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WITH DEVLIN SAFELY asleep in his room and no worries about him risking a fall, Eve opened the store for the afternoon. Business was slow until teenagers started drifting in after school, followed by a surge of Christmas shoppers in the late afternoon.
"Happy holidays," she said as she handed a receipt and sack of purchases to a man in a long wool coat. "I'm sure your kids will love these books."
She smiled as the next people in line stepped forward. "Merry Christmas."
The woman dropped her gaze to the young boy standing at her side, his head bowed. She shook his shoulder lightly. "Come on, do ye have something to say to this nice lady, boy?"
He twisted out of her grasp without lifting his head. "Sorry, Miss."
Eve glanced between the two of them, mystified. "About what?"
"Sean?"
At the hint of impatience in his mother’s tone the boy finally looked up, though he fixed his gaze on the wall instead of Eve. "I'm sorry for calling the Gardai down on ye, miss."
Now that she could see his face, she remembered him well. "I thought you were very brave, actually. You saw something suspicious going on. You told me what you would do about it, and you did. If I'd been a thief, I would've taken off running and had less time to steal things. So you were doing Shauna O'Connor a great favor."
He shot a quick glance at his mother, then dared meet Eve's eyes before looking away. "Thanks, Miss."
"We are surely sorry for any trouble Sean caused ye, with the Gardai and all. I heard it was your first day here, and not such a good welcome to the village."
"No problem. You've done a great job at raising your son to be responsible."
The grim set of the woman's mouth softened. "I do what I can. Not easy, without his da around."
Now Eve noticed the threadbare edges of the cuffs on her coat, her son's shaggy hair and the faded plaid shirt peeking above the collar of his faded denim jacket. "Do you work around here?"
The woman's laugh was bitter. "As if it's even possible. Times are hard around with the economy the way it's been. If someone has a job they'd be an eejit to let it go."
It wasn't possible to make a world of difference here, but maybe this was one small way she could try. "I would need to talk to Shauna...but I think she could use some part-time help here, if you'd be interested."
A look of raw, desperate hope flared in the young woman's eyes. "That I would."
"I can't promise anything except that I'll try." Eve grabbed a small notebook and pen, and handed it to her. "Write down your name and phone, and I'll see what I can do."
~*~
THE RICH AROMA OF SOMETHING cooking drew Devlin out of a deep sleep.
He sat up. Winced at the sharp stab of pain in his ankle. Then he took a deep, steadying breath and slowly eased out of bed. The clock radio on the bedside table claimed it was already seven in the evening and through the window he could see the night was dark as pitch. But could he have slept this long? Whatever the doc had given him for pain was only now fading away, and it had knocked him out for hours.
The prescription bottle on the table beckoned, promising continuing comfort and a hazy sense of well-being, but instead he reached for the Ibuprofen and took two. He eased onto his one good leg, grabbed the crutches and followed the incredible scent of food to the break room.
He found Eve hovered over one of his books, and a Crockpot on the counter.
She looked up and smiled. "Back with the living, now? That was one whale of a good nap."
"Guess so."
She put the book aside and pulled out a chair for him, then positioned a step stool so he could elevate his cast. "Hungry?"
"Definitely."
She busied herself at the counter, and soon placed a big bowl of beef stew in front of him, and a plate with thick slices of homemade bread slathered with butter.
He studied it in awe, then dug in. "I don't know when I last had a home cooked meal. You made all this?"
"Both recipes were on the Internet. Just a no-knead cheddar and ale bread, and Guinness beef stew. There was a single bottle of Guinness in Shauna's refrigerator, so I nabbed it."
He savored the last bite of the rich, buttery bread. "Amazing."
"Ready for dessert?"
"You're kidding. Really?"
"Just from what I could find in the cupboards, freezer and fridge." She turned away to assemble something on the counter, then set a wide shallow bowl in front of him. "Ordinary strawberry shortcake, covered with a mountain of whipped cream."
