by Nicole Helm
“Right. Well.”
She gathered up her trash, and he tried to tell her to leave it, but she shook her head.
“I’m not leaving any more mess in your life. I promise.” She smiled at him as she pulled the keys out of her cross-body purse. “Thank you. I can’t even begin to express how much I appreciate everything you did.”
“Even shrinking your dress?” he asked, nodding to his T-shirt over her clothes.
“You were patient and kind, and you let me puke in your bushes and sleep in your bed. I think a shrunken dress was a very small price to pay.”
“Well, sure.” He should let her go. He shouldn’t say anything more. Clearly she didn’t remember any of the stuff they’d talked about last night, or at least most of it. He should let all of that go and let this be the last time he saw Kayla Gallagher for a very long time.
“Did you still want those lessons?”
She stopped in the middle of pushing the car door open. “Lessons?”
Why was he an idiot?
“Oh right,” she said, her face brightening. “I wanted you to teach me how to carve something. And you’re going to make me a bear. I remember that now. I wanted to make something.” She held the crumpled trash in one hand and her keys in the other and stared at him with an all too alluring smile gracing her features. “Will you let me paint the bear?”
“Because you used to like to paint,” he replied lamely.
“I haven’t done that in the longest, longest time,” she said, her voice very nearly far away before she shook her head, then grimaced at the action.
“You’re . . . uh . . . welcome whenever. I work every night in the workshop unless I get a call. I mean you’ll probably be busy. I’m sure Aiden will reschedule.”
“Aiden. Right.” Her lips pressed together, and she looked like a very stern teacher for a second. But only a second and then her face was all bright smiles again. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”
“Friends.” She wanted to be his friend. She looked damn near hopeful. Which he didn’t understand at all, because why the hell would someone sweet and bright want to be friends with him? They had nothing in common. They hadn’t even liked each other up until last night.
“But it’s fine if you don’t want to,” she said in a rush. “I crashed into your life enough. I don’t want to be forcing myself on you.”
“You’re not forcing yourself on me. Here.” He shifted so he could pull one of his cards out of his wallet. “That’s got my cell number on it. If you ever want to paint or woodwork, just text or call. If you don’t, no hard feelings and you can pick up your bear at the farmers’ market in probably two weeks.”
She took the offered card and looked at it curiously. “You give all your customers your cell phone number?”
“Well, Dad refuses to carry a cell phone, and sometimes customers have emergencies late at night. It makes sense.”
The curious look on her face didn’t change as she looked from the card to his face and then back to the card. “Well, thank you. I’ll probably call you then. As long as it’s really okay.”
“Really. In fact, painting is the part I hate the most, so I don’t do much of it unless I think a piece really needs it. You can help.”
She blinked as she slipped the card into her purse. “Help, huh?”
“Sure. Make, do, create, right?”
“You’re not quite what I thought you were, Liam Patrick,” she said softly. And then she did the strangest thing. She leaned over and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “You’re a very good guy,” she said, and then she was out of his truck before he could say another word.
Chapter Six
Kayla spent the next two days deleting all her temporary work profiles, determined to be done with temporary.
She had left Gallagher’s because she didn’t want that life. As much as she’d enjoyed her role as sustainability manager, it had been something Dinah had suggested. It hadn’t been her own choice.
She needed to start making her own decisions, and she needed to start thinking about permanence. About creating her life.
So she scoured every online job site and applied for anything that sounded remotely appealing, even if she wasn’t qualified.
Sometimes she’d catch herself staring at Liam’s card that she’d put on her fridge with one of her kitten-shaped magnets. She’d avoided calling him because she felt bad for everything he’d had to do for her that night, but the more she made decisions about permanence and moving forward, the more having a hobby seemed like a good idea.
A new job. A new hobby. A new life. Maybe he’d let her paint some of his carvings. It would be something artistic and fun to spend a few hours a week doing.
The surprising thing of the whole Liam debacle had been that, from what she could remember, he’d actually been really easy to talk to. The more she thought about what she’d said to him before getting out of his truck that morning, the more she was convinced he absolutely was one of the most decent men she knew.
Maybe he had some sort of secret, horrible fetish, or was mean to his customers. Maybe he liked to kick puppies or eat peas. She didn’t know. But a man who was eager to help just because he could fix things . . .
She didn’t know anyone like that. It was downright fascinating.
When her phone rang she was jolted out of her Liam reverie. The screen read Dinah. Kayla bit her lip. She’d been avoiding Dinah for months, saying as little as possible the few times they’d accidentally run into each other.
But if she was striving to be brave, and to find permanence, and to create a life, then she couldn’t be afraid to own up to some of the things she’d had to leave behind.
She accepted the call before she had a chance to talk herself out of it. “Hi, Dinah.”
“Kay, I . . . I didn’t expect you to actually answer.”
Kayla acknowledged the familiar pain in her chest. She’d missed Dinah, the woman who’d been her best friend her entire life. It had been a necessary break, but that hadn’t meant it had been an easy one.
“Well, I . . . I thought it might be important.” She wasn’t quite ready to spill her guts to Dinah. She needed a little more clarity before she got that far.
