Hot Under the Collar, Page 3

  For a moment, she was transported in time, taken back to a cold winter day in Ireland more than seventy years ago. To another person who sometimes called her “Finn.” She’d done something impulsive then, and the result had been a long and happy marriage to Seamus Kilcannon. She could see his smile and feel that same indescribable pull that had a hold of her heart right now.

  When Finnie finally looked away, her gaze landed on Daniel, who was moving to the middle of the room to make a toast. To his bride. To his new life. To his doubled-in-size family.

  It was time for Finnie, who’d stepped in when her son needed her, to step out and let him live without his old mother breathing down his neck. “I’ve been prayin’,” she confessed on a whisper, “that I might know where to go so as to not be in the way.”

  “Praying, have you?” Agnes squeezed a little harder. “Then someone must have sent me as the answer to your prayers.”

  “But I don’t know you at all.” But maybe that good Lord who worked in mysterious ways was sending Finnie in to do a job with this other grandmother. Or maybe Seamus was looking down and encouraging his Finola to take a chance. He’d done that so many times in their long marriage.

  “We could rent and test the waters,” Agnes countered. “And we’ll take a trial run at this matchmaking project. Start with Cassie and Braden and see how we do?”

  “’Tis perfect, since she’s your granddaughter, and Braden’s my grandson.”

  Agnes gestured to where Daniel and Katie stood, their arms intertwined, their gazes locked. “Since the Dogfather seems to have taken a permanent vacation from matchmaking.”

  In the middle of the room, Daniel slowly let go of Katie to tap his glass and quiet the room, but that did nothing to slow Finnie’s thoughts.

  Sweet Saint Patrick, was she going to do this?

  This wasn’t what she’d come to this table to accomplish! But in all honesty, Finnie had been putting dents in the floorboards walking them at night, wearing her rosary to nubs. She didn’t want to live alone at her age, yet couldn’t bear to impose on Colleen, who was busy running a store in town. And the grandchildren? They were all starting new married lives and families, and she was nearing the end of hers.

  Daniel began his speech, drawing every eye to the tall, silver-haired patriarch whom they all loved and admired. He spoke of change and children, of the past and future, of love and loss and second chances.

  Everyone needed a second chance in life, he told them.

  Oh, Danny Boy, you’re so right.

  She turned to Agnes, who was staring at Finnie like she’d hung the moon. She wasn’t a bad person, despite what Cassie said. She wanted to live near family and shower them with love—and help them find it. A purpose, indeed. And a fun one. Finnie needed that in her life, and Agnes needed family.

  “So join me in raising your glass…” Daniel’s voice echoed through the restaurant as Finnie and Agnes followed the order, lifting their champagne glasses. “And drink to love!” he finished.

  Finnie held her glass to Agnes’s, took a breath, and whispered, “To my new roommate.”

  Agnes gasped and threw her head back with a laugh, finally looking truly comfortable in that sleek skin of hers. “To Finnie and Agnes. The Dogmothers.”

  “The Dogmothers?” Finnie hooted and clinked her crystal glass against Agnes’s. “Well, that surely has a nice ring to it.”

  And while the whole room chattered and cheered, Finnie told Agnes about how she came to live in Bitter Bark. The long version.

  Chapter One

  One Month Later

  “One, two, sweep, extend. One, two, sweep, extend.” Cassie Santorini called out the dance steps to the familiar pluck of the mandolin strings, knowing full well that trying to teach a bunch of silly, slightly inebriated, incredibly distracted Irishmen and women how to perform the sirtaki was a waste of time.

  Whoa, they were bad at Greek dancing.

  But she wasn’t complaining. Not at all. Truth was, it wasn’t exactly a hardship to have Braden Mahoney’s muscular arm draped over her shoulders. And she didn’t completely hate that his hips and thighs occasionally brushed hers when he did the wrong step. Which was frequently.

  She actually liked the bolt of pleasure that ricocheted through her whenever they touched or had eye contact or teased each other mercilessly. But a few sizzling seconds was all this flirtation could be, and Cassie would do well to remember that every time their contact felt more than casual or “cousinly,” and their shared laughs did fluttery, buzzy things to her body.

