Page 52 of Sullivan

I stared out the window. I would miss her terribly if I moved.

But the truth was, I would miss Sully more.

Later, we sat in a small café, sharing a platter of various finger foods. My suitcases were at his place, ready to be unpacked. He had shaken his head as he’d looked around.

“Two small cases, lass? That’s it?”

“I brought five business outfits and some casual clothes. I bought a few more things, which filled my knapsack. I do laundry and mix and match.” I shrugged. “I’m not here for fashion week or to impress anyone, Sully. Just to do my job.”

He cupped my face and kissed my nose affectionately. “You impressed me.”

I laughed and wrinkled my nose. “Thanks.”

We dropped the cases off at his place, then walked to this little café he liked. “Great Middle Eastern food. The sharing platter is awesome.”

“Who do you usually share it with?” I asked, feeling slightly possessive.

He chuckled and leaned close, dropping his voice. “I do takeaway and eat the whole thing.”

I giggled around a mouthful of warm pita and shawarma.

“Or sometimes I eat in with Bonnie, just to let them think I don’t eat the whole thing.”

I scooped some baba ghanoush onto more pita. “This is so delicious. So smoky.”

“I know. They do it all out back.”

He reached across to spear a pickled turnip. I slapped his hand. “Hey. Sharing platter. You’ve eaten them all!”

He glowered at me. “You ate the pickles.”

“There weren’t as many, and they were so good.”

We glared at each other, trying not to laugh. He huffed an impatient sigh. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”

“Me defending the turnip distribution? Yep.”

He withdrew his fork. “Fine.”

With a grin, I speared the pink treat and held it out to him. “But I’ll share.”

He leaned forward and took a big bite with a wink. “That’s my girl.”

We were quiet for a few moments, eating. Then he spoke. “You have plans this weekend?”

“Um, no.”

“I was going to book us a flight to Dublin Saturday. Return on Sunday.” He paused, looking almost nervous. “For you to meet Roisin.”

“Oh,” I said, setting down the juicy olive I was about to eat. I wiped my fingers. “Are you sure, Sully?”

He regarded me steadily. “Totally.”

“I know how much she means to you—” I started to ramble.

He covered my hand that was moving restlessly on the tabletop. “As do you.”

“No one has ever asked me to meet their family,” I admitted.