Page 25 of Since We're Here
The reason I applied to the hospitality program was to finish up Aunt Evelyn’s bucket list. But the way Reese’s eyes lit up when I said I was going for a certification? And maybe get a different kind of job, one with a more traditional life than the grueling restaurant schedule? It’s obvious that’s what she wants for me. And I crave her approval.
But on the other side of all that now, I’m not sure school is for me. It wasn’t back when I dropped out of college during mysophomore year. Back then my family assumed I was too flighty and unfocused and that maybe I’d go back later. But I got a full-time job serving tables (and met Jonathan and his tragically fajita-scented car), and while I wasn’t pulling in tons of cash, I was happy and could support myself.
I never really regretted dropping out of college.
Patrick sits at a table in the back of the pub, staring at his laptop like when I walked in last weekend. He looks up and before he can put on his grumpy mask, there’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face.
“Good morning.” I smile as I approach him, giddy and giggly at the prospect of working at a pub in Ireland. Job number eleven, which I willnotruin by dating someone I work with. Besides, it’s not even a real job, so how can I ruin something that doesn’t even really exist?
He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering at the bare skin showing between my boots and the loose bottom hem of my black dress.
“What are you wearing?”
I make a face at him. “That’s actually rude to say to a woman.”
He has the courtesy to flinch. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You look... nice. What I meant was that’s not what my employees usually wear to work. Especially managers.”
I thoroughly enjoy the slight pink tinge to his cheeks.
“The O’Brien’s t-shirt is in the laundry, and this was the only other black piece of clothing I have.”
He swallows, his throat moving in a wave.
“Right. It’s fine.” Patrick’s voice cracks and I suppress a grin.
I’m making him uncomfortable, and that sends a mini jolt of victory through my body. I shrug off my jean jacket and reveal my bare shoulders. Maybe the dress isn’t appropriate for Marchin Ireland. None of my clothes are, save a hoodie, a single sweater, and a few pairs of leggings.
Besides, I don’t hear him offering another O’Brien’s shirt.
“You okay?” I tilt my head and step closer.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Patrick looks away and appears to gather himself. “How was yesterday afternoon?”
“It was great. Ready to do it again.”
He stands and stretches his arms high above his head in an exaggerated and possibly fake yawn, revealing a panel of his incredibly chiseled abs. How am I not surprised to see that he’s ripped under another one of his tight black t-shirts?
Not that I was thinking about his stomach. Or what he might look like shirtless.
Crap. Of course I am. How could I not?
“I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“Nope.”
Now towering above me, he looks down, assessing, his eyes flitting over my face and darting so briefly down to the hint of cleavage on display.
A stutter of desire bats its wings in my center.
No. Nuh-uh. No desire! I’m a changed woman. Achangingwoman. A better one.
“Here’s the list of opening tasks.” He reaches down and grabs a paper from next to his laptop, handing it to me. “Why don’t you get started, and I’ll check back in half hour or so to see if you have questions.”
Patrick grabs his laptop and walks past me, maneuvering his body so he doesn’t brush against any part of me.
“Are you leaving? Do you actually trust me to do this on my own?” I follow him to the bar, but he continues walking down the hallway and I screech to a halt.
Thehallway.
