Page 362 of Manhattan Bossholes

I tensed. Seamus O’Rourke. He was chatting with them as he picked up his takeaway order.

There he stood, smiling and laughing guilelessly, as if his family wasn’t responsible for decades of problems in this town. Olivia casually adjusted the strap of her sundress as she smiled up at him, and I wanted to punch something.

Thomas nudged me, and I realized John was saying his goodbyes. After the old man had shuffled out of the restaurant, Thomas turned to me. “What’s with you?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Got distracted.”

Thomas followed my gaze. When he looked back, his smile was mischievous. “Ah.”

“Shut up.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. On another topic, Clara was thinking we could have Catie over for a playdate with our Jane. They’re about the same age.”

“Sure,” I said, distracted.

Olivia glanced over, as if sensing my eyes on her, and our gazes met.

“Oops,” Thomas said. “She caught you pining. Now you have to go say hello.”

“I wasn’t pining—” I tried to argue, but Thomas was already heading out the door.

Unfortunately, he was right about one thing. It would be odd if I didn’t say hello now.

That was the only reason I walked over to Olivia and Molly’s table. It wasn’t because of the way the sunlight glinted on Olivia’s curls, or because I felt a near primal need to drive Seamus away from her.

It did improve my mood somewhat that Seamus paled as soon as he saw me. “I’ve just remembered…I’ve got to…” He nodded goodbye to the ladies and beat a hasty retreat with his sack of takeaway.

Molly brightened when she saw me. “Declan. Hey! I feel like I only ever see you at the store.” She turned to Olivia. “He’s been one of our most loyal customers since Catie was born.”

Olivia smiled at me over her pint. “I believe it.”

I felt the back of my neck heat. I reached for a topic change. “Thomas suggested having Catie over for a playdate with his daughter. Could you arrange that?”

“Sure,” Olivia said. “That’s a great idea. She needs more friends her own age.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said, and Olivia smiled at me. When had her approval started to feel like sunlight?

“Sit down and have a pint,” Molly invited. “I’m trying to persuade Olivia to do a project with me, and I need reinforcements.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s too busy,” Olivia said.

I was. But I heard myself saying, “I think I can spare a few minutes,” as I took a seat and signaled the waiter. “What’s this project, then?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to illustrate a book, but it turns out I’m shite at writing them,” Molly explained. “But Olivia here majored in creative writing. She even has an idea for a children’s book. But she won’t tell me because she says it’s silly. Which is dumb, because clearly we were destined to meet and write the bestselling picture book of all time.”

I looked at Olivia, impressed. “You’re a writer?”

“Was,” Olivia corrected. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “A lifetime ago. Then I discovered my true calling.”

“Nannying for rich tossers?” Molly asked skeptically.

“Molly!” Olivia said.

“What? Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “Present company excluded.”

I laughed.

Olivia looked so flustered, I decided to come to her rescue. “I think she means helping children and giving them the support they need.”