"How did you know? Did Shauna tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"This is my all-time favorite dessert. Bar none." He savored a few bites, then looked up. "This isn't ordinary—what did you put in this? It's fantastic."
"I do like to cook for a man who loves his food. That's a rare treat." She smiled. "It's a homemade biscuit, made with real butter. I found some frozen whole strawberries, so I pureed part of them with Grand Marnier and a little sugar, then mixed that with sliced berries. The whipped cream is just that—but I only found 'double cream' instead of whipping cream the fridge, so I had guess if it was the same."
He sighed with pure bliss, then winked at her. "I think I'm in love."
She snorted. "Only with my food. So enjoy it while you can. Once you're steady on your feet, you can help with the cooking if you're still around."
Settling his book in front of her once more, she leafed through it to the piece of paper she'd stuck between the pages. She shot a glance at him, then dropped her gaze to the page. "This is incredible. Where did you learn so much about photography? Your lighting and composition blow me away."
"College. And after that, lots of great weekend workshops. It's ongoing, with all the great developments in cameras, lenses and software."
"What kind of—" she faltered to a stop, blushed. "I was going to ask about your camera equipment, as if it's solely responsible for your beautiful shots. But I do enjoy photography myself on an amateur level."
"I use an older Canon 5D, mostly. Sometimes a Canon 7D with L-series lenses."
"Really? A 7D." She grinned. "That's what I have—but I don't come close to your results. Which goes to show that it's the photographer behind the lens who makes all the difference."
He grinned right back at her, feeling more relaxed and content than he had for longer than he could remember—and not just because of her cooking.
His last few girlfriends had been beautiful, and skilled in the social situations he dreaded, which meant he'd been spared the agony of attending shows at galleries and museums alone. Small talk had never been his forte.
But those gals hadn't been anything like Eve. Not only didn't they cook, they never seemed to eat, apparently prizing their bone-thin bodies above anything else.
Eve looked perfect. Slender, with all the right curves.
They fell into an easy conversation as she asked him about lighting and exposure and the lenses he preferred, the evolution from darkroom to digital and what might be ahead.
With a start, she glanced up at the clock on the wall and her face filled with regret. "Holy cow—it's already midnight? I'm so sorry I kept you up like this. You must be exhausted."
Time had passed in the blink of an eye for him as well. If not for her glance at clock, he could have talked to her all night. "I've enjoyed it.”.
He awkwardly rose to his feet and positioned his crutches, nearly dropping one as he started to pivot for the door. Eve grabbed it and helped hold him steady as he hooked his arm over the top.
She was so close he could detect the faint lemony scent of her shampoo. Feel the warmth of her. His breath hitched and their gazes met. Held.
Until the one thing he wanted at this moment, more than anything he could remember, was to wrap his arms around her, kiss her and see if she tasted as sweet as he imagined.
He wobbled. Instinctively caught himself by lowering his injured foot to touch the floor. A blinding explosion of pain shot up his leg, sparking a wave of nausea and dizziness that nearly dropped him to his knees.
But Eve was right there, gently steadying him, her face a mask of concern. "Do you need to sit down a while?"
He clenched his teeth, willing himself to go on, but the irony of this moment didn't escape him. "Some big adventurer I am," he muttered. "Laid low by a patch of slippery moss...and the joy of surgery. And now, I nearly fall on my rear. I think...I'd just better go back to bed."
Her eyes twinkled. "Probably so." She walked beside him to his room, then hesitated at the door. "Will you be all right?"
"I'm better now. I can take it from here." He looked down at her, feeling longing and regret and a good dose of confusion in the mix. When had he ever known someone for so short a time and felt this way?
It had to be the medications.
But maybe she felt a little of the same thing, because she reached up, framed his face with her soft, delicate hands, then brushed a kiss against his cheek that sent an arrow of heat and longing straight to his heart. "You'll feel better tomorrow, I promise. Sleep well.”