“If? Think positive. Maybe you already are.”
“Nah, they’re still swimming around on an egg hunt.” She tapped her tummy. “You can do it, guys. It’s waitin’ for you.” She smiled up at him. “Like I’ve been waiting for you, Captain.”
He studied her for a moment, wanting to run his fingers through that hair, or brush his knuckles over her well-kissed mouth, or fold her into his arms and tell her that she would be the most pampered, protected, and loved expectant mother on earth. But he stared at her and let the moment wash over him. “I still can’t believe this.”
“That we’re trying to get pregnant?”
He traced a line along her jaw, careful not to move that strand of hair because it made her look so sexy. “That you forgave me,” he whispered. “That you trust me again.”
She closed her hand over his. “Don’t dwell on what wasn’t, Dec. Think about what’s going to be. Like how loud that bell upstairs is going to be ringing any minute.”
“On it. Wait for me. Do not move.”
“Bathroom?”
“In and out and back in bed so we can try one more time before your day explodes with activity.” After he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, he bent over to kiss her again.
She fisted his T-shirt and pulled him closer. “By the way, Declan Joseph Mahoney, you have been working on your technique for twenty years.”
He gave a quick laugh. “Not that much.”
“Well, last night was a-freaking-mazing.”
“Hold that thought, E.” One last kiss. “I hear the bell.”
He didn’t even try to wipe the smile off his face when he walked into Max’s room, carrying a tray with hot tea and applesauce, a few minutes later.
“Room service,” he called out when he saw that Max was awake and sitting up.
“That’s a different delivery person,” the old man said, turning to catch sight of Declan. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
He zipped through his options and settled on Judah. “I wanted to—”
“Oh, never mind. I can see exactly what you’ve been up to.”
“You can?” He set the legs of the bed tray on the comforter, suddenly wondering if she’d left lipstick on him or, God, a hickey. Things had gotten a little wild in the middle of the night.
“She could have at least told you your shirt’s inside out.”
Declan choked a soft laugh, looking down to see the seam of his T-shirt. “My bad.”
Max gave him a fully toothless grin, reminding Declan of one of the Kilcannon babies. “No, you’re good.” He looked down at the tray, then back up at Declan. “Thank you.”
He nodded, uncertain if he was being thanked for breakfast…or how the shirt got inside out.
“Will you open my drapes?” Max asked. “And maybe stay a moment?”
As much as he wanted to get back to Evie, sympathy for the old man won out. “Sure.” Kneeling on the window seat, he slid the heavy curtains along the rod, letting morning light pour into the room. Turning, he perched on the edge, thinking how lonely it must be up here, especially without Judah.
“Your buddy Judah’s doing great,” he said. “The biggest challenge is keeping him from being too active.”
He nodded, spooning some of the applesauce. “He’s a good dog.”
“A great one.”
“He can live here with you and Evie.”
Declan blinked at him. “Wow, you have things more figured out than we do,” he confessed.
“I have it all figured out,” he said. “Me and the grandmothers. I might join their little matchmaking club.”
Declan chuckled at that. “Just what they need, encouragement.”
“That Greek one is nice-looking.” He sipped his tea. “Doesn’t mince words and plays a good game of gin rummy. And she makes a helluva cookie.”
Declan was pretty sure her grandson made those, but who was he to argue with this happy man? “Good to see you in such high spirits, sir,” Declan said, wondering if this was the right time to maybe ask a question or two, maybe dig a little deeper into the things he’d talked to Kirby Lewis about. “So, I was looking at your impressive lighter collection the other day.”
“Oh, those things.” He lifted a bony shoulder. “I rarely even pick one up anymore. I was just thinking about the Dunhill Alduna, though. Nice piece of workmanship there.”
Declan shifted in his seat, not quite sure he wanted to take the conversation where it could naturally go, but when would he get another chance? “I know a little bit about lighters.”
“I guess so, in your line of work.” He sipped his tea and looked at Declan over the rim.
“Do any of those in your collection burn at 1300 degrees? I know that’s unusual.”
“The Ronson Whirlwind,” he said without a second’s hesitation. “There are two of them down there. One’s gold with a blank engraving spot. The other’s a petrol lighter with a map of Scotland on it. And yes, there’s another one, too. Newer model.”
“And you remember them all?”
“Mostly.” He tapped his temple. “My memory is the only thing left that works at full speed.” He gave in to a wide grin and looked down at his body. “Although, if I spend more time with the Greek goddess, I think a few things might come back to life.”
Declan gave a soft snort, kind of wishing he didn’t have that particular image in his brain. “Careful what you tell Finnie, then. She’ll have you and Agnes Santorini on a honeymoon before you know what hit you.”
He gave a throaty laugh and spooned some more applesauce. “You know who’d hit me? Penny, when I got up to the pearly gates. I’m blowing off steam. But the memory’s sharp. Go ahead, test me.”
Shifting on the window seat, Declan thought about all the things this man might have stored in that still-functioning memory of his. Like…the truth about what happened that hot August night.
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Do you remember the fire?” he asked.
Putting down the teacup, Max let out a long sigh. “Of course I do. I remember what pajamas
