The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!)

by Brenda Harlen

  “Your grandmother taught me.”

  “Nonna—my nonna—taught you to make gnocchi?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked.”

  “Why?” he said again.

  “Because it’s your favorite. And—” she drew in a breath “—I wanted to show you that our relationship is worth fighting for.”

  * * *

  And that simply, that easily, the anger and frustration he’d tried to hold on to melted away.

  He understood what a big step this was for her. Not just big—monumental. It couldn’t have been easy for her to swallow her pride and ask for help—to go to his grandmother and enlist her assistance with this plan.

  The fact that she’d done so showed him more clearly than any words the depth of her feelings for him, and the pressure that had been weighing on his chest for the past six days finally eased.

  “Are you going to say anything?” she finally asked.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about how hungry I am.”

  Some of the stiffness eased from her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth tipped up, just a fraction. “Dinner can be ready in five minutes.”

  “Give me ten,” he said. “I need a quick shower.”

  Ten minutes later, he was sitting at the table with a plate of steaming pasta in front of him. He picked up his fork, eager to dig in. Across from him, Jordyn did the same, but she continued to watch him, waiting for him to sample and assess the meal she’d made.

  She’d obviously gone to a lot of effort and was anxious about the result. He didn’t blame her for her apprehension. He knew gnocchi could be tricky, and though it looked like his grandmother’s pasta, it might be gummy or heavy or tough. But even if it was, he knew that he would eat every bite.

  He pierced a piece of gnocchi with the tines of his fork and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed slowly, considering. The flavors—both pasta and sauce—were familiar and delicious. Not exactly like Nonna’s, but impressive nonetheless.

  He scooped up more pasta. “This is really good.”

  She finally sampled the food on her own plate, nodded. “I didn’t think your grandmother would let me screw it up too badly.”

  “She might have,” he said. “If she didn’t already love you because I do.”

  She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but he spoke again before she could.

  “I didn’t tell you that for any reason other than that I want you to get used to hearing me say it. Because I do love you, Jordyn.”

  She looked at him with fear and regret in her deep green eyes. A week earlier, that look would have slayed him because he would have believed that she regretted not feeling the same way. Now he knew the truth. She did love him—she was just afraid to put those feelings into words and risk having her heart broken again.

  He shifted his attention back to his plate, surprised to realize it was empty.

  “Do you want some more?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  She stood up to clear their plates away. “Did you save room for dessert?”

  “What’s for dessert?”

  She took the bowl out of the fridge. “Fresh whipped cream.”

  “On?”

  She smiled. “Whatever you want.”

  He slid his arms around her waist and drew her close. “I definitely have room for dessert.”

  * * *

  O’Reilly’s twenty-fifth anniversary was a big hit with their usual patrons, and the advertising blitz had brought in an impressive number and assortment of new customers.

  The regular menu was temporarily suspended as the kitchen staff was kept busy preparing trays of hot and cold hors d’oeuvres that the servers circulated through the crowd. And it was a huge crowd. In fact, Jordyn was relieved to see several members of the Brew Crew in attendance because she trusted they would ensure the crowd didn’t exceed the capacity of fire regulations.

  “This place is crazy tonight,” Carl grumbled, not at all pleased to find that his usual stool at the bar was occupied by another customer.

  “It’s a party,” Jordyn reminded him, pouring a pint of his favorite draft beer.

  “Who’s the guy behind the bar?”

  “Phil—he usually works days but Wade brought him in to help out tonight.”

  Scott was supposed to be helping out behind the bar, too, but Jordyn hadn’t seen him in quite a while. Wade, making the rounds through the crowd, didn’t seem to realize that she was both overwhelmed and understaffed behind the counter.

  She was working on a pint of Guinness and a pitcher of Murphy’s Irish Red when Hailey squeezed past with a tray full of empties. “Can you tell Aaron that I need more garnish out here? Lime wedges and olives.”

  “Got it,” the waitress said.

  She grabbed her glass of water, swallowed a mouthful.

  “Where the hell is Scott?” Phil demanded, reaching past Jordyn for the lemon zester.

  “He went to drop off the bank-deposit bag.”

  “Almost two hours ago,” Phil noted.

  Jordyn exchanged a draft and a glass of wine for a twenty.

  The customer winked at her. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks,” she said, as grateful that she wouldn’t have to take the time to make change as she was for the generous tip. She turned to the next customer. “What can I get for you?”

  “A bottle of Bud and a gin and tonic, extra lime.”

  She popped the top off the bottle, scooped ice into a highball glass. She’d never understood why customers chose to sit in an Irish pub and drink domestic beer when there were so many other options. Ordinarily she would have chatted with the customer a little bit and encouraged him to try something new. Tonight, she didn’t question choices but focused on filling orders.

