Page 372 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Suit yourself. Breakfast will be ready in ten.” He looked me up and down one last time, biting back a smile. “Nice sweatshirt.”

I looked down, confused, as he walked away.

Then I realized that in my haste, I’d grabbed the sweatshirt he’d loaned me on movie night. Which meant he probably thought I was sleeping in his clothes, like a real weirdo.

Or like a woman with a crush.

I groaned, and went to get dressed as quickly as I could.

Fifteen minutes later, I walked into the kitchen and discovered “eggs and bacon” was a bit of an understatement. Declan had made eggs, sausage, potatoes, ham, toast, and—for some unknown reason—cooked tomatoes.

“What’s all this?” I asked. I watched Catie ferry plates to the table.

“Couldn’t sleep. Felt like cooking,” Declan said. “Hot water is in the kettle for tea.”

I turned to see he’d set out my favorite mug next to the kettle.

It was small gesture, but it made something delicious flutter in my stomach.

“Uncle Declan said my granddad used to make a big breakfast for everyone on Sunday so he didn’t have to go to church,” Catie informed me.

My eyes flew to Declan. I didn’t know why it felt significant that he was doing something his dad used to do, but it did.

Declan scratched the back of his neck, looking scruffy and adorably self-conscious. “Right,” he said gruffly. “Food’s getting cold.”

Catie carried most of the breakfast conversation, updating us on all the things she’d talked about on the phone with her mom last night. Apparently, two of the men in group therapy were “whiny bitches” but the rest of the people Sinead had met were “all right.”

“Let’s not say ‘bitches’ at the breakfast table,” I said.

“When can I say it?” Catie asked reasonably.

“When you’re older,” Declan said. He changed the topic before Catie could come up with a rebuttal. “Olivia, I wanted to say thank you for the advice you gave me.”

I blinked, confused. “The dating advice?”

He gave me a weird look. “What?”

I flushed, realizing I was thinking about last night’s @DBCoder conversation. Apparently, it wasn’t just my dreams that were mixing the men up. “Oh my gosh. No. Sorry, I was thinking of someone else.” I flushed harder, hating how rattled that dream had left me. I gulped my tea, obviously needing the caffeine. “What advice were you talking about?”

“Your suggestion about bringing more allies into a business fight to take down a bully.” He said it slowly, like he was a little worried I’d hit my head. “I took your advice, and it’s working.”

“Oh. That. Good.” I waved my fork as I talked, as if that would help me find smarter words.

It didn’t.

Declan smiled, affection in his eyes, and I both loved and hated that smile, because it was the exact smile he’d had in the dream.

I decided then and there I needed space from Declan. As much space as possible. “Catie, want to go to the bookstore after breakfast and visit Molly? Give your uncle some peace and quiet?”

“Yes!” Catie shoved toast into her mouth enthusiastically.

Something in Declan’s smile flickered.

Too late, I realized it was probably rude not to invite him too, since it was his day off. But I couldn’t help it.

I needed space, before I did something irreversibly stupid.

By the time Catie and I got to the bookstore, I decided the problem was that I had too much free time on my hands. Unlike some other employers I’d had, Declan actually respected my off hours. And that was leaving my brain far too much time to think things it shouldn’t.