  Obviously, her hormones had no way of knowing she was planning The Great Escape now that Mom was settled and her brothers had opened the new restaurant in Bitter Bark. Her lady parts didn’t care that with their families so connected, she’d have to see him two or three times a week, which would only make things complicated. And her heart—which had no business sliding into this debate—couldn’t possibly realize that she and Braden were genuine friends, and anything else would just ruin the fun.

  But her head knew all that, which made her step away from Braden as the music ended and something more modern started up. It had been happening this way on Wednesday nights for a few months now. The younger, childless members of the Kilcannon, Mahoney, and Santorini families always left the midweek dinner at Waterford Farm and headed to Bushrod’s for a nightcap and dancing. Because the local bar wasn’t crowded on a Wednesday, her brother John usually convinced the DJ to play “Zorba’s Dance” so Cassie, John, and Alex Santorini could teach their Irish friends how to really dance.

  And somehow the smokeshow of a firefighter always ended up next to her.

  On the way back to the huge table they’d filled, Braden high-fived his brother Connor.

  “Please don’t celebrate like you actually danced,” Cassie quipped as she snagged her glass of water from the table and lifted her heavy hair to get air on her damp neck. “At this point, you couldn’t make it through the first hour of a Greek wedding.”

  “Speaking of weddings.” Braden leaned down close to her ear, the low timbre of his voice and his warm breath wrapping around her and sending heat through her whole body. “Our family has three coming up in the next few months. You’ll need to keep teaching me until I get it right.”

  Our family. He loved to do this, loved to tell her they were going to be cousins. Was it a ploy to keep their playful flirtation from tumbling into dangerous territory, or did he actually believe that?

  “We are not family, Braden Mahoney. How many times do I have to explain that to you?”

  “When my uncle marries your mother? We’ll be cousins.” He leaned back to take a swig of beer, eyeing her with that constant tease that flickered in his too-blue eyes.

  She let her gaze coast over the hollows of his cheeks, all shadowed with whiskers that grew dark when he had a few days off between firefighter shifts. She finally reached his mouth, which just made her envy the bottle of Miller Lite and imagine her own lips could trade places with the amber glass.

  “Cousins. Pffft.” She flicked her hand, letting her fingertips casually graze his broad chest. “You don’t become cousins because two people you’re related to get married.”

  “But your brother is Daniel’s biological son.”

  “Which makes us nothing, Einstein.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, for a genius with a degree in fireology—”

  “Fire science,” he corrected.

  “—you can be pretty dense. Yes, my brother’s biological father is your uncle. Yes, your Kilcannon cousins are now my stepsiblings. But that doesn’t make us cousins, first, second, third, or once removed, so quit trying to horn in on my cool Greek heritage. Be Irish. Eat potatoes.”

  He grinned, the bottle back at his mouth, his lips stretched into a smile that reached right up and made his eyes glint like blue gas flames. “Shame, isn’t it? If only we weren’t cousins.”

  “If only you weren’t an idiot,” she countered, wishing he’d stop flirting with her a
nd also wishing she’d stop enjoying it so much.

  She turned to the rest of their group to notice that Ella Mahoney and Darcy Kilcannon were gathering their bags, while Darcy’s fiancé, Josh Ranier, stood and pushed in his chair. Braden’s brothers, Declan and Connor, were laying down cash and on the way out, too.

  Too bad. She was having fun and didn’t want Wednesday night at Bushrod’s to be over.

  Maybe John and Alex would stay. She glanced at her brothers, but the Santorini twins were knocking back the dregs of their drinks and about to call it a night because the breakfast rush started early at Santorini’s.

  At least Braden wasn’t moving. She sneaked a peek only to find him staring at the door. The smile he’d worn had faded into a dead expression, his eyes cool and narrow, his strong jaw set in a way that told her he was clenching his teeth.

  She followed his gaze, already suspecting what—or who—she’d see. Yep. There she was. The ex who just happened to pop up with increasing frequency. He wasn’t moving because Simone London had walked in.

