Page 49 of Surrender
“I think it’s adorable,” Keefe said, practically glowing. “I told her she should get it engraved on a spatula.”
“Would you excuse me? I’m late to set myself on fire.”
Oh no, she wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t done yet and he saved the best for last. “She said I’m full of surprises. So, yeah… I owe you a fruit basket. Maybe a whole edible arrangement—you know, with the chocolate-dipped bananas and strawberries?”
Sophie slapped a dishtowel onto the counter like a gavel. “You have got to stop! Stop speaking!” she cried covering her ears.
He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “You wanted to talk, I’m talking. You can’t just stroll in here and expect dignity.”
She lowered her hands and crossed her arms again. “I came to say I’ll try to get to know her. That doesn’t mean I want to hear about your cutesy pillow talk and whatever nauseating code names you’ve invented.”
“Well, we do have one that’s?—”
“Don’t. Even.” Sophie slapped a hand up like a stop sign.
Keefe snickered and turned back to the stove, flipping something smugly, humming again just to push his luck.
Sophie shook her head. “Look, I don’t hate her.”
“That’s practically a love letter coming from you.”
“I still think you’re diving in headfirst, but... I see it. She’s kind. She didn’t flinch when I was a bit... me.”
“Ruby likes that you’re blunt,” Keefe said, his tone softening. “She said it was refreshing.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “She really said that?”
“She did. And then she told me I was brave for being related to you. I think she gets us.”
She slowly nodded. If Gwen got them, she would be the first. “Just... don’t get hurt, okay?”
He glanced over at her, a flicker of sincerity breaking through the mischief. “I won’t. But thanks for caring.”
“I don’t,” she said immediately, a bit too fast. “I just don’t want to deal with the fallout when you go full drama queen.”
Keefe grinned. “Fair enough. But when we get married, I’m making you give a toast. You’ll have to say Honey Bunny in front of everyone.”
Sophie was already heading for the door. “I’m not coming to your wedding.”
“You’re gonna be the maid of honor!”
She gagged dramatically. “Okay, I’m leaving now. I regret this entire conversation.”
But at the doorway, she paused and turned back.
“I’m trying,” she said again, and this time there was weight behind it. An offering.
Keefe met her eyes and nodded, all the joking gone for a beat. “That’s all I need.”
She gave him a look. “And stop singing in the kitchen, would you? It’s weird.”
“You love it.”
“Nobody loves it.”
And with that, she pushed the door open and left, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
It was one of those nights when O’Brian’s was packed wall-to-wall. The part-time waitress hadn’t shown up, and tickets were already backing up in the kitchen. Gwen, never one to stand by idly—even though her hands still trembled with the secret she’d been meaning to confess—grabbed an apron off a hook and tied it around her waist.
