her.
“So, do you like teaching? How long have you been at it?” he asked, just as she was taking a bite of her sandwich.
She gave him a derisive look as she chewed and he chuckled. “Sorry. Take your time.” He started on a wing so she wouldn’t feel like he was watching her eat.
She swallowed and sipped at the last of her mojito. “Three years. And I love it. I love working with the kids. My administration and my co-workers are great too…for the most part,” she added, shaking her head in amused acceptance. “There’re always a few aggravations to contend with. But overall I get along with everyone. And my school’s only about five minutes from my apartment.”
“How did you know that was what you wanted to do?” he prodded, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her job.
“I grew up around it,” she answered with a wistful smile, “both my parents were teachers.”
Doyle froze, and then covered the reaction by downing the rest of his beer. He wasn’t supposed to know about her parents’ deaths, and he didn’t want to influence her decision to talk about it.
“So it was in your blood from the start,” he commented.
“I suppose so,” she agreed, her expression turning remote. “I always admired the way they were able to inspire their students to learn. They had this knack for making knowledge seem exciting, and the most amazing way of turning the process of figuring things out into a game.
“When I was younger and I was stuck on a subject, usually math,” she said with a self-deprecating smirk, “they were always able to explain it in a way that made the light-bulb click on in my head. I wanted to be able to do that for kids.”
“They sound like really great people,” Doyle said gently.
Violet hesitated. She didn’t want to bring down the evening, but it seemed strange not to tell him about her parents’ deaths now that she’d gushed on about them.
“They were great people. They retired down here and bought a sweet little villa just up the street. But they were killed in a boating accident a couple of months ago. That’s why I’m here. I’m packing up their house.” She gave him a reassuring smile, hoping she hadn’t made him uncomfortable.
“I’m so sorry, Violet.” Relieved not to have to pretend he didn’t know, he reached out and briefly squeezed her hand where it rested on the table. His warm palm engulfed her fingers in a gesture of strength and comfort. He was reluctant to stop touching her, but quashed the unseemly urge.
“I’m around the docks most days, and I only live a couple of blocks from here. I’d be happy to help with anything you need.”
To his surprise, she reached for his hand as he started to pull away, clasping it tightly in her own. “Thanks, Doyle. That means a lot to me.”
She smiled into his eyes for a moment before releasing him, sparking a curiously warm sensation deep within his chest.
“So what about your family?” she asked, nibbling on the chicken wing he’d given her and nodding her acceptance to the waitress for another drink.
“Well, originally I hail from Ireland.”
“I guessed,” Violet admitted with a grin.
“From a small town in County Kerry, to be precise,” Doyle continued. “My family still lives there—my mum and pop, and my sister.”
He bit into a sauce-drenched wing and nodded gratefully when the waitress dropped off his beer.
“Why did you leave?” Violet studied his handsome face with curiosity as she sampled her new mojito. She was beginning to feel pleasantly giddy.
Doyle shrugged as he chewed. “Ever since I was a lad, I’ve felt the call to explore. I was always getting into trouble, wandering off across the countryside, trespassing where I shouldn’t, or getting myself lost. I think it was my small way of getting my parents used to the idea of me leaving.
“They were quite distressed when I told them I was going to university in Dublin.” He grinned and took another swig of cold beer. “You can imagine their reaction when I decided to leave the country. I had to move out in steps across Europe—England, then France, then Spain—before I dared drop the bomb that I was going across the ocean to America.”
Violet laughed. “It sounds like a well-thought-out escape plan. Do you go back to visit them often?”
“Honestly?” Doyle made a guilty face. “As little as I can. They’re always coming up with a new scheme to get me to move back home, usually involving some single village girl in whom I inevitably have no interest.”
“Ah, the age-old parental interference tactic: trying to tell you whom you should date.” Violet chuckled. Her cheeks felt flushed and she gulped down more of the icy mojito.
“More like trying to set up an arranged marriage,” Doyle grumbled. “Which is why having an ocean between us suits me just fine. Scarlett, my sister, comes to visit now and then. I love her, but she’s not much fun to take out. She doesn’t like hum… uh, people very much.”
Doyle stuffed a couple of fries in his mouth, appalled that he’d almost slipped up in front of Violet like that. He’d been about to say that his sister didn’t like humans, which was entirely true, but sounded rather odd considering he was supposed to be human. He’d never had a problem keeping his secret before. Apparently he needed to watch himself more carefully around Violet.
He glanced at her to see if she caught his stumble, but she didn’t appear to notice. Her eyes were bright and happy, and she was wearing a rather large smile. Relieved, he decided to change the subject.
“Well, enough about me. Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?” she demanded with a giggle.
“I don’t know,” his grin broadened at her playful mood. “Do you have any pets?”
“Yes,” she answered with an emphatic nod. “Lots of fish. They’re on a holiday feeder right now, and some of them are probably starving to death as we speak. They’re not very bright, you see,” she said with a rueful expression. “They’re used to eating the flakes from the top. But the feeder sinks to the bottom.”
Her eyes drifted away from his and she pointed across the deck. “Hey, isn’t that your friend from the boat? And I think he’s with my neighbor, Melody.”
He followed her gaze to find Manny waiting for a table with a slim, attractive red-head. Doyle waved them over.
Manny clasped Doyle’s hand and cast an interested look toward Violet. “Lindita, nice to see you feeling better. You too, hermano. Doyle was very cranky after you left today,” he added in a confidential tone to Violet, ignoring Doyle’s warning look. He put his arm around his female companion. “This is my lady friend, Melody. She is a beauty, no?”
Manny’s eyes glowed with adoration as he introduced the red-head, who was indeed beautiful. She was tall and slender, with clouds of curly red hair and blue-green eyes that appeared huge above her high cheekbones. The hem of her filmy blouse floated over the low waistband of her