“It isn’t, not really,” Dinah replied. “But since I actually reached you, I’m going to ask anyway. I wanted to see if you’d please consider coming to my birthday dinner next week.”
“Your birthday,” Kayla repeated lamely. She’d spent her own birthday alone last month. Dinah had called, but Kayla hadn’t answered. Dinah had sent flowers, and she’d been the only one. Even Grandmother’s usual impersonal card had never appeared.
“Carter wants to make me dinner and told me to invite people, but you’re the only one I’d want to invite besides him, and you don’t have to give me a gift, because your presence would be my present. Really.”
“Dinah—”
“No, don’t answer right away, please. Think about it. Let the guilt really set in. I miss you.”
Kayla’s heart clenched uncomfortably. Dinah wasn’t one to easily talk about emotions, nor did she usually ask Kayla to think things over or through. Usually she insisted, no matter how kindly.
“I’ll think about it,” Kayla returned, and she planned to. Very carefully. Because she still loved Dinah, still wanted to be friends, but she also didn’t want to be flattened again by the Gallagher bulldozer.
“And just so you know, it’s a Gallagher’s-free zone,” Dinah offered as though reading her mind. “It’s just a dinner with my friends, otherwise known as you. Nothing business related. I promise.”
“That doesn’t sound much like you, Dinah,” Kayla said carefully. Dinah had been convinced Gallagher’s was her heart and soul and all that mattered not all that long ago.
“Things are different. I wish you’d give me a chance to prove that to you. I thought when I turned Grandmother’s director of operations offer down, you’d see that.”
“
It isn’t you. It’s me.”
Dinah laughed, somewhat bitterly. “You keep saying that, but I’m still the one you’re not talking to.”
“I’m not talking to Grandmother or my father either, if it helps.” Not that they’d tried to talk to her. They’d considered her quitting a grand betrayal, one she should be punished harshly for.
“It doesn’t and you know that,” Dinah replied with none of their past humor about the situation of strained relations with the elder Gallaghers.
“Dinah, I don’t want to be bulldozed anymore.”
“Then don’t. Come to dinner, and if I start talking Gallagher’s, you have my permission to walk the hell out. Or smack me. Something. You don’t have to sit there and take it.”
Kayla opened her mouth to argue, but Dinah was already continuing on.
“Actually, screw that. You don’t need my permission to walk out because it’s your life and you get to do whatever you want. I’m just asking to spend my birthday with my best friend, and if you say no, I’ll let it be. But I wasn’t going to not ask.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kayla said meekly, then frowned at that note in her voice. This wasn’t about what Dinah wanted. It was about what she wanted to do. And it wasn’t . . . It wasn’t like Dinah was trying to do something to her. She was trying to repair a friendship.
Maybe, just maybe, one Kayla had been at fault for ruining. She’d blamed Dinah’s hardheaded obsession with Gallagher’s deep down, but maybe it was as simple as the fact that Kayla had taken it.
She’d never said no or walked away or stood up for herself. She’d cowered and let herself be swept along.
“Actually, I don’t need to think about it. I’ll come. I’ll be there.” And if Dinah tried to bulldoze her, she wouldn’t run away, and she wouldn’t lay down so it could flatten her so easily. She would be brave, damn it.
“Friday then, at six. Carter’s—well, our house.”
Kayla might have spent a lot of time away from Dinah the last few months, but she still knew her cousin. She knew she was excited.
“Dinah . . . Are you happy with him?” Kayla asked. Although she felt timid prying into Dinah’s love life, she was curious. And she was going to be brave in all things.
“I’ve never been happier,” Dinah replied earnestly.
“Even . . . Even though you aren’t director of operations at Gallagher’s?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’d be nice because your dad’s decisions leave a lot to be desired, but it’s not the everything I thought it was. Not the position anyway and it’s amazing to love someone and not have it be . . . conditional, I guess. Everything at Gallagher’s tends to feel rather conditional.”
“Yeah. It does.” She’d always thought that said something about her, but maybe it wasn’t about her at all. Maybe it was the way things were, and she needed to build her life regardless.
“Can I bring anything?” Kayla asked, more determined than ever to repair her relationship with Dinah.
“Just your beautiful self, sweetheart.”
“I’ll be there,” Kayla said firmly. “And for the record . . . I miss you too.”
Dinah was quiet for a few seconds. “You know, we could hang out tonight if you’re free.”
Kayla glanced at her fridge and Liam’s card. “I actually might have plans tonight, but what about tomorrow?”
“I’ll bring the wine. You supply the brownies.”
“Deal.”
They said their goodbyes and Kayla stared at her phone. She typed a text to Liam and waited for his response as she thought over her conversation with Dinah and the uncomfortable question it produced.
Because if she grew a backbone and stood up to people when she didn’t agree with them, would she really need to keep running from Gallagher’s?
* * *
Liam was a fool. And a moron. A fucking idiot. But he got home from work and went through the shower. Usually, he ate dinner and went straight to his workshop in his work clothes grimy from fixing things.
Today, he put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt and brushed his hair—something he barely did on a good day.
He was being the most pathetic of all morons possible. And he couldn’t quite stop himself.
