Through Your Eyes

by Shannyn Schroeder

  * * *

  Hours later, Deirdre was still tossing and turning in bed, guilt clawing at her. As tired as she was, she’d thought falling into bed was all that was needed to forget this horrendous night. Instead, she couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy O’Malley and his lips on hers, the press of his body, the way his strong hands held her.

  Everything about him was so different from Rory. Rory was gentle and soft. Offering her a quick peck on the lips. Never had he taken her mouth like Tommy had. She tried to convince herself that it was the novelty of it that drew her in. She had so little experience with men at all that something new would be sure to intrigue her.

  But she also knew when she was lying to herself. Tommy got her blood moving in ways that no one ever had. No one. Not even Rory, whom she loved. That set off another round of guilt.

  Finally, she threw off the covers and opened her laptop. Dialing Rory’s number, she prayed he’d answer. She needed to tell him what she’d done. Was it cruel to admit her actions so she could rid herself of guilt if it made Rory unhappy? More guilt kicked at her as the ringing taunted her.

  He might not even answer. It was late morning at home.

  Then Rory’s face filled her screen. He held his phone close enough that she couldn’t tell if he was at home or at the pub. “Deirdre. What are you calling so early for? On your way to the bakery?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “I’m off today. I haven’t been to sleep yet. I worked at O’Leary’s Pub last night.”

  “Oh, yeah. The famous St. Paddy’s Day celebration. How was it?”

  “Long. Tiring.” Thinking back, though, she had enjoyed some of it.

  “Then you should get some sleep.”

  “I tried . . . I couldn’t . . .” Her voice cracked.

  “Deirdre, love, what is it?”

  She licked her lips and took a shuddering breath. Just say it. “I kissed someone.”

  Rory continued to look at her from the screen, his expression unchanging.

  “There’s a guy. He asked me out and I told him about you. He wanted to go out as friends. He drove me home from the bar tonight and we kissed.”

  Rory rubbed a hand over his face. “It was bound to happen. You’re a beautiful woman, Deirdre.”

  She pressed her lips together and tried to read his eyes.

  “Ahh . . . the problem isn’t that a man kissed you, but that you enjoyed it. Is that it?”

  She blinked back tears because he saw right into her.

  He sighed. “Do you know why I bought you the ticket to America?”

  She shook her head, fearing his next words.

  “I know you expected a ring. And for a while, I thought I’d be putting one on your hand. But I couldn’t do that to you. You know as well as I do that it wasn’t right. Our families love us, but their expectations shouldn’t determine our lives. I want you to explore life, Deirdre. Go out with this guy.”

  The suggestion was like a knife to her heart. “Are you going to see other people?”

  His eyes were wide, uncertain. “I don’t know.”

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure them that they were all right. But she knew they weren’t.

  A loud bang crashed behind him and yelling ensued. He was at the damn pub. He was always at the pub. He pulled his phone away from his face and she saw her brother Brendan climb behind Rory.

  “Hey, D. How’s America?”

  She curved her lips and said, “Good.”

  “Are our American cousins teaching you all about how to properly run a pub?”

  “We were extremely busy last night for St. Patrick’s Day. You should’ve seen it.” She was amazed at how easily it had become to lie to her family. They thought she’d come to visit to learn more about O’Leary’s Pub. They had no idea she spent most of her time at the bakery.

  Then Brendan launched into a list of instructions for Rory, which Deirdre knew meant that Rory would be hanging up.

  “I have to go.”

  She nodded, still trying to make sense of his words.

  He winked at her. “Let me know if this American is the real deal.”

  Then the screen went black. Just like Rory to joke. He made light of everything, always trying to make her feel good.

  Everything Maggie had warned her of was coming true. Rory wanted to date other people. More, he wanted her to.

  She flopped back on her bed, hoping for sleep and answers. Instead, images of Rory’s lost eyes and Tommy’s warm lips assaulted her.

  She wasn’t the kind of girl to be torn between two men. All she wanted was a quiet, peaceful life. Rory would provide that.

  Not Tommy. Tommy was exciting and new and different. He was an adventure. Rough and tattooed and pushy. He was everything she’d never known she could be attracted to, but suddenly was.

  She spent the wee hours of the morning trying to dissect why her eye strayed from Rory when it never had in the past. She tried to figure out what it was about Tommy that drew her. And mostly, she tried to decide where her relationship with Rory was headed.

  She didn’t know which scared her more: that she was interested in Tommy or that Rory didn’t care.

  Chapter Four

  Tommy woke and spent his morning puttering around the house and checking his phone every few minutes to see if Deirdre had called. He kept an eye out the front window to see if she left. He finally saw his opening when Mrs. O’Leary walked down the front steps and to her car—alone. Since he hadn’t seen Deirdre leave, this was his chance to talk to her.

  Once Mrs. O’Leary’s car was down the block, he jogged across the street and knocked on the front door. A cold wind whipped up. A sweatshirt would’ve been nice, but he thought Deirdre would answer the door. Maybe she was still asleep.

