Page 55 of Fall for Me

A few minutes later, we were on our way to Reilly and Sons, bouquet and quickly scrawled card in hand. I’d kept the note as generic as possible: thank-you for your kindness.

Jude was telling a cute story about Jack that miraculously managed to distract me until suddenly we were at the front door of the office. Now, my palms began to sweat.

But this was stupid. I had nothing to be nervous about. Besides, I didn’t even need to see Seamus—I could just hand the box over to Joyce and we could be on our way. My excuse was walking right beside me.

“Oh my goodness!” Joyce exclaimed as we came in the door, her eyes on the flowers, then me, then Jude.

“A little something for you,” Jude said, winking, and she blushed, bringing her hand to her hair.

I had to fight to not roll my eyes at my ridiculous brother. Instead, I said, “Actually, they are for you, but also Seamus and Mr. Reilly. To say thank you for your help the other day.”

“My dear, you didn’t have to do that!” Joyce exclaimed, looking truly touched. “Let me call the boys.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said, a little too quickly. “We’re just heading out to lunch, so, maybe just pass on my thanks and—”

“It’s not like we have reservations,” Jude said. “It’s just Betsey’s.”

Now I didn’t so much as want to roll my eyes at Jude as throttle him. “Well, you have to get back to work.” I tilted my head at him, looking hard with my eyebrows up, praying he would get the damn hint.

This had been a terrible idea. I didn’t want to see Seamus again. I couldn’t see Seamus again. Not if I wanted to keep my head clear.

But my blockhead brother just shrugged his shoulders. “Nah, I’m the boss! Anyway, I should thank Seamus myself, for y’know, helping my sister.”

I sputtered, but Joyce was already smiling. She picked up the phone and pressed a button.

“Jude,” I hissed.

“What?”

But Joyce was already talking to one of the Reilly men, telling him he had visitors, and hanging up the phone.

My stomach flipped, and to my surprise, an ancient feeling came over me then, one that made me feel like a little kid again. It was the feeling of clamming up, of not wanting to say anything at all. This happened when I felt a situation spinning out of control—I became that scared little girl again who refused to speak—who hid behind her mom until she’d pick me up and whisper it was okay; that there was nothing I had to say.

But I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and Mom wasn’t here.

Seamus was though, pushing through the door with that expression I realized I knew so well on him—contained reservation. Quiet, careful silence.

His eyes locked on mine.

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