  Hailey slid a plate of lime wedges and olives across the bar. “Thanks.”

  She squeezed two wedges over the ice, then added the gin and a squirt of tonic from the soda gun. She passed over the drinks and took the money, and when she glanced up again—Marco was there.

  “You need an extra hand back there?”

  “I could use a couple,” she admitted.

  He came around the bar, rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands and immediately got to work.

  He didn’t invade her space, but she was conscious of him there. Close enough that she could touch—if her hands hadn’t been full of glasses and bottles and various garnishes.

  Melody squeezed up to the bar. “I need six more tequila shots, a pitcher of Smithwick’s, two G&T, one red, three white, a pint of Kilkenny, two Harp and your opinion of the blond guy in the closest booth.”

  “Bottle or draft?” Jordyn asked.

  “What?”

  “The Harp—you didn’t specify pint or glass and we also have it in bottles.”

  “Oh.” Melody huffed out a weary breath. “Let me check on that.”

  “Busy tonight,” Marco noted.

  “It’s been like this since four o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Why are there only two of you behind the bar?”

  “There were three,” Jordyn told him. “But Scott went to drop off the bank deposit.”

  “Two hours ago,” Phil interjected again.

  Melody came back. “Pints.”

  Jordyn nodded. “The guy in the booth—did he ask for your number?”

  “Yeah.” The waitress’s cheeks flushed.

  “You card him?”

  “Of course. He’s twenty-two.”

  Jordyn, because she knew Melody had recently celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday, lifted her brows.

  The waitress sighed. “He’s just looking t
o take down a cougar, isn’t he?”

  “I think you need to consider the possibility.”

  Melody glanced over at the booth again as she lifted her tray. “What if I don’t mind being taken down?”

  Jordyn chuckled. “Your call.”

  * * *

  It was almost 3:00 a.m. before they were able to get away from O’Reilly’s.

  As soon as she slid into the passenger seat of Marco’s car, Jordyn kicked the shoes off her feet.

  “I’m going to sue the salesman for false advertising,” she grumbled. “He said things like ‘arch support’ and ‘comfort sole’ and enticed me to hand over a hundred bucks.”

  “No shoe is going to feel comfortable after ten hours on your feet,” Marco said.

  She glanced at the clock. “It was actually closer to eleven.”

  “Then you can’t blame the shoes.”

  “But it was good, wasn’t it?” she said.

  “I don’t think there’s any doubt that the party was an incredible success.” He pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine.

  Jordyn looked at the shoes and winced, and he knew she couldn’t stand the thought of shoving her feet into them again, even for the short walk to the door.

  He went around to the passenger side, handed her shoes to her, then lifted her off the seat and carried her to the door.

  “My hero,” she said.

  “Don’t you forget it.”

  She unlocked the door and he took her directly to the sofa, setting her down so that her back was against the arm and her legs were stretched out on the cushions. Then he sat on the opposite end and lifted her feet into his lap to massage them.

  “Oh. My. God.” Her eyes closed, her head fell back and a low moan sounded deep in her throat.

  Gryffindor, intrigued by the sound, left the comfort of his bed in the corner to come over and investigate. He hopped up on the sofa, demonstrating the agility Jordyn had told Marco about, climbed over her outstretched legs and settled against the back of the sofa, his single eye fixed on Marco.

  She moaned again. “Seriously,” she said. “Your hands are...magic.”

  “That’s what all the girls say.”

  She summoned the energy to open one eye—an effect that was eerily similar to the look Gryff was giving him. “All the girls?”

  “Well, Anna and Bella, anyway,” he said. “Because I can make quarters appear from behind their ears.”

  She smiled at that and her eye drifted shut again.

  Marco massaged her feet for a few more minutes and she encouraged his ministrations with soft sighs and murmurs. Eventually even those sounds faded as exhaustion overcame her.

  She would be more comfortable and sleep better in her bed, but he was reluctant to wake her, reluctant to leave her. So he stayed where he was and watched her sleep for a while. She was so beautiful—her thick, dark lashes casting a shadow on her creamy skin, her soft lips curved, just a little, as if she was having a pleasant dream. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

  But it was more than her physical beauty that appealed to him—it was her sense of humor and her quick mind, her strong sense of loyalty and obvious love of family. He loved every part of her and, despite what he’d said when he’d walked away from her that fateful day almost four weeks earlier, he knew that he couldn’t let her go.

  “Come on—let’s get you into bed.”

  “Hmm.” She struggled to open her eyes. “What?”

  “You’re falling asleep,” he pointed out.

  “Oh. Right.” He lifted her feet off his lap, then stood up and helped her do the same.

  In the bedroom, Marco undressed her, then found a nightgown in her drawer and tugged it over her head. The soft fabric floated over her skin, gently caressing her curves in a way that made him envy the silk and lace.