  “Oooh,” Cassie cooed. “I see London, I see France, I see Braden…in a trance.”

  That made him smile a little, even though she could tell he didn’t want to. “Shut it.”

  “Truth hurts, big guy.”

  He finally tore his riveted gaze from the new arrival, who hadn’t even noticed him yet, proving she was both blind and clueless, and shot Cassie a dirty look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know enough. Your sister told me you used to date her. Your uncle Daniel told my mother you took the breakup hard. And you get a little red and uncomfortable if her name is casually mentioned at a family dinner.”

  “I did date her. No breakup is pleasant. And if I look uncomfortable, I’m probably trying not to belch at the table.” He ran his hand through short-cropped brown hair. “I have no feelings for her.”

  “If by ‘no feelings,’ you mean longing, lust, and lingering hope, I believe you.”

  “You’re—”

  “G’ night, Cassie.” Darcy Kilcannon, Braden’s actual cousin, interrupted his pathetic self-defense as she came around the table to give Cassie a hug, her long blond hair tumbling out of her ponytail, loosened by the dance. “I’ll see you Saturday, right?”

  “Saturday?”

  “Moving day for the grands,” Darcy reminded her.

  Oh yes, that. “I still can’t believe my grandmother is moving to Bitter Bark and will be living with Gramma Finnie.” Cassie shook her head at this impossible turn of events.

  “I know!” Darcy’s blue eyes glinted with that infectious Kilcannon optimism. “I just hope they don’t have too many problems with that old Victorian they’re renting.”

  “Don’t worry, my grandmother can scowl even an inanimate object into doing her bidding. Plus, your fiancé is a contractor.”

  “I haven’t seen Gramma Finnie this happy in a long time. It’s like she has a whole new reason for living. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Cassie said, not wanting to throw cold water on all that positivity, but none of them knew the real Yiayia. Yet.

  What they knew was this…this stand-in. At least Cassie had her mother and two brothers to discuss the new weirdness that was Yiayia. None of them understood the changes in the woman, and they were all certain it was just a matter of time before the veneer fell off to reveal her sharp tongue and cold heart.

  “Are you helping with the move, Braden?” Darcy asked.

  “I’m picking up a half shift tomorrow at the fire station, but if there’s still work to do when I’m done, we’ll swing by.”

  We. Cassie caught the word and wondered if he meant his dog, Jelly Bean, who was frequently with him, or the woman he was tracking with his gaze.

  “Lunch on Friday, Cass?” Ella Mahoney, Braden’s younger sister, scooted up next to them, running a hand through her super-short hair to spike it in a way few women could wear. But the pixie look only accented her big brown eyes and movie-star bone structure. “We need to nail down some of the details for the Paws for a Cause fundraiser. I really want Bone Appetit to shine on our day and organizing this shindig is not in my wheelhouse.”

  “Count on it,” Cassie promised, so grateful to have the event-planning work to beef up her résumé. Without it, she’d never get the kind of job in the kind of place that she wanted, but there was no reason to share that with Ella or any of the family yet.

  When she was ready and able to make that career move, she’d break the news that she was leaving. Until then, she wouldn’t give anyone a chance to try to talk her out of it, because she’d waited long enough to start living her life.

  “You leaving now, Braden?” Ella asked her brother.

  “Nah.” He shook his near empty bottle. “I’ll stay for another round.”

  Ella choked softly. “Yeah, I just saw your ‘next round’ cruise over to the bar.”

  “Mind your own biz, Smella.”

  She just smiled at the nickname her brothers must have hung on her as a child and gave another hug to Cassie. “Stay with him, Cass,” she whispered. “He was in a funk after they split up, and I don’t think she’s done with him yet. Keep an eye on him.”

  “I will.” Both eyes, probably. Since they were almost always glued to Braden when he was in a room.

  With a few more goodbyes, that group headed out, but Braden made no move to leave, although to his credit he’d stopped watching Simone. Cassie hadn’t, though, noticing the woman and her two friends were looking for seats at the bar. Simone’s blond head turned in Braden’s direction frequently, so she had noticed him. Not that you could miss a six-foot-two firefighter with shoulders that could make a woman whimper.

