he reuse the box?

I open it up and frown at the sleek, desert titanium phone.

“Seriously?”

The phone rings in my hand and I scream and drop it back in the basket. Smacking my chest, I suck in a couple of rasping breaths and fumble to pick it back up again. “Hello?”

“Hey, angel. I got the notice that you signed for your care package. Do you like it?”

I stare down at the items so thoughtfully assembled and work to wrap my head around the gestures. “I love it, but it’s too much. The cookies and bath bombs would’ve been more than enough, but an iPhone? That’s crazy.”

His deep baritone does sinful things to my insides, even from the other end of the call. “It’s only a phone, angel. Besides, I smashed yours when I tackled you. Replacing it was the least I could do. And my ulterior motive…now you have my number.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and realize that the screen says ‘Brendan’ and there’s a picture of his Harley for a profile image. “I can’t keep the phone, Brendan. It’s too much.”

He grunts on the other end of the line. “The way I look at it, is this: Something terrible happened last night. And when the world turns ugly, the only way to heal the damage is for people to raise the bar and extend a hand of kindness. You are sufferingtoday and if I can ease that pain, in any small measure, I want to. That means I want you to let me.”

I think about that, and my breathing tightens. “But it’s very expensive.”

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