  The week had been a busy one for both of them, and though they’d been together on Tuesday, that now seemed like a lifetime rather than only four days. His body ached with wanting her, but he could tell that she wanted sleep, so he tucked her into bed and touched his lips to her forehead.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  She caught his shirt as he started to draw away. “Wait—where are you going?”

  “Home,” he said. “You’re exhausted, and you’ll sleep better if you don’t have to share your bed.”

  She shook her head. “I sleep better with you here.”

  It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was more of an admission than he’d expected. “Really?”

  “Stay,” she said. “Please.”

  “Well, since you asked nicely.” He stripped out of his clothes and slid under the covers beside her.

  She immediately snuggled up against him. “What time do you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Not until late afternoon.”

  “Maybe you could make your special French toast for breakfast?”

  He brushed his mouth against hers. “Maybe I will.”

  She shifted closer. Her breasts grazed his chest through the thin silk, her nipples immediately hardening into twin points that caused all of his blood to rush south. Then she reached her hand between their bodies and into his boxers, her fingers closing around him.

  “You’re supposed to be going to sleep,” he reminded her through gritted teeth.

  “I’m not tired anymore.”

  “In that case...” he said, and proceeded to show her that he wasn’t tired, either.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He made French toast for breakfast and, after they’d eaten their fill and cleaned up the kitchen, they went back to her bed and made love again.

  Jordyn no longer denied that what they shared was lovemaking. She wasn’t yet ready to put her feelings for Marco into words, but she’d finally stopped pretending that their relationship was purely physical.

  They lingered in bed as long as they could, cuddling and talking, but eventually Marco had to head back to his own place to get ready for work. He was scheduled to be at the restaurant at four o’clock, and she didn’t protest when he left. After the hours she’d put in at O’Reilly’s over the weekend, she had no right.

  But she found herself wishing that she had more time to spend with him. Both of them had demanding schedules, but while Valentino’s closed at ten o’clock because it was primarily a restaurant, O’Reilly’s didn’t stop serving drinks until at least midnight—and not until 2:00 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays.

  She recalled Marco asking if she really wanted to serve drinks from behind a bar for the rest of her life. She hadn’t given him an answer, but even then, she’d realized that the hours she worked would present a challenge for any relationship. She didn’t doubt that she and Marco could work around the erratic hours because they had been doing it for several weeks already. But their relationship was still fairly new, in the early stages where everything was hearts and flowers. And it was only the two of them. She knew it wouldn’t be nearly as easy to juggle their conflicting schedules and responsibilities when they had kids—

  The thought had barely formed in her head when she dropped onto the edge of the mattress, her chest tight, her head spinning.

  Kids? Where had that idea come from? What was she thinking?

  Obviously she’d been spending too much time around people with children, because her mind didn’t usually travel down the traditional path of marriage and children. At least, it hadn’t in the past three and a half years.

  Until Marco. He’d changed everything for her, made her want things she thought she’d given up on forever. The biggest question now was—did she have the courage to go after what she wanted?

  * * *

  Monday afternoon when she went into work, she found Wade staring at an array of receipts spread out on his desk. She didn�
�t understand why he was frowning.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked him.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  Jordyn took a seat across him. “I think the weekend was a bigger success than any of us anticipated.”

  “The cash register receipts definitely bear that out,” her boss agreed. “Unfortunately, the bank deposits tell a different story.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He showed her the bank deposit records indicating the amounts that were put into the account on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The numbers were good, but not nearly as good as she’d expected.

  “This doesn’t make any sense. It’s barely more than we take in on a regular weekend.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, because the one possibility that niggled at the back of her mind—that someone had skimmed money from the till—was one she didn’t want to consider.

  “Scott told me that he counted the cash but you double-checked each deposit before he took it to the bank.”

  “I did,” she confirmed, still trying to comprehend the discrepancy. Her initials were on the deposit forms, confirming that they hadn’t been altered. The only possible explanation was that the money had gone missing somewhere between the time it was taken out of the register and when she counted it in the back room.

  And the only person who’d had access to it during that time was her boss’s nephew.

  She remembered Wade mentioning that Scott had left Vegas because of a gambling problem. Then there was the fact that Scott had been quick to volunteer to take the deposit bag to the bank, and he’d been gone a lot longer than that simple task had warranted. And when he finally did return, he’d had the gall to act all disapproving because she’d enlisted Marco’s help behind the bar.

  “Did you question Scott about the numbers?” she asked her boss.

  “Of course,” Wade assured her.

  “Did he have any ideas about where the money might have gone?”

  “He was as confused as me—but then he remembered that you had a customer helping out behind the bar Saturday night.”

  “Marco?” she echoed in disbelief. “You think Marco took the money?” She shook her head. “No. No way.”