Page 31
It was a symbol of how easily Ronan read her. How easily he’d gotten past her barriers. What had she been thinking, accepting it?
She hadn’t. That was the problem.
The understanding in his eyes. The compassion in his voice. It had weakened her. And if there was one thing Felicity Graham did not tolerate, it was weakness.
But for seven days she’d held onto it.
Seven whole days.
Enough already.
Today, she was giving it back.
With that settled, she grabbed the key off the breakfast bar and shoved it into her pocket.
She’d stop by his place after her shift and drop it off.
All day, it burned a hole in her pocket. All day, she was aware of its weight. Which was ridiculous, considering it was a single key.
And of course, she had forgotten about June’s sixtieth birthday celebration at Fitzpatrick’s straight after her shift ended. It was the same bar where she and Ronan had first hooked up. Reminding her of that fateful night. The night she let her guard down and allowed the man to affect her.
The memory of him, of them, still infiltrated her dreams.
Felicity sat through the toasts, the idle chitchat of alcohol-loosened tongues and lowered inhibitions.
She dialed out the gossip around her, her gaze skimming the crowded room, stilling when she spotted him.
It galled her that she recognized him from behind even in the dim light. There was just something about the tilt of his head, the way his dark hair shone, a bit longer now than the first time they had met, the clean line of his neck tapering into broad shoulders—
Dammit, Felicity. Get a grip.
He turned from the bar, bottles clutched in his hands — his very capable hands — and walked across the room. She tracked his progress to the corner booth, watched him lean in to pass out the beers to his companions.
Bella and Nate. Sunny and Oliver.
Ruth.
Her stomach tightened.
And then he turned, his gaze slamming into hers.
She looked away too quickly. Like she’d been caught doing something forbidden. And hell, her cheeks heated.
She forced herself to concentrate on the conversation between Brianna and Tobias
A burst of laughter cut through the noise of the bar.
His laughter.
It rolled low and warm across the room, tugging her attention before she could stop it. Ronan leaned back in the booth, head tipped at an angle, his focus fixed on the woman beside him.
Ruth.
She couldn’t see his expression from here, but Ruth was glowing.
Felicity grunted softly. So much for platonic.
The key in her pocket scorched through the denim.