  He’d raised his hand to knock one more time before giving up when it swung open. Deirdre looked even more exhausted than she had last night. Dark circles marred the pale skin beneath her eyes.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You didn’t call. I hoped I could talk you into going to the museum with me.”

  “I’m busy right now.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I’m in the middle of baking.”

  Tommy couldn’t stop the smile. “Can I watch?”

  Her whole face screwed up like the request was ridiculous.

  “I’d like to talk. Get to know you better.”

  She huffed out a breath. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You seemed to be intent on getting to know me last night.”

  “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  She tilted her head, and he knew she was trying to decide if she could trust what he said.

  “Can I please come in? It’s really cold out here.”

  She swung the door wider and stepped back. He walked through and shut the door. “Thank you.”

  She made no move to go back to baking. She didn’t say anything either.

  “I like you. I think you like me too. I know I was out of line with the kiss last night, but sometimes I don’t think before I act. I can respect that you have a boyfriend, but at the risk of coming off as an even bigger asshole, if everything was going good with him, you wouldn’t have kissed me back. You were as into it as I was.”

  Her gaze, which had been locked on his, darted away. She stared at her feet. “It doesn’t make it right.” She spoke so quietly he wasn’t sure if she meant for him to hear it.

  He stepped closer, wanting to touch her, to comfort her.

  But then her head shot up, and she looked him straight in the eye and said, “I have cupcakes to get to. If you want to stay, it’ll have to be in the kitchen.”

  “Lead the way.”

  They walked through the house. It was a typical bungalow, which had a near-identical layout to his. Living room, dining room, and kitchen in almost a straight line. A hall off to the side that led to a bathroom and bedrooms. In the kitchen, she tied an apron around her waist and stood in front of the ingredients stacked on the table. />
  He walked behind her, catching a whiff of her scent, like warm cookies. He didn’t know if it was perfume or the fact that she was always baking, but it made him want a nibble. Leaning on the counter, he said nothing, just watched her work. She measured and poured in silence.

  The oven beside him beeped. She ignored it. She went into the refrigerator and pulled out some lemons.

  “What are you making?”

  “I’m creating a new lemon cupcake recipe.”

  She grated the peel of the lemons and then cut them open. She worked at the batter the way he scribbled on paper. He knew the signs of someone trying to work something out. He was patient; he’d give her the time she needed.

  He noticed Deirdre mixed the batter in the bowl with a whisk.

  “Wouldn’t that be easier with an electric mixer?”

  She shot him a look. “Of course, but then I wouldn’t feel it the way I do by hand.”

  He felt the same way about drawing on paper versus working on graphics on a computer.

  When she set the bowl down and turned away to grab her pan, he stuck his finger in and tasted the batter. Tart, then sweet. It suited her perfectly.

  She caught him tasting and gave him a look with a raised eyebrow.

  He smiled. “What? You can’t put that stuff in front of me and not expect me to taste. It’s too tempting.”

  As soon as he said it, he knew the words applied to her as much as her cupcakes. A flash of something crossed her eyes. He moved closer, but she turned her focus to the cupcakes. He refused to move away again.

  “I spoke to Rory this morning.”

  Tommy froze. While he didn’t want to hear her talk about her boyfriend, he knew something important was about to happen.

  “I told him about you kissing me.”

  At least the guy was across an ocean. Tommy didn’t want to brawl. “Did you tell him you kissed me back?”

  Her eyes met his. “Of course I did. I’m no liar.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you were. Most women would lay the blame on the other guy and go for jealousy in their boyfriend.”

  “Well, I guess I’m not most women. I told him everything.”

  “What’s everything?”

  Her gaze went back to the batter, through which she lazily swirled a spoon. “I told him that you asked me out and that you kissed me. I told him I liked it.”

  “What did he say?”

  Another tilt of the spoon, drizzling batter across the bowl. “He wasn’t surprised. He knew before I even told him that I enjoyed kissing you.”

  “Did he get mad? Yell at you? Threaten to kick my ass?”

  She let the spoon sink deep in the bowl and looked up at him. “No. In fact, he told me to go out with you.”

  Her boyfriend was stupid. Even Tommy knew that you didn’t tell a woman like her to date other people unless you wanted to get rid of her. He smiled at her. “So when’s our first date?”

  She crossed her arms. “I didn’t say I would go out with you. Just that he said I should.”

  Well, damn. Cupcake had some claws.

  “The thing is, Tommy, I’ve spent my whole life doing what I’m supposed to, everything I’m told to. Being here in America is my chance to be me for me.”

  “What do you want?”

  She opened her mouth and then shut it again. Then she chuckled. “You know, no one has ever asked me that before. I just realized that I don’t even know.”

  Not knowing was better than knowing she didn’t want him. Tommy could work with that. “Okay, so I won’t kiss you again until you tell me to. But we can still hang out while you figure your shit out, right?”

  “Why are you pursuing me? You must have a legion of women who’d be thrilled to have your attention.”

  Tommy ran a hand down his torso. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. There are no other women—definitely not a legion. I like you. I don’t have any other answer, no weird motives. I saw you in the bakery last fall, and something clicked in me. I wanted to ask you out, but I didn’t, and you went home. Now you’re back, and I don’t want to lose my chance again.”

