rescued him. He was corralled by the Saint Peter School ladies.” Dolley raised an eyebrow. “They were overwhelming him.”
“They offered to help with my research.” Liam winced. “Even the women who weren’t Irish.”
“What are you researching?” Abby asked.
“Savannah’s Irish roots. For a combination book and documentary.”
“That sounds like fun,” Abby said.
“It will be.”
“Since your tea was interrupted, would you like a cup in here?” Abby offered.
“Yes, please.” His words rushed out. “I’d kill for one.”
Dolley snatched up a couple of the warm cookies.
Abby smacked her hand. “I’ll serve. Go light the fire.”
“They’re best right out of the oven.” Dolley moved back to the sitting area. Passing Liam a cookie, she whispered, “I filched one for you, too.”
He grinned, a wicked pirate grin that promised adventures and fun. It was the first smile she’d noticed crossing his face.
She frowned. He hadn’t smiled at all last night.
“I won’t rat on you.” He leaned close, his dark, wavy hair brushing next to her ear. “But I’d best get rid of the evidence.”
She couldn’t help inhaling his scent. Could cologne be addictive?
Liam took a bite. His eyes closed. “Oh, my,” he mumbled, his mouth full.
“I know.” Dolley devoured her cookie and then pushed the buttons on the gas fire. It lit with a whoosh.
“I saw that,” Abby scolded, although she was smiling. She set cookies and bars on the coffee table.
“These are incredible.” Liam plucked another cookie from the platter.
It was a sacrifice, but she nudged the cookies closer to him. A sugar high might lull him into agreeing to the apprenticeship.
Abby set a teapot with cream, sugar and mugs on the table. “I’d love to chat, but I need to refresh the tea.”
“Go.” Dolley waved her off. Besides, she didn’t want Abby finding out about her request for a mentorship. Especially if Liam said no.
He poured cream in his mug and added tea. “It’s nice to get a real pot of tea. Some places I stay, I can hardly find a tea bag.”
He prepped a cup for her. She couldn’t think of any man ever making her a cup of tea, or much of anything.
“How was your morning?” She slipped deeper into her chair.
“I took a long ramble around the squares, getting my bearings.” He took another cookie. “Savannah is beautiful.”
“Wait until the azaleas bloom.”
“And when will that be?”
“Early March,” she said. “They peak around the St Patrick’s Day invasion.”
“I can’t wait.” Liam took another cookie. “I want to film the festivities.”
She sipped her tea. How could she steer the conversation to the apprenticeship? “Did you take any pictures?”
“Thought I would scope things out first.” He downed his tea. “But I took a couple.”
“When you’re doing a documentary, do you think in photographs or film?” she asked, not sure how to blurt out her request.
“No one’s ever asked me that question.” He refilled his mug and slid back in his chair. “Both, I guess. I see moments that unfurl into scenes, into movement or a story.” He shook his head. “That sounds thick.”
“I see that.” Her pictures tended to be of the B and B, but it was pictures like the ones of Mamma’s wedding, where Martin was twirling her in a circle, that she loved. It was a story of joy. “I get it.”
“I did do one other thing today.” Liam pushed back his black hair. It was thick and long enough to curl around his shirt collar. What would his hair feel like?
She refocused on his face, although that was distracting, too. “What?”
“Called my producer. I’ve got room in the budget to put you on the payroll.”
Dolley’s feet hit the floor. “You do?”
“You can be my—Savannah guide.” He held up a hand. “I’m not promising an apprenticeship. I’d want to assess your skills before I commit. Are you still interested?”
She juggled her mug, setting it down before she spilled. This didn’t sound like an apprenticeship. “I’d be on trial?”
“Probation. It won’t be much money.” He named an hourly rate that was barely over minimum wage.
Her stomach dropped. She still had to live. “How many hours a week?”
“Let’s say—ten to fifteen to start. If I need more hours, we’d reassess the money.” Liam leaned close enough for her to catch a heady whiff of his cologne. “Is the money a problem?”
Money was always a problem for the Fitzgerald family, but she wouldn’t tell Liam that. She wanted a chance to improve her skills. This might be her big break or it could be a lowly gopher job. How would she pay her bills?
“I’ll see if I can cut back my hours at work.” She kept her tone calm, when inside, everything started to shake.
He frowned. “I thought you and your sisters ran the B and B?”
“We do. I also work for a website design company.” Jackson had always let her flex her hours.
His dark eyebrows almost formed a straight line. “I don’t want to mess up your job.”
“You won’t.” She picked at the pleat in her pants. “I’d planned to cut my hours when Carleton House was up and running.” Not quite this many hours. “It’s no problem. Really. I’ll just do this a little earlier. Really.” Now she was babbling like her sister’s fountain.
“You’re sure?” A puzzled look crossed his face.
“Really.” Had she really said really again? “When do you want me to start?”
“Can you give me a half day tomorrow? Say, in the afternoon.”
“Perfect.” She’d get to the office early, finish the website she was working on and then talk to Jackson. With an early delivery on her current project, she’d soften him up. Then she’d tell him about cutting her hours.
If she survived her probation, this might be the start of
