Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
It’s exactly what I feared, and it’s completely what I expected. People are everywhere: men on the couches, women sitting between them, some young and some old, more people wandering between the rooms, men and women in the kitchen; laughter, shouting, more laughter, and lots of food piled on tables everywhere. Niall’s assaulted right away with greetings, and I figure he’s about to abandon me to his people, but instead he shows me around.
“I know, it’s a parade of Irish faces,” he says after introducing me to the tenth cousin. “But don’t worry. I doubt Ronan expects you to remember them.”
“Where is he anyway?”
“In his office. I’ll take you there in a sec, got to show you off to the most important people in the house.” He leads me into the kitchen where a dozen older Irish women with wrinkled faces and hard eyes say hello and offer me more food than I could possibly eat. A few weeks ago, I would’ve taken them up on it all and tried to sneak some home—but thanks to Ronan, I’m not hungry anymore.
“And this is the boss’s mother, Deirdre Hayes, the most important person in the entire house. Isn’t that right, Aunt Deirdre?”
“That’s right, you thin-skulled monkey, and don’t forget it. Lovely to meet you, dear, did you get something to eat?” Ronan’s mother is a thin woman, around my height, with silver hair and a lined and wrinkled face. Her deep blue eyes smile at me, and I feel extremely comfortable with her right away, but a piece of me feels brokenhearted as I accept a cup of coffee in lieu of a full Irish breakfast.
I miss my aunts and uncles. I miss my fake cousins. I miss this noise, this commotion, this community. It breaks my heart, but it also fills me back up again in a way I didn’t even know I needed until right now.
Finally, we reach the office. Niall dumps me at the door. “He’s alone now, I think,” he says before walking off.
I consider knocking, but since Ronan’s a fan of breaking into my apartment, I decide to return the favor and barge through the door.
He looks up in surprise. Ronan’s sitting in an old chair behind a big wooden desk with his feet up on the top. He’s got a file open in his lap and thin glasses are perched on his nose. He blinks at me in surprise, the prescription making his pupils look enormous, before he rips them off and scowls.
“Knocking would be nice,” he grumbles as I shut the door.
“You wear glasses? Big, strong, powerful Ronan Hayes wears glasses?” I cackle at him, delighted by my discovery.
“Reading glasses,” he corrects. “And you’re perfect then, are you?”
“Compared to you, absolutely.” I saunter over and take a seat in a chair across from him. The office is relatively small but fairly nice. Wooden bookshelves are crammed with volumes, a couch against the wall, a stack of filing cabinets, and Ronan’s desk. Pictures line the walls, and I recognize a few famous Chicagoans. Most are in black and white.
“Did you do the rounds out there? If you had called, I would’ve come out and given you the tour.”
“Niall beat you to it.”
His lips press together, and I can tell he doesn’t like that. Is he actually jealous of his cousin right now?
“Next time, tell me you’re here.” He closes the file folder. “Did you get something to eat?”
It’s hard not to smile. I can’t help myself. “I was offered by at least a dozen different people.”
“It’s what we do on mornings like this. Family comes over, they get fed, we argue and watch sports if they’re on, some go to mass and some don’t, then we move on.”
“It’s nice,” I say and struggle to keep the pain from my voice. “We did something similar back when my dad was alive.”
He nods slowly. “I bet you did. If it’s overwhelming out there—”
“No, not at all. Honestly, I kind of like it.”
His smile returns. “I bet the cousins are mad right now. An Italian girl at Sunday breakfast? And not just any Italian, but Valentina Santoro?”
“I didn’t realize I was famous.”
“You are, love, you most definitely are, but don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. I can already feel my ego inflating as we speak.”
“Ah, well, shall we remind you about the whole being so broke you came crawling to me for help thing to really humble you again?”
“I’d be better if you didn’t. And I wasn’t crawling. I came with a job.”
He shrugs, and there’s that famous smirk again. The one that makes me despise him so much. “Whatever you want to call it. Speaking of which, did you come bearing gifts?”
I take my phone from my bag and unlock it as he comes around his desk and sits in the chair next to mine. He’s a big man, tall and athletic and muscular, and his knee brushes against mine. I don’t pull away, and he doesn’t move either, as I open my notes app to get at some of my thoughts.