The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!) (3 page)

“And soon, you’ll have another sister or a brother to love,” he said, hoping to shift their attention away from their mother’s belly and to the baby she carried.

“I wanna sisda,” Bella said. “I don’ wanna be da widda sisda anymo.”

“I wanna brother,” Anna countered, rolling her eyes in the direction of her younger sibling. “Sometimes one sister is one too many.”

“I want both of you to go wash the powdered sugar off of your faces and hands, and then brush your teeth,” Renata said.

“We aweady bwush our teef,” Bella sad. “Befo Unca Mahco comed.”

“Which was also before you ate the cannoli he brought for you,” her mother pointed out with patient firmness.

“Oh.” Bella sighed as she slid off the chair to follow her sister upstairs to the bathroom they shared.

Nata pushed her mostly empty bowl aside and rubbed her tummy. “Hopefully that will settle him down for a while.”

“Him?”

She shrugged. “Nonna hasn’t been wrong yet.”

“Are you hoping for a boy?”

“I know I should say that I just want a healthy baby—and I do. But if I had a choice, yeah, I’d like a boy this time.”

“Well, you and Craig make beautiful babies, so if it’s not a boy this time, there’s no reason you can’t keep trying.”

“Even if this one is a boy, we’re probably going to go for one more.”

“You’re a brave—or maybe crazy—woman.”

His sister laughed. “Probably both.”

He heard the water running in the bathroom upstairs, proof that the girls were brushing their teeth again.

“Can I tuck them in when they’re ready?” he asked.

“They made you feel guilty about not visiting for so long, didn’t they?”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he protested.

“More than three weeks.”

“But who’s counting?”

“We missed you,” she told him.

“Rebecca—the new waitress—asked for a couple of weeks off in July to go home to Minnesota because she hasn’t seen her parents since Christmas.”

“Because they live in Minnesota,” she said, stating the obvious.

“Maybe I should move.”

His sister chuckled. “As if. When you moved out, Mama cried for three days, and you felt so guilty, you almost moved back home again.”

“No one knows how to guilt a man like his mother,” Marco agreed.

“We done bwushed our teef,” Bella called down.

“Uncle Marco’s on his way up to tuck you in,” Renata told her daughters. Then, to him, “They’re going to want a bedtime story.”

“I haven’t forgotten the routine in three weeks,” he assured her, already heading for the stairs.

He sat on Anna’s bed, between both of the girls tucked under the covers, and read them a bedtime story. They giggled at the different voices he gave to the characters and responded with gasps and sighs in appropriate places. When the story was finished, they were both fighting to keep their eyes open. He slid off the bed, returned the book to its shelf, kissed Anna’s forehead, then scooped Bella up and carried her across the room to tuck her into her own bed.

He loved sharing the nighttime routine with his nieces—and with his nephews, when he was at Tony and Gemma’s house. But it was always a little sad to go home to his too-quiet apartment afterward and crawl into an empty bed.

It wouldn’t be much of a hardship to find a woman to share his bed for one night or even a few. The harder part was finding the woman he wanted there for the long term. He wasn’t one of those commitment-shy guys who was only looking for a good time—he wanted to fall in love and get married and read bedtime stories to his own kids at night. But until that happened, he had be content spending time with his nieces and nephews.

When he returned to the main level, Renata was in the living room folding a load of laundry with the news on TV.

“Are they asleep?”

“You know they won’t fall asleep until their mom kisses them good-night.”

She pushed herself up from the sofa. “Then I’d better go do so.”

While she was upstairs, he busied himself washing up the plates and cups the girls had used.

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Renata said when she came back downstairs. “And a great husband to some lucky woman.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m tidying up your kitchen.”

“And because you brought me tiramisu.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“The right woman is out there,” his sister said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“I just don’t want you to get discouraged—wondering when you’re finally going to meet her.”

“I already did.”

She considered that as she picked up a towel to dry the dishes he’d washed. “So when are the rest of us going to meet her?”

“Not for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want some time and space to get to know her better before the family scares her away.”

“We’re not scary,” she protested.

“Are you kidding? I was born into this family and I’m terrified by major holiday events with the whole clan.”

“If she’s going to be the mother of your future children, she’s got to meet us someday.”

“Someday,” he agreed.

Nata sighed. “Are you at least going to tell me her name?”

“No.”

“Does she really exist?”

“Of course she exists.”

