“Relax,” he drawls, his hand coming up to stop me. “Seriously, it’s fine.”
I sigh harshly. I’m sure karma will bite me later for this.
“What’s your name?”
“Clodagh.”
“Lovely name. I’ve never heard of it.” His eyes gaze leisurely over me. “It suits you.”
I smile at the hot stranger, feeling a bit off-kilter. Is he flirting with me? “It’s Irish. And yours is?”
“Alfred.” He holds out his hand to me. “Tell you what, Clodagh, I’ll forgive you if you give me your number and let me take you out for a drink.”
Oh.
An unattractive snort escapes me as I take his hand. I’m about to respectfully reject him when I stop and think.
Why wouldn’t I accept?
“Sure, Alfred. I’d love to.”
***
Bucket list number four: the exquisite L’Oignon du Monde restaurant. Translation: The world’s onion. Everything sounds more glamorous in French.
It’s like I’ve stepped inside a French palace.
Reservations here are like gold dust. There’s a one-year waiting list, so I don’t know how they slipped me in for Teagan’s birthday. Maybe Killian has his own list. The billionaires’ waiting list involves no waiting, while the ordinary people’s waiting list involves a year of waiting.
Killian motions for me to sit between him and Connor. That’s great; I’m in the middle of a Quinn sausage sandwich.
Teagan sits opposite me, flanked by her grandma and her friend Becky, who she talks about constantly. I can’t believe I fucked her dad. I’m a trollop nanny. I can’t look her in the eye without feeling severe Catholic guilt.
Killian’s mum is a timeless beauty. Since we entered the restaurant, I haven’t had a chance to speak with her properly, but my gut tells me I like her. Maybe it’s because she was polite to the hostess as she took her coat off, while the snobby woman in front of us practically hung hers on the hostess’s head.
Just as I’m about to take my seat, a server appears behind me, and then there are six servers at the table, one behind each chair.
What the fuck is going on?
This is over the top. I restrain myself from laughing as they help us all into our chairs. No one else seems to find it funny.
“You’re welcome,” I say with a wide smile to the server who assisted me in my chair and set a white napkin onto my lap.
Wait, what?
That didn’t make any sense. I meant to say thank you. My words are all jumbled up because I’m nervous.
But before I can apologize for my verbal faux pas, he’s gone. Talk about embarrassing.
A flurry of activity ensues as the servers scurry around us, offering us water, breadsticks, olives, and little amuse-bouches.
People at the next table nudge each other. “The Quinn brothers,” a guy says loudly.
I glance around at the other tables, and all eyes are on us. Women are staring at us. Correction, ogling Killian and Connor.
I’ve seen more subtlety at strip clubs.
Teagan barely bats an eyelid. At thirteen, she’s used to this?
“You okay?” Killian asks in a lowered voice as Teagan and Becky chatter excitedly about meeting the pop star. They’re obsessed. If I never hear about bloody Cayden again, it’ll be too soon.
I side-eye Killian. “Yeah, I’m great.”
His arm comes up to rest on the back of my chair. It settles there. I don’t know if he means to be so close, but it’s giving me goose bumps. He’s so big that his thigh brushes against my bare skin every time he shifts.
I could tell him politely to stop manspreading, but I’m a glutton for punishment.
The servers appear again to take our orders. They never really leave; they seem to be waiting behind the curtains, ready to jump whenever we need them.
While everyone else mulls over the menu, I don’t have to bother. Fancy restaurants and their pretty fonts make it impossible to read the menu. It’s like they don’t want you to know what’s on offer.
“I’ll have the half-young cockerel for starter and the steak tartare for main,” I tell the server. “Oh, and a side of puree d’echalote caramelisee, please.” I’m 99 percent certain I’ve pronounced it correctly because Siri and I practiced it a billion times.
Killian raises an eyebrow as if mildly impressed.
My lips purse. The arrogance of him to assume that I can’t pronounce things correctly in French. Disclosure: I practiced this afternoon.
I’ll never relax with him being in such proximity. Nervously, I pop a soft cheese ball in my mouth. Delicious.
Connor chuckles as the servers retreat. “A woman who knows what she wants.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
“I checked out the menu this afternoon,” I tell him.
“I couldn’t do that. It would make me hungry and impatient. And I’m fickle. I’ll change my mind two hours later.”
“It’s because I have dyslexia,” I explain. Until a few years ago, I wouldn’t have revealed this, but now I feel comfortable discussing it. “The fonts can be tough to read, so if I know I’m going out to eat at a restaurant, I’ll look at the menu online before I go.”
The whole table is listening now. I blush as I become the center of attention.
Killian’s mum looks genuinely curious. “It must be tough, darling.”
“You never told me,” Killian murmurs beside me. I tilt my head to see a deep frown on his face.
“What’s it like?” Teagan asks. “Being dyslexic, I mean.”
“It’s hard to describe. It’s like your brain plays tricks on you, and the letters all get mixed up and jump around.” I take out my phone and scroll to the article I use to explain to people. It’s much easier if they can see for themselves. “Here, have a look.” I pass over my phone to Teagan.
Her eyes widen as she stares at it. Becky gazes at it over her shoulder. “This is insane. Things are moving. Dad, look at this!”
Killian’s arm tenses against mine. He takes the phone from Teagan and studies it, his frown deepening. “Do you have everything you need to be comfortable at home? You should have told me about this.”
“It’s fine.” I wave a hand in dismissal, my heart stupidly fluttering at Killian saying home.
And it really is fine. I know how to cope with it by myself. Otherwise, I’d be screwed.