Page 89 of Since We're Here
Patrick takes my hand and leads me down the hallway, pausing at the room I just emerged from.
“My bedroom, obviously.”
“Your bed is beautiful.” It’s wooden with a majestic headboard. Looks like the same type of wood as the coffee table at my flat.
He gives me a funny look and leads me further down the hallway, hand still clasped around mine.
Past his bedroom, there are two closed doors. He opens one and gestures for me to step inside, letting go of my hand as I take in the pink-and-blue masterpiece.
“Niamh loves pink.” There are a trio of canvas prints above her bed on one side of the room: a unicorn, a sheep, and a puppy. “But Erin will only put up with blue.” Above Erin’s bed on the other side there are stickers of soccer balls, a goal, and also sheep.
“It’s so sweet that they have their own room at your house.”
“I bought the cottage a year ago. I knew I wanted this to be a safe, fun second home for the girls. My sister needs a break once in a while, and her ex is an arse and hardly ever around.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, muscles bulging out of his t-shirt, while I spin slowly in a circle.
A soft throw rug tickles my toes. There’s a sturdy wooden nightstand for each girl that matches the beds, with a pile of age-appropriate books. Skinny chapter books for Niamh, fatter novels for Erin.
I swallow and turn to Patrick. I’m seeing another layer of this man, one he seems to protect fiercely.
“What about the rest?” I nod my head toward the hallway.
“There’s another bedroom down here. It’s, uh, a bit of a workroom.” He makes no move to budge from his spot.
“Do you have some dark secret hidden in there?” I close the distance between us and press myself against him, turning him toward me with my back against the doorframe. I’m deliciously trapped.
“Not quite.”
“Show me.” I tilt my head up and he makes a low sound as he leans down to kiss me. Too gently. I sigh. I’m not going to break, concussion or not.
Patrick leads me down the hallway and pushes the third bedroom’s door open, stepping aside to let me in. It’s a bright room with pieces of furniture in that same color of light wood organized randomly. A coffee table against one wall, several small bookshelves—including one set up in the middle of the room and appearing half-finished—and a worktable of carpentry supplies.
“What’s this?”
He runs his hand up his neck and blushes. It’s freaking adorable.
“I make furniture.”
“You... make it? With your own two hands?” I blink a hundred times. Could this man get any hotter?
“Yes. There’s a workroom attached to the shed out back where I do most of the work, but I bring some of the finished pieces in here. Plus that one bookcase that isn’t quite done. I need to get a heater set up out there.”
“Your bed?”
He nods.
“The girls’ room?”
“I had more time before taking over Slea Head. I did a ton when I first bought the cottage. But this stuff’s kind of sat here for the last three months.” Patrick runs a hand through his hair.
“Understandable.” I walk over to one of the bookshelves and run my hand along a smooth, thick shelf.
“One of the bookcases is for my parents and the other is for Saoirse. They’re almost done. After that, I will focus on smaller pieces so I can actually complete something in a reasonable timeframe.”
“These are beautiful. So sturdy. Strong. Unbreakable.” Not cheaply made. Real wood, dependable, long-lasting.
That’s what I want from a man. All of those things.
My gaze lands on the coffee table.