“That’s what you said about Tessa Wheeler, your make-believe girlfriend in high school.”

He glanced away. “She was real.”

“A real person,” his sister acknowledged. “But she wasn’t really your girlfriend—she didn’t even know you existed.”

“I was a sophomore,” he pointed out in his defense.

“And while I would certainly hope you’d outgrown manufacturing fantasy girlfriends, you should appreciate how your refusal to give me a name is cause for concern.”

“If I’d made her up, don’t you think I would have made up a name for her?”

“And what name would that be?” she challenged.

Renata was nothing if not relentless, and he knew she wouldn’t quit badgering until he gave her something. He decided her name was harmless enough.

“Jordyn,” he finally said.

Her brows lifted. “Jordyn Garrett?”

He frowned. “Where did that come from?”

“Ohmygod—I’m right. It
is
Jordyn Garrett.”

“I never said it was Jordyn Garrett.”

“But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“How do you know her?” he finally asked.

“Duh. She’s a bartender at O’Reilly’s and Craig plays on the Brew Crew, the team they sponsor.”

He’d forgotten that his brother-in-law played recreational baseball—but he should have remembered that his sister knew almost everyone in Charisma.

And the way she was worrying her bottom lip right now made him suspect that she knew something that she wasn’t telling him.

“What’s your objection to my interest in Jordyn?”

“I like her,” Renata assured him, though her tone was cautious.

“But?” he prompted.

“But she’s always seemed a little...guarded,” she decided. “And I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

Again
.

Although she didn’t say the word, they both knew she was thinking it. As he was, too. But this time, he was confident there wouldn’t be a sad ending but a happy beginning, because Jordyn Garrett was the woman he’d been waiting his whole life for.

Now he just had to help her see that she’d been waiting for him, too.

Chapter Three

J
ordyn dreamed of him—and woke up feeling restless and out of sorts because of it.

She didn’t remember the details of the dream, except that her heart had been pounding with anticipation and her body aching to feel things that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. And she’d awakened thinking of Marco. The sweet and sexy bartender with the melted-chocolate eyes and the dimple at the corner of his mouth. It might have been her sister’s description, but she couldn’t deny that it was an accurate one.

She hadn’t dreamed of anyone but Brian in a lot of years. More significantly, she hadn’t even dreamed about her former fiancé in more than a year, which she figured was a sign that her heart was finally healing. But his disappearance from her dreams worried her, too, because she didn’t want to forget about him. She didn’t want to forget how completely in love they’d been or how her heart had been decimated by his death. And she especially didn’t want to be attracted to another man, to even consider moving on with her life with someone else or hope for the future that she’d once believed she would have with Brian.

She’d told Tristyn that her date with Cody the night before had been a disaster—but the fact that it had been such a disaster was also a relief to Jordyn. Her experience with Cody reassured her that she wasn’t missing out on anything by not dating and reinforced her belief that she’d rather spend her free time alone than with a man who obviously wasn’t right for her. Because no man who wasn’t Brian was right for her.

Then she’d walked into Valentino’s and come face-to-face with Marco Palermo. And she’d felt...something.

She wasn’t sure what it was—maybe a spark of awareness or possibly a tingle of desire—she only knew that it was more than she’d expected or wanted to feel.

She’d pushed it aside, refusing to delve too deeply inside herself. So she’d met a guy and she’d felt a tug of something—so what? It didn’t have to mean anything, because she wasn’t ever going to see him again.

Except that she instinctively knew that wasn’t true. Whatever she’d felt, she was certain that he’d felt it, too, and she didn’t doubt that their paths would cross again—probably sooner rather than later. And when they did, she’d be ready to let him down easy. There was no other option.

Tristyn was drinking coffee and reading the news on her tablet when Jordyn finally ventured into the kitchen after her shower. She brewed herself a cup of French vanilla, added two teaspoons of sugar and a generous dollop of cream, then took a seat across from her sister.

“How much wine did I drink last night?”

Tristyn looked up from her tablet. “No more than I did. Why?”

“I feel like crap this morning, and I had some weird dreams.”

“Any special guests in those dreams?” her sister teased.

Jordyn scowled at her over the rim of her coffee mug.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

She sipped her coffee and willed the caffeine to jump-start her system—or at least her brain.

“It’s a good sign,” Tristyn said gently.

“What’s a good sign?”

“That you’re thinking about him.”

She swallowed another mouthful of java.

