One Autumn Night

Chapter Two

Abigail tugged on yoga pants and a ratty Notre Dame sweatshirt then spent the next hour pissed off and letting her surroundings have it. The bar towels were thrown in the washing machine with a vengeance, the dryer kicked shut with a firm slam of anger, and a general storm spewed through the house, wearing down a path of fury while dealing with the daily chores.

She stopped, annoyed, only because she didn't want to actually fall through the ceiling as both Declan and the health inspector had suggested. And because it was an actual possibility, Abigail cooled long enough to make another cup of coffee and stand still while she sipped it.

But past memories mixed with the hot coffee, causing a bitter, burning mess. She made a face as she gulped it all back.

She itched with annoyance and worse, she cursed that she needed the money that'd been dangled in front of her. And she wanted to scream with every fiber of her being for agreeing to the deal, for needing to agree to the deal or face closing the pub.

But when she'd gone back inside after slamming the door in Declan's face—which was somewhat satisfying—she'd forgotten about the broken stair and had stepped back into the hole, scraping her ankle.

Practical matters taking precedence over pride, she knew her bank account needed that money for repairs—badly. And she'd negotiated, hadn't she? She thought, giving herself a momentary boost of confidence. But the confidence dwindled when she realized she'd have to face the intimidatingly opulent Fitzgerald estate once again.

She'd been there only a couple of other times. And that last time had changed her life entirely, she thought darkly, sipping more coffee, feeling her throat burn and her eyes well with heated pride.

"Abs! Where are the eggs?" Her brother Ben yelled from the bottom of the stairs. "And did you know there's a hole in your stair?"

She sniffed back the tears. "Don't you dare eat anything in the kitchen down there. It's spoken and paid for. And yes, I stepped through the damn stair this morning."

At the sound of Ben schlepping up the stairs, she yelled down again, this time half-heartedly while she fanned her misted eyes to dry them. "I'm half naked, don't come up here."

There wasn't even a slight hitch in the rhythm of his steps. "You never walk around half naked."

"What if I had a guy up here?"

"You never have a guy up here."

He was right but she didn't need the reminder.

"What's up?" He asked as he reached the top of the stairs, giving her face a stern once-over.

"Nothing, just drinking some coffee."

"Something's up." He wandered into the kitchen, poured a cup for himself. "You and I share the same genes. At least as far as we know. Same hair, same eyes, same absence of a father, so there's a pretty good chance. Give."

Because she needed to do something, she yanked open the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. "I accepted a catering job."

"We cater?" Ben pulled out the cast iron pan from under a stack of pots, muscled the thing onto the stove and took the eggs from Abigail's hands.

"We do tonight. Can you be available earlier than your shift?"

"How much earlier?"

"Hmm, starting in ten minutes?"

He frowned. "I guess. But tonight? What needs catering tonight? The Fitzgeralds are having their annual party. Anyone in town who would hire a caterer will be there."