  “So how bad a breakup was it?” Cassie asked, curious now. “I mean on a scale of no-big-deal to wanted-to-rip-your-heart-out-just-to-stop-the-pain?”

  He almost smiled. “’Bout a three.”

  Really? “Then why the eye-stalking?”

  “I’m not eye-stalking.”

  No, but Simone was. Cassie took a step to the left, blocking the view from the bar. “So what happened? Who dumped who?”

  “It was mutual.”

  “You think you’re both over it?”

  “Yep. Don’t listen to my sister,” he added. “Smella’s imagining things.”

  “Why on earth do you call that beautiful girl Smella?”

  He grinned. “Inside Mahoney joke. We’re not cousins, remember? So don’t try to horn in on my cool Irish heritage. Read Homer. Be Greek.”

  She took a sip of water, eyeing him and knowing him well enough to have no doubt he actually did read Homer. “So you want her back?”

  He shot her a look, but didn’t answer.

  “You want her to notice you’re still on the planet, or do you just want her to go away?”

  His gaze flicked toward the bar. “She knows I’m on the planet, and it’s a small town, so she can’t go away. Actually, she did go away, right into the arms of an actuary.” The word rolled off his tongue as if it tasted like fried tar.

  “Whatever that is.”

  “Safe,” he said. “That is safe.”

  “So she chose safe over…” How could she describe Braden? She thought about the opposite of safe, and he wasn’t that, either. He was solid. Grounded. Focused. Well-read and crazy-smart. Loved his family and did heroic work. Also fry-your-eyes hot. “Over you?”

  He looked down at her, the glint in his eyes saying he’d picked up the compliment buried in her subtext. “Contrary to rumors you may hear, it really was mutual,” he finally said.

  “So mutual that your entire being changed when she walked in the door?”

  One more time, he stared at her, silent.

  She crossed her arms and let out a sigh. “You know, when I want something—anything, really—I go for it. I take action. I make my needs known. I seize the day, every opportunity, and let nothing and no one stand in my way.”

&nbs
p; “Do you?”

  “Haven’t you noticed?”

  He lifted a brow. “You? Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

  “So what would Cassie do?” she asked. “When life doesn’t go exactly as planned or sucks a little bit too much, Cassie Santorini doesn’t sit around moaning about it or staring. She takes action.”

  “Does she?” Amused, he took a sip of beer. “And she talks about herself in third person.”

  “Sometimes…she does.” She glanced past his shoulder, zeroing in on the attractive blonde who’d finally found a stool facing the dance floor. Two guys had already moved in.

  Was that what was bothering him?

  “What would Cassie Santorini do in this case, if the tables were turned?” Braden asked.

  “You mean if someone chose an actuary over me and made me mope around for a few months?”

  “I am not moping, and I wasn’t…” His voice trailed off, his argument lost in the first few notes of a Sam Smith ballad that filled the bar. “Come on, Cass.” He suddenly closed his hand over her wrist and tugged her toward the dance floor. “This way.”

  “Oooh. Confrontation. My specialty.”

  “We’re not confronting anyone,” he said as he slid his arm around her, leading her forward.

  “Just talk, then? Buy her a drink? Demand answers? I can be your representative from the female species. We speak the same language.”

  “Cassie, shut up.” He reached the dance floor and stopped, turning her to wrap his hands around her waist. “We’re going to dance.”

  Right in front of the ex, it would seem. “The old make-her-jealous trick. I should have thought of that.”

  He pulled her closer, the sudden full-body contact shocking her with how warm and solid and big he was. Greek dances weren’t like this. Greek dances weren’t…sexy.

  But he was. And so was the look in his eyes and that shadow of a playful, daring smile. “You sure we’re not cousins?”

  “Einstein. You’re killing me.” In more ways than one.

  “Then do me a favor,” he said, his voice a little rough as he leaned closer and put his lips against her ear. “Act like you like me for once.”