“Brian’s been gone for more than three years.”

Three years, two months and sixteen days. But of course she didn’t say that aloud, because she knew that Tristyn would get that familiar little line that appeared between her brows whenever she was worried about something. And her family had worried about her enough already.

Instead she only nodded.

“It’s time for you to put yourself out there again.”

“Isn’t that what I was doing with Cody last night?”

Tristyn shook her head. “Cody was a setup that was never going to work, because you had it in your mind before you even sat down at the restaurant that you weren’t going to let it go any further than dinner.”

It was both a curse and a blessing to have a sister who knew her so well.

“Maybe that’s why meeting Marco made more of a lasting impression on you,” Tristyn continued.

“Or maybe I made it into a bigger deal than it was,” Jordyn said, considering that he’d never asked for anything more than her name.

“Maybe you did,” Tristyn allowed. “But you won’t know for sure until you see him again.”

* * *

It was almost two weeks later before she did.

Ten days to be precise. And not a single one of those days passed without her thinking about him at least once. After the first week, she considered stopping by Valentino’s—just to see if he was working—but she’d ignored the impulse.

Because if he
was
working—what then?

It was her inability to answer that question that kept her away from his family’s restaurant. But it didn’t stop her from thinking about him.

On Tuesday night, just a couple hours before closing, he walked into O’Reilly’s.

She was wiping down the bar when she looked up and saw him come through the door.

Even from across the room, she felt the hum of something between them—or maybe, nearing the end of a double shift, she was just overtired.

He nodded to her as he took a seat farther down the bar.

“Hey, Jordyn,” Bobby Galley called out, snagging her attention. “What’s your number?”

For the first six months that she’d worked at the bar, every night that Bobby came in, he would ask for her number. And every night, she would refuse.

The familiar banter grew tiresome after a while, until one night, when he asked for her number, she said, “One hundred and forty-six.” He’d blinked, wary of this unexpected response, and she’d told him it was the number of times he’d asked her out and she’d turned him down. Not that she’d actually counted, but her recital of the random number sounded credible.

After that, it had become something of a game. Although he hadn’t stopped asking, he had given up hope that she would ever answer him with her actual phone number.

She took a moment to consider the request. “Thirty-eight,” she finally told him.

“I know that’s not your age,” he said. “I’m hoping...maybe...it’s your bra size?”

She shook her head. “Wrong again—it’s the number of months that I’ve been serving you from behind this bar.”

“Which only proves that we both need a change of scenery,” Bobby said. “Let me take you away from here.”

“If by ‘away’ you mean ‘Hawaii’—keep talking, Bobby. If you meant something else, then I’ve got other customers to serve,” she said, and moved toward Marco.

“What can I get for you?”

“A draft beer.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” she said, indicating the array of faucets bearing the labels of a dozen different brands.

“I’ll try a Smithwick’s,” he decided.

She picked up a pint glass and angled it beneath the tap.

* * *

As he waited for his beer, Marco glanced around, noting that despite the lateness of the hour, about half a dozen tables were filled and there were few empty stools around the bar. He suspected that the popularity of the seating in that area had more to do with the pretty woman working the taps than the two small screens showing sports highlights, especially when the Bar Down—a popular choice for die-hard sports fans—wasn’t too far down the road.

“How were your wings the other night?”

“They were great—thanks.”

“How are the wings here?”

“You checking out the competition?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure there’s some crossover between our customers, but I wouldn’t consider O’Reilly’s and Valentino’s to be in competition.”

“Our sweet-and-spicy honey barbecue are my favorite,” she said, setting a menu beside him. “But the dry-rub salt and black pepper are popular, too.”

“If I order the honey barbecue, will you share them with me?”

“No.” She smiled. “But thanks.”

“You’re good at that.”

She selected a clean glass and began pouring a Harp for another customer. “What am I good at?”

“The brush-off.”

“I work in a bar.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a necessary job skill.”

“So I shouldn’t take it personally?”

“I didn’t say that.” But the words were softened by another smile that made his heart do a slow roll inside his chest as she carried the draft to the end of the bar.

“Did you want those wings?” she asked when she returned.

“Do they come with your phone number?”

“No.”

“Not even the first digit?”

“No.”

“The last digit?”

One side of her mouth quirked at the corner. “No.”

“So the only thing I get if I order the wings is the pleasure of sitting here and making conversation with you for a little while longer?”

