“Very well done, miss. Very well done.” Mr. Tom nodded, then stepped back against the wall, waiting for me.
“You too, Mr. Tom,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Someone will have to walk you home. As soon as your date unfreezes from his fear-induced paralysis, he’ll sprint out of here.”
“I don’t need someone to walk me home.” I took a step toward Ron, who was watching my exchange with Mr. Tom with a pale face.
“I’m already here. I might as well,” Mr. Tom said. “I just baked a lovely chocolate cake. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Ron?” I gave him what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Sorry about that.”
He shook himself out of his stupor. His smile looked more like a grimace. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll head out.”
My heart sank. “Sure, yeah.” I shrugged out of his jacket.
He held out his hand to stop me. “That’s okay. It’s a cold walk home. Keep it.”
“Oh, but…”
“It was a nice time!” He jogged backward, hit a rock with his heel as the paved walkway turned into the dirty parking lot, and fell onto his butt. Dust puffed up around him. “Ha! Oops. Clumsy.” He pushed to his feet, gave me a thumbs-up, and sideways-walked toward a Ford Explorer. “Okay, see ya. I’ll call you!”
“He won’t call,” Mr. Tom said, watching the scene. “He’s so desperate to get away, he’s going to lose a thirty-dollar jacket.”
“Yes, Mr. Tom, I am aware, thanks.” My heart sank further and I sagged. “He was cool, too. He seemed like a really nice guy.”
“It looked like someone hit him in the face with a two-by-four.” Mr. Tom clasped his hands behind his back. “Repeatedly.”
I tsked. “No, it did not! He was fine looking. Average.”
“Ugly. C’mon, I know what will cheer you up. But first…” He peeled the jacket from my shoulders. “We don’t know where this has been, dirty Dick. He might have fleas from that wild sort of growth on his face. I’ll just leave it back in the restaurant.” When he returned, he gestured me toward town, then turned us in the direction of the bar.
“Are you going to drop me off with Niamh?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I am going to have a drink with you. I can’t wait to tell Niamh that she failed.”
“She didn’t fail—she picked a really good guy that I would’ve hit it off with if it hadn’t been for the Doobie Brothers busting up the party.”
“The…who?”
“Never mind.” I sighed. “Back to the drawing board. At least this one leaves hope that there are decent guys on the online dating sites. I just need Niamh to find them for me.”
“It doesn’t matter who is on those sites. They’ll never work for you, miss. All of your Dick dates are going to end like that.” We’d reached the road crossing, but Mr. Tom held his arm out in front of my chest, like I was a child, waiting for a car to pass. Once the way was safe, he swept his hand wide and waited until I stepped off the curb to follow. He was in rare form this evening. “That isn’t your world anymore, miss. You have to accept that. Neither will you get the privacy of your old life. You are the chosen and heiress of Ivy House. With that comes expectation and privilege. You will always be accompanied now. Our job is to protect you, and my kind”—he palmed his chest—“do that better than most. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“I haven’t gotten used to you…”
“Lovely, it seems Niamh is rubbing off on you,” he said dryly. “What joy is mine.”
The bar was slow for a Saturday night, but the casual atmosphere and the faces I was starting to recognize cheered me up after the botched encounter with Ron. I found Niamh where she always sat, three-quarters of the way down by the support beam, hunched over her cider. The seat to her right was empty, and the one beyond that was taken by my dear friend Sasquatch.
Austin glanced up from a drink he was pouring, noticed Mr. Tom with me, and a series of expressions crossed his face so quickly that I nearly didn’t catch them—regret, relief, surprise, apprehension. He dipped his face back down without nodding hello.
Paul smiled and met us near Niamh. “Hi, Jacinta. Wow, you look really pretty. That dress is nice.”
“Well, lads,” Niamh said, half turning. She looked at Sasquatch. “Wipe off that seat when you leave. It probably has a grease stain now.”
“Yes, a bath once in a while would really work wonders on your mood, I think,” Mr. Tom said, looking Sasquatch over. “I’ve always thought so.”
Sasquatch frowned back at Mr. Tom and then glowered at me. “What do you want?”
“Now, Sasquatch, you hairy bastard, you know how this always goes,” Niamh said. “You make a holy show of yerself, then Austin Steele knocks you on yer arse and chases you out in disgrace. Best get up and move that fat arse down a ways so we aren’t tickled by yer presence anymore.”