He looks me up and down appreciatively. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’d appreciate it if you’d hold off on the showers.”
“Oh my god!” I squeal, flailing my wet hands around. “I’m so sorry! Here, take my towel!” I mindlessly start trying to wipe the water off of his jeans with my towel, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Eamon begins chuckling just as Paddy and Alicia walk through the door. I bolt upright, my face flaming in embarrassment.
“What exactly is happening back here, you two?” Pat asks, laughing. “I think I asked you to wash dishes, Miss Grady, not Mr. Kennedy’s pants.”
“No,” I splutter, “I accidentally splashed water on him. I was just…”
God, this is humiliating. Eamon grins wickedly and goes back to rinsing the dishes.Jackass.
Chapter Five
Eamon
Pat closes the pub early on Sundays. Last call is at ten o’clock and the doors are locked by eleven. Every other night of the week, the lights are off by one a.m. It’s half past ten when Norah and I finally toss our aprons in the hamper by the back door. Norah groans as she stretches her arms over her head and arches her back, causing her shirt to lift slightly and exposing the skin of her stomach. She’s completely unaware of the effect she has on me. I watch her surreptitiously as I dry my hands, then hang the towel back up on its hook. She lowers her arms and straightens her shirt. I’m still staring when she looks back up, but I don’t bother hiding my interest. She looks away quickly, a small smile playing on her lips.
“If I would have known that dishes put a smile on your face, I would have asked you to do them a long time ago, lass,” Pat says as he walks throughthe door.
She chuckles and says, “I can honestly say that dishes are the last thing to make me smile. I was thinking about one of the costumes I made last year and the girl that wore it.”
“You make costumes?” I ask, leaning back against the counter and folding my arms over my chest.
Norah’s eyes light up with pride, “Yes, I’m the Costume Designer for the Theatre Department on campus. I also do the costumes for some local dance studios.”
“That’s impressive,” I tell her honestly. “Do you sew them yourself or just design them?”
“I do both. I have a team, of course, for the theater, but the dance studios and personal orders I do myself.”
I raise my brows in surprise. “Are you a student too?”
“I am,” she nods. “I’m in my senior year of business. Nothing special, just learning what I need to do to open my own design studio someday.”
Pat interjects, “Did you see the performance they put on a couple of years ago? The one about Sleeping Beauty? She actually created the color-changing dress!”
Norah shakes her head, cheeks turning pink. “It wasn’t actually color-changing. I just chose a reflective material for the skirt, and the lighting crew did the rest.”
“I’m sad I missed that one,” I say truthfully. “Guess I’ll have to catch the next one to see just how amazing these costumes are.”
I don’t normally go to the plays the university puts on unless it’s for class credit, but I might start making an exception.
“They’re putting on a modern rendition of Beauty and The Beast in November. It’s definitely been a stretch of the imagination, but I think it will be pretty great,” she replies shyly, twisting her fingers together in front of her.
“Alright, you two,” Pat starts. “I think you’ve spent enough time here. Go home and get some rest before classes tomorrow. Norah, I’ll give you a lift, love, if you don’t mind riding with me while I drop this deposit off at thebank.”
“Oh, really, Pat. It’s okay. I can just walk. It’s not that far.” She shrugs.
“I can take you,” I say quickly. The thought of her walking alone at this time of night sets my teeth on edge. “I don’t live too far away either, but I had practice today, so I took my car. It’s parked out front.”
“Now, there’s an idea!” Pat exclaims with a little too much enthusiasm. “You won’t have to wait on me, then! Eamon, you’re a good lad. Norah, thank you again for your dishwashing services tonight. We’d be lost without you!”
“I suppose you’d have managed well enough without me, then, Paddy,” I say begrudgingly.
He laughs and says, “Ach, Mr. Kennedy. I do thank you for your excellent cooking skills. From what I heard, those snowbirds all thought I changed my recipe and, believe it or not, like it better than the old one! I’m not sure I should really be thanking ya for that, though. You might put me out of business.”
“I highly doubt that.” I grin at him. “I can cook, but I’m not Paddy O’Nelly.”
He beams at me and bids us farewell with the order to set the alarm on the way out. The trust this man places in us is something else.
