Page 27 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Sorry about him,” Patrick says. “He’s not used to accepting help. Or being out of commission. Typical first-born.”

“I can accept help,” Declan defends.

“Great. Because that’s what I’m here to give,” Patrick says.

“Declan,” I say with a softness intended to keep my comment between him and me, even though Patrick can clearly hear me. “Maybe Patrick needs to stay with you. He’s concerned. Let him do this.”

Declan looks at me. Then he looks back at Patrick. “Yeah. Okay. If you’ll feel better being here. But don’t think you’re making a habit of it. I’ll get around soon enough.”

“We know you will,” I say.

Patrick silently mouths the words, “Thank you.”

I smile softly at him. Then I finish my lasagna, rinse the plate, find the dishwasher, which is also hidden, and leave Patrick with some basic instructions.

“Are you all set?” I ask Declan before grabbing my messenger bag.

“I’m fine,” he says. Then he looks up at me and corrects his word choice. “I’m going to be fine. I’m not in pain and I’ve got what I need.”

“Good. I’m scheduled to be back here tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you then.”

I turn to leave and Declan surprises me by asking, “Can I have your phone number?”

I turn back around and ask, “Why?”

He smiles, obviously amused by me again. “I’m not asking you out. I just want to send you the door code so you can let yourself in if I’m sleeping—or whatever.”

My face heats. He’s not asking me out. Of course he’s not. I didn’t think he was. But I did wonder why he would need my number.

I drop my bag, pulling out my cell. He recites his number and I send him mine. The front door is shutting behind me when a text comes through with the door code and the words, “Let yourself in. No need to knock.”

I climb into my car and blow out a long breath.

My cell pings again.

It’s a Winona for Hire request. I’ll get to that later.

When I get home, Cass is already there.

“How was it?” she asks when I walk into the kitchen—a normal kitchen where you can see all the appliances and the waters aren’t lined up like little clear-liquid soldiers.

“Well …” I stall, unable to find the words to explain what it was like helping Declan.

“Overwhelming?” Cass asks.

“Yes. At first. And … Well, they have an intercom. And their refrigerator is hidden. And Declan is a wall of muscle.”

She laughs hard. “You are one of a kind. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told. Patrick’s there tonight—against Declan’s wishes.”

Cass smirks lightly. “You definitely got the friendlier O’Connell.”

That’s a funny thing to say. Did I?

“Declan seems friendly.”