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“Brooklyn,” Horace said. “Thank you.”
I beamed. “My pleasure.”
Horace and Angie drifted away from the party, out of sight.
“Excuse me a minute,” Roman said and walked across the floor to the bartenders.
Jazz was in the middle of the dance floor with Brielle, and the two of them were laughing like lunatics. I didn’t have the heart to ask her to stop and help me clean up when all it really entailed was putting slices of cake into aluminum travel containers.
“So, you’re off the clock. Can I get you a drink?” Virgil asked.
“An ice water would be awesome,” I admitted.
“Say no more.” He grinned and went in the direction of the bar.
An Irish jig filtered through the speakers. Brielle took off her heels and tossed them aside and said something to Jazz who adamantly shook her head. Brielle was emphatic and grabbed Jazz’s arm, all but dragging her farther onto the dance floor.
With a sigh, Jazz tilted her head and relented. A moment later, the two of them were Irish step dancing in tandem. I paused what I was doing to watch them.
Virgil returned with my cup of water which he handed to me. “Oh man, not this again.”
“Huh?”
Virgil rolled his eyes. “When they were kids, they were obsessed with Michael Flatley and Irish step dancing. Brielle begged Mom and Dad for lessons. She was relentless. The hours of practicing. The sound of Irish music blaring through the house.” He mock shuddered and then grinned. “She’s pretty good though, right?”
“Jazz is good too,” I pointed out.
“Yeah. Brielle taught her. Jazz couldn’t—” He abruptly stopped talking and glanced at me.
“Couldn’t afford it,” I finished for him. “I know. I know about her situation.”
Virgil relaxed. “Prideful, that one.”
“Stubborn, too.”
“I like that about her.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
Roman returned to the dessert table with a white envelope in hand. He gave it to me. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s in cash.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “Thanks.” I stuck the envelope into the leather pouch around my waist.
“You don’t want to count it?” he asked in amusement.
“Nah. Jazz vouched for me with your parents. I’m going to assume it goes the other way.”
The Irish song came to an end, and Jazz and Brielle bounded off the dance floor toward me. Jazz grabbed the glass of ice water resting on the table and gulped it.
“Hey,” I said with a laugh. “That was mine.”
She lowered the empty cup. “Sorry, I was thirsty.”
“From busting an Irish move?” I teased. “You guys are really good.”
“She’s better at it than I am. I’ll help you clean up,” Jazz said. “And then we can get out of here.”
Chapter7