  Her cheeks grew pink. He might not be able to read the expressions in her eyes, but her skin gave her away all the time.

  “So tell me about the museum and why you want to go,” she said.

  “I’m an artist. I like to go to the Art Institute for inspiration. And they have a new exhibit going on that I thought you might be interested in. It’s art of immigrants. People who came to America for a better life and how they documented it through art.”

  He mostly preferred to wander through the exhibits and study color and texture. He didn’t have a formal education in art, but he liked to learn.

  “Does sound interesting. I’m not much for art though. I know nothing about it.”

  He leaned against the table. “I beg to differ. I’ve seen you decorate a cupcake. It’s an art form all its own.”

  “Not really. It’s practice. Which is why I’m here in the kitchen on my day off. That, and I had quite a bit to think about.” She shook her hair away from her face before scooping batter into the pan.

  “So does that mean you’ll go with me?”

  “I don’t know about today. I haven’t had much sleep, so I don’t think I’ll be the best of company.”

  “You’re pretty good company right now.”

  “I’ll be worse as the day wears on.”

  “Let me buy you lunch then. And you can repay me by showing me how you decorate these cupcakes.”

  “You don’t really wish to learn about cake decorating.” She swiped at the hair around her face again.

  “I wish to be with you. And you want to decorate cupcakes, so I’ll learn.”

  “You’re a pushy sort, aren’t you?”

  “No way to get what you want in life without being a little pushy.” He encroached on her space a little more, careful not to actually touch her because if he did, he would kiss her again. And he’d promised her he wouldn’t do that without invitation. But man, did he want the invite.

  * * *

  Tommy was in her space again, standing as close as he had last night right before he’d kissed her. Her every nerve tingled in anticipation, but he didn’t touch her.

  “Your hair is making you crazy.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

  “I forgot to put it up.”

  “Got a hair tie?”

  “Probably in my pocket, where they always are.” She set the scoop down in the batter to find one, but Tommy slid his hand into her pocket. It should’ve felt obscene, but he wasn’t being creepy. He simply pulled out the band she usually kept there.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll fix your hair.”

  “Oh, this should be good,” she said, taking in his short hair, which required not a lick of work.

  “I’ll have you know that I’m a master at ponytails and braids.”

  “Are you now?” She turned back to her bowl and let him pull at her hair.

  “You’ve met Norah, right?” Without waiting for her to answer, he continued. “Someone had to do her hair when she was little. Jimmy tried but didn’t really have the patience. If we left it up to my dad, he would’ve chopped it all off.”

  Deirdre enjoyed the pleasant tug as he twined her hair.

  “Her life was hard enough without a mom.”

  His breath fluttered at the loose hair around her neck as he spoke, causing a ripple of goose bumps to skate down her spine.

  The feelings bashing through her were too confusing. Dating Rory had never caused such commotion in her mind. Things with him were easy. Her heart pounding in her throat wasn’t something she liked.

  “And where did you learn?”

  “Girls at school, of course.”

  Her laughter helped as she focused on pouring batter into the cups. At this point, she couldn’t be sure she’d even incorporated all of the ingredients. She’d moved on instinct so she hoped her ins
tincts had been correct.

  With her hair safely tied up, Tommy stepped away. “Why did you come to Chicago?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, most people come here to vacation and have fun, but all I’ve seen you do is work.” He leaned against the table as he spoke, watching her scoop the batter.

  “I wanted to visit my family, but I’m not the sort to sit on my arse doing nothing.”

  “But you’ll go to the museum with me.”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “So not today. Whatever day you have off next week. Get these in the oven so we can go to lunch.”

  It was only a meal. Even at the thought, her stomach grumbled. “All right then.”

  She slid the pans into the oven, set the timer, and set about cleaning up. As she piled dirty bowls and spoons in the sink, Tommy turned on the faucet to fill it with water.

  “What are you doing?”

  He gave her a look like she was a dolt. “Washing the dishes.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re dirty.”

  “My aunt and my mother would have my hide if I let a guest wash dishes.”

  He sank his hands in the soapy water. “Well, then we either don’t tell them or you accept that I’m not really a guest. I’m a friend.”

  This man was slippery. Had an answer for everything. “Thank you.”

  “No big deal. I get stuck with the dishes all the time at home. It’s what happens when you’re the youngest.”

  Deirdre set the canister of flour back on the counter near the toaster. “I thought Norah was the youngest.”

  “She is, but she lived in Boston from the time she was twelve ’til about a year and a half ago. I was the youngest living at home.” He rinsed a bowl and set it on the drainer. “How about you? Brothers and sisters?”

  “Three brothers. One older and two younger. Being the only girl, I always get stuck with the dishes as well.” She grabbed a towel and dried the bowl from the drainer. The same old bitterness crept into her voice. She envied Moira and Maggie for having each other. She’d give almost anything to have a sister to share in the complaints.

  “Do you get along with your brothers?”

  “I suppose so. No more and no less than others. I’m guessing you like your family quite a bit since you’re still living at home.”