After Tess leaves, I throw my half-eaten piece of pizza into the trash and wash the plate before drying it and putting it and its unused companion back where they belong. Afterward, I take a quick shower before settling into one of the huge leather club chairs with my sketch book, positioning it in front of one of the floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the Charles River.

I meant to sketch the view, but all I can do is draw his face, over and over, like some lovesick teenager. Next, I’ll be writing Mrs. Patrick Gilroy in my notebook and dotting my letter is with little hearts.

Finally, I give up and call him.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey,” he says, in that calm, soothing voice of his, immediately reminding me of what happened the last time we talked on the phone.

“Hi...” I clear my throat, wincing at how nervous I sound. “I’m sorry I didn’t call right away. Tess—”

“I understand,” he says, in the background, I can hear the creak of his office chair as he leans back. “I had a visit from Con this morning.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles softly. “It didn’t go well... How’s Tess.”

“She’s a mess,” I tell him, pulling my knees up to my chest to rest my chin. “I tried talking to her, but I don’t think anything I said made much of a difference.”

You should take your own advice.

Tess’s parting shot rings in my ears, so loud, it takes me a second to realize that Patrick is talking to me. “What was that?”

He laughs softly. “I said, how’d you sleep?”

“Not great,” I say, staring out the window. My comment is greeted by a long stretch of silence before he finally says something.

“About tonight...” He stops talking like he’s trying to figure out a way to say something I’m not going to want to hear. “I know I said I’d—”

“Will you have dinner with me?” I say before he can finish. I’m not sure I want to hear what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Tonight. I meant to ask you sooner but... I’m supposed to go with Chase and Miranda—they have some sort of news they want to give me, which makes me nervous and I don’t want to go alone, so I thought...” I’m rambling, I know I’m rambling, but I can’t seem to stop talking. “I’d like you to go with me. If you can. If you want.” I drop the phone away from my face for a second, trying to gather myself. Steel myself for a rejection. I raise the phone, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s okay to say no, Patrick. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“What time should I pick you up?

My eyes pop open. “Really?”

“Really.” Patrick laughs, the sound of it—of him—in my ear, reminds me of last night and I flush, from head to toe.

He said yes.

“Reservations are for nine,” I tell him, fighting the grin threatening to take over my face. “At Davino’s.”

He’s quiet. Quiet enough to dim the smile on my face. I open my mouth to ask him if something is wrong, but he beats me to it.

“Then I’ll be there to pick you up at eight.”

“Hey, Legs—open the door.”

I’m standing at the stove, about to flip my grilled cheese when Conner’s voice pushes its way through the intercom. He sounds irritated. Almost angry.

Remembering what Tess said—that he’s been driving her crazy all day long—and what Patrick said—that he drove all the way to their office in Seaport, looking to pick a fight with his brother—I debate whether or not I even want to deal with him right now.

Like he can read my mind, he pushes the intercom again. “The request was just a formality, Legs,” he says, sounding almost bored. “I can bypass this lock in about fifteen seconds, so just—”

I cut him off by pressing the lock release. Five seconds later, I can hear his work boots pounding up the stairs. I open the door for him before making my way back to the kitchen to tend to my lunch.

“You seen Tess?”

I look up to find Con standing just past the threshold, separating the kitchen from the living area. He looks as irritated and angry as he sounds.

Sliding my sandwich onto a plate, I shrug. “She was here, but she left a few hours ago.” On impulse, I offer him my sandwich. “Hungry?”

To my surprise, he takes the plate, moving around the kitchen counter to the breakfast bar. “She say where she was going?” he says, setting the plate in front of him before taking off his jacket. Pulling up his sleeves, he sits on a stool.

“Back to the garage—” I slather two new pieces of bread with butter and set them on top of the stovetop grill Patrick used for steaks last night, layering cheese in between. “she said she had to get back before you strung her up.” I look up at him. “She’s not there?”

He shakes his head, taking a bite of his grilled cheese, chewing slowly. I know what he’s thinking. Tess is MIA, and so is Declan.

“Wherever she is, Con—she’s alone,” I tell him. “She probably just needs some time to get her head together.”

“He’s always been a selfish prick,” he mutters at his sandwich before biting into it. “He does what he wants and doesn’t care who he hurts. Who’s left holding the bag. Never has.”

From where I’m standing, I can see the new tattoo he’s been trying to keep under wraps. It’s a broken strand of pearls, wrapped around the length of his arm, starting at his wrist and disappearing into the sleeve of his shirt. When I look up, he’s watching me. Caught staring, I turn back to the stove.

“Do you love him?” Con asks, switching gears on me so fast, I bobble the sandwich I have perched on my spatula, smearing melted cheese all over the grill.

Him.

Patrick.

“Yes,” I say, even though I’m not entirely sure who he is anymore. I scrape burnt cheese off the grill and wait for him to ridicule me. Accuse me of breaking his cousin’s heart. Leaving Tess when she needed me the most.

“Why can’t you tell him?”

I look up from what I’m doing to find him watching me, half-eaten sandwich dangling from slack fingers.

“I don’t know.” The confession comes out on a whisper. “I want to, but...” I shrug, turning away from him, unable to stomach the way he’s looking at me. “I can’t seem to find the right time.” That’s a lie. I’m not sure why I can’t bring myself to say it, but timing has nothing to do with it.

“The right time passed you by eleven months ago.” Before I can say anything, he shakes his head. “He’s not gonna wait for you.” He drops his half-eaten sandwich and stands, brushing crumbs off his fingers on the seat of his jeans. “He’s different.” Jerking down his sleeves, he shakes his head. “He’s not the guy he was when you left,” he says, shrugging on his jacket. I get the feeling we aren’t talking about Patrick anymore. Not entirely.

“Who’s Henley?” It comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about what I’m asking. What I’m potentially starting.

Con’s mouth twists in a bitter smile. “She’s no one.” I watch as he yanks his sleeve down, through the cuffs of his jacket, completely hiding his tattoo. “Not anymore.” He circles the counter, intent on leaving. “If you see Tess—”

“What happened?” I switch off the stove and turn toward him. “What happened while I was gone?”

My question stopped his retreat. He’s standing in the middle of the room like he’s stuck there. Like he wants to leave but he can’t. “Shit got fuck up, all the way around,” he says without looking at me. “If you see Tess, tell her I need to talk to her.”

Before I can press him for more, he’s gone—the door banging shut behind him.