Soaring (Magdalene #2)(64)

“Put the menus at our table, please. We’ll be there shortly,” Bradley ordered the hostess.

She nodded and swept away.

Bradley pulled me to the Donovan table.

“Hey!” Cillian cried when we got close and then announced upon our arrival, “It’s my birthday.”

Shit.

I didn’t know.

I controlled the accusatory look I wanted to throw Mickey’s way and instead smiled big at Cillian.

“First, happy birthday,” I said. “And second, please assure me that you accept late gifts.”

His smile got bigger. “Totally.”

“Also, assure me that you provide late wish lists,” I went on.

He beamed. “Totally.”

“Good,” I said, still smiling at him. “I expect that list to be in my mailbox by noon tomorrow.”

“You got it!” Cillian cried.

Bradley squeezed my hand and I quickly looked up at him, realizing I was being rude.

“Sorry,” I murmured then looked to the table. “Let me make the introductions. Bradley, this is the Donovan family. Aisling, Mickey and Cillian, the birthday boy. Donovan family, this is Bradley Tinsdale.”

Mickey stood and offered a hand wordlessly.

Bradley took it.

They both looked into each other’s eyes and held their grip two shades too long.

I fought squirming.

“Nice to meet you,” Bradley said to the table when he and Mickey finally disconnected.

Mickey seated himself, his eyes coming to me, and when they did, it felt like they were skewering me.

He was angry, plain to see.

But I couldn’t imagine how that could be.

“What?” I mouthed silently, gaze on Mickey.

His eyes dipped, came up to catch mine and they narrowed.

He was communicating, I just didn’t know what he was saying.

“What?” I mouthed again, leaning forward a little to put emphasis on my soundless word.

“Amelia?” Bradley called.

My body gave another jolt and I looked up at him to see him watching me closely.

“Yes?” I asked, trying to pretend he hadn’t just caught me mouthing to Mickey.

“Would you like to go to our table or chat with the Donovans?” he asked politely, but a little stiffly.

“We should probably go to our table,” I replied and looked to Mickey’s family, concerned to see Aisling had righted in her seat, this meaning she had her back to Bradley and me, which was impolite for a girl who was never that way. “Wish list, kiddo. Tomorrow. Noon,” I said Cillian.

“You got it,” Cillian replied, still smiling.

“Aisling,” I said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She glanced up at me swiftly and then away, muttering, “Good to see you, Amy.”

I braced and looked at her father. “Mickey.”

“Amy,” he replied, drawing his brows together and again dipping his eyes before they came back to mine.

I had no opportunity to make a further fool of myself by soundlessly demanding to know what Mickey was saying because Bradley drew me away.

When we got to our table, he pulled my chair out and I sat in it. Then he sat. And thankfully we did this, ordered drinks and received them, all without incident.

We were perusing our menus when I looked across the three tables that separated us and saw Bradley’s back was to the Donovans, but Mickey’s side was to me and his head was turned my way, his complete attention on me.

And I could tell he was still angry.

Very angry.

That was when I had my first inkling I was in trouble.

He jerked his head in an aggressive manner that irked me.

Chancing a glance at Bradley, who was studying his menu, I looked back to Mickey, tipped my head to the side and flipped out a hand in my non-verbal, “what?”

He lifted a hand and jabbed a finger my way, tipping it slightly down, then up, then moving it to touch it to his chest.

Oh God.

Did I have something on my dress?

I looked down instantly and saw all was clear.

I lifted my head, snapped my brows together, and after another click glance at Bradley, who was still examining his menu, I looked back at Mickey and again flipped my hand out.

Her jerked his head in that aggressive way again but not toward me, in another direction.

I looked in that direction and saw there was a door to a hallway, above which it had a sign that read “Restrooms.”

I looked back to Mickey’s table to see he was no longer there. He was up and prowling infuriatedly toward that door, looking insanely hot doing this in his sports jacket.

God, he was killing me.

“What looks good to you?” Bradley asked.

Mickey Donovan, I did not answer.

“I need a moment,” I said and his head came up, his eyes to me. “Just need to freshen up a bit. Do you mind?” I asked.

“No, Amelia,” he replied, his face getting soft. “Take all the time you need.”

He was a nice man.

And I was an idiot.

Even knowing that, it didn’t stop me from grabbing my clutch and shooting out of my chair perhaps a wee bit too swiftly for someone who’d just insinuated she might need to use the restroom but mostly she wanted to fix her lipstick.