“That’s not true,” she denied. “You also get the wings.”

He smiled. “Sold.”

“Honey barbecue?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

She keyed his order into the computer that linked to the kitchen. “Anything else?”

“Not right now.”

She nodded and moved away to check on her other patrons, exchanging a few words here and there, smiling or laughing on occasion.

“What brings you in to O’Reilly’s?” she asked.

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, now you’ve found me.”

His smile was quick. “Can I keep you?”

“You wouldn’t want to,” she told him. “I’m very high maintenance.”

“In my experience, most high-maintenance women don’t realize they’re high maintenance.”

“See—I’m challenging your perceptions already.”

“About more than you probably realize,” he acknowledged.

“How did you find out where I worked?”

“You don’t believe it’s a coincidence that I decided to stop in here for a beer?”

“No.”

He grinned at the blunt response. “My sister, Renata, told me I’d probably find you here.”

“Renata and Craig,” she realized. “He’s the firefighter who plays third base for the Brew Crew.”

He nodded.

“Small world.”

“And strange that our paths never crossed until recently.”

“Or maybe not so strange considering that we probably work similarly unusual hours,” she countered.

The blonde waitress who was taking care of the tables sidled up to the bar. “I need two pints of Guinness, a glass of white and a G&T, extra lime.”

“Excuse me,” Jordyn said to Marco, and busied herself filling the order.

“It’s hard to have a conversation when you keep moving away or we keep getting interrupted,” he commented when the waitress had gone.

“I’m working,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he acknowledged. “And if you give me your number, I’ll gladly relinquish this stool to another customer.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I won’t tell Bobby,” he promised.

“I’m not worried about Bobby.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried. It’s just that...” Her explanation trailed off and she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He feigned surprise. “You don’t know your number?”

The hint of another smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want
you
to know my number.”

“Why not?”

“Because then you’ll call and ask me to go out with you, and I’ll either feel really bad for saying no or I’ll say yes and afterward wish that I’d said no.”

“There is a third option,” he told her. “You could say yes, have a fabulous time, fall head over heels in love with me, and want to spend the rest of your life as my wife and the mother of my babies.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because I work fifty hours a week serving beer to mostly male customers in a pub. Trust me, there isn’t a pickup line I haven’t heard.”

“That’s probably true,” he acknowledged. “But I would hope you’d learned to distinguish between the guys who just want a quick roll between the sheets and the ones who are sincerely interested in getting to know you better.”

“And then I’d recognize you as one of the sincere ones?” she asked doubtfully.

“You would,” he confirmed.

“I’m flattered by your interest,” she told him. “But I’m not going to go out with you.”

“You don’t believe I’m sincere,” he realized.

“Even if you are, I’m not looking to fall head over heels in love, get married and have babies.”

“My grandmother says that love often sneaks up when we least expect it.”

“I’m sure she’s a wise woman,” Jordyn said. “But she doesn’t know me.”

“Not yet.”

She huffed out a breath. “You’re relentless—I’ll give you that.”

“Persistent,” he decided.

“I really don’t date customers.”

“Is that your boss’s rule or a personal philosophy?”

“A personal philosophy,” she admitted. “Although the statement would be equally true without the ‘customers’ part.”

“You don’t date?”

“Aside from one recent and ill-advised setup, no,” she confirmed.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s more hassle than it’s worth.”

“Maybe you just haven’t been dating the right guy,” he suggested.

She looked away, but not quickly enough that he could miss the pain that moved in those beautiful green eyes.

She nodded to a man seated at the end of the bar and poured him another beer. She delivered his glass, taking a few minutes to chat and smile as they exchanged beverage for money, then took a few more orders before she returned.

She picked up the plate of wings from the pass-through window and delivered them to Marco, along with a refill of his beer.

“So what’s with you and Bobby?” he asked.

“Nothing. He’s just a regular customer.”

“And the number you gave him?”

“It’s a game we play,” she admitted. “Random numbers that he tries to guess the significance of.”

“Since you’ve made your phone number off-limits, what number would you give me?”

She held his gaze for a minute, considering. “Three,” she decided.

“Three,” he echoed, as he selected a wing from his plate. “Is that the number of dates we’ll have before you let me see you naked?”

She rolled her eyes, but the color that rose in her cheeks suggested she wasn’t as unaffected by the idea as she was pretending to be. “The number of times you’ll come in here to hit on me before deciding to turn your attention in another direction.”