He shouldn’t be excited or nervous or fucking primping like a teenager, because Kayla coming over meant nothing at all. She wanted to create something and maybe be friends so no big deal. He could be friends with a woman he found attractive. Especially ones who clearly liked his brother.
His brother who had essentially disappeared for two days as far as Liam could tell. Which wasn’t uncommon, but Aiden had been pretty dead set on Kayla that day of the farmers’ market.
But he hadn’t been home, and as far as Liam knew, hadn’t contacted Kayla.
And what do you know?
Not a whole lot. Except that he was an idiot.
He raked his fingers through his hair, which probably ruined any attempt he’d made to brush it. Which was fine, because he was not worried about his appearance. He was never worried about his appearance.
He muttered a curse, but it was cut off halfway through by his doorbell. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You will not be an idiot. You will not be an idiot.
He opened the door and plastered his best customer-ready smile on his face. “Hey.”
She wore jeans and a thermal shirt with little printed . . . he squinted to try and figure it out. Owls? Purple owls. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, wisps of escaped red waving around her face.
“Here, I brought you something,” she offered, shoving a small tin at him. He took it, if only because he was afraid she’d jam it into his chest again if he didn’t.
“You didn’t have to—”
She waved a hand in an odd gesture, stepping inside as he moved out of the way. “It’s just brownies. I made a double batch as a, you know, thank-you for . . .”
He raised his eyebrows at her and she blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’s a lot easier to be brave about shoehorning yourself into someone’s life via text.”
“You’re not shoehorning. It was an offer.” Her nerves settled his, ever the fixer.
“Right. Well, I . . . My cousin’s birthday is next week, actually, and I wanted to maybe buy something of yours and paint it for her, though I don’t know much about painting wood. But you could maybe show me?” Her blue eyes were both hopeful and concerned, and it would take a far stronger man than him to ever turn down that look.
“I could definitely show you. Let me just put these down and then we’ll head out to the workshop.”
She gave a sharp nod and he walked away, placing the brownies on the kitchen counter and grabbing his keys. When he returned to her, she was standing next to his fireplace, examining the short row of pictures there.
She looked back at him somewhat sheepishly. “I didn’t realize you had such a big family,” she said, pointing at the picture of the Patrick family reunion from the year after Dad’s heart attack when Grandma had made a big deal about everyone attending. Even Aiden had showed up from who knew where.
“Dad’s got nine brothers and sisters, and most of them have five-plus kids, then half of them have started in.” At her wide-eyed look, he shrugged. “Irish Catholic.”
She smiled. “So are we.”
“I haven’t seen you at mass.”
She narrowed her eyes, sizing him up. “You do not go to mass.”
He shrugged. “Not every Sunday, but Grandma Patrick has guilt trips down to an art form. Even Aiden graces a pew far more than you’d think to give him credit for.”
She laughed, the sound bright and sweet in his house, which was the strangest thing, really. It wasn’t as though he never dated, but he usually didn’t have women in his living room laughing about his church attendance.
“So, um, workshop?”
“Right. Yes. Let’s do that,” she said, clasping her hands together.
They walked out back and to his gara
ge. He focused on unlocking the padlock and not staring at the rainbow polka dots on her flimsy tennis shoes as her feet shifted behind him.
He didn’t get why she was nervous when she was the one who’d suggested this whole thing, but he supposed it was better than him feeling like the awkward one.
He pushed open the garage door and glanced at the sky when a roll of thunder sounded. Fat drops of rain started to fall and Kayla hurried inside. Lightning flashed in the sky.
“Better close up,” Liam offered, pulling the garage door back down and then flipping on the lights.
Something about being in his workshop relaxed his whole being, even with Kayla there. Here, there was no problem he couldn’t solve, no thing he couldn’t create. He didn’t have to worry about his family, or Patrick & Sons. It was just him and what he could make out of a piece of wood.
And Kayla Gallagher.
He cleared his throat, which thankfully the thunder rumbled over. “I’ve got some stock that’s unpainted,” he said, walking over to the cabinet that held the pieces he’d finished but hadn’t painted or glossed yet. “You can pick something from there, or if you have an idea I might be able to make something in time.”
She studied him for a second, tugging on one flaming strand of hair. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you make something for me?”
“This is a hobby, but I do make money off of it. Which means, I make things for people when they request it.”
“Oh. Right.” She blinked, but then stepped forward to peer into the cabinet.
“I do a lot of kitchen materials. Spoons, trays, and the like. Then the animals of course. The decorative spoons are my biggest seller right now with the whole lovespoon thing.”
“Lovespoon thing?” she asked.
Liam felt a little stupid for bringing it up, but hell, it was his biggest seller. He walked over to where he kept his little tags and handed her one.
She took the tag and read it thoughtfully, her mouth slowly curving as she did. “A lovespoon is a traditional craft that was historically given to a young woman by her suitor. As it lost its practical use, people began to hang their lovespoons on the wall as a treasured decorative item. Perfect for wedding and anniversary gifts, or to decorate your kitchen with a spoonful of love.” She looked up at him, her eyes laughing. “Liam Patrick, that is downright romantic.”
