Crew. As in, mafia crew. I blink rapidly, shaking my head and taking a sip of tea to hide my reaction.
“Uh. Niall. He’s blonde, right?”
Tiggy’s eyebrow quirks, and her eyes narrow on me. “That’s right.”
“And he’s with the brunette lady? Who was one of Lauren’s bridesmaids?”
Tiggy’s shoulders relax, and she nods happily. “That’s Mellie.”
“I have met Niall. I sat next to him at Lauren and Paddy’s wedding.”
Something weird flashes across Tiggy’s face, but she launches into different gossip before I can ask about it.
It suddenly hits me why Tiggy looks so familiar. She was one of Lauren’s bridesmaids. The one with the sexy best man as her husband and the cute baby bump. It’s more of a balloon bump now.
“Mellie is from Southie.”
I recall Lauren’s words at her wedding;the brunette’s from Southie. That must be Mellie. But there was a third bridesmaid.
“What about the blonde from Roxbury?”
Tiggy blinks at me in surprise, a slow grin lighting up her face. Liam snorts, plucking up another cinnamon scroll, shaking his head, though he doesn’t speak.
“That’s Fiona. She’s one of the strippers at Oracle,” Tiggy supplies. “Ronan likes her, but she won’t have a bar of him.”
Liam snorts again but says nothing, eating his new scroll. Tiggy rolls her eyes at him, turning back to me with a smile.
“You must feel like you’re world’s away from Dot.”
“A little. I like it out here. It’s peaceful.” I glance around with a smile. “After all Lauren’s whining, I thought I’d hate it.”
Tiggy’s eyebrows shoot up, and she wrinkles her nose. “Lauren complains about West Roxbury?"
Shrugging, I laugh, setting down my teacup and running my fingers around the rim.
“She says sometimes she misses Dot because it’s so boring out here.”
Tiggy shrugs, but a dark look crosses Liam’s face. “And it better stay fucking boring out here,” he mutters. “West Roxbury’s seen enough excitement.”
I have no idea what that means, but Tiggy rubs her right shoulder, so I offer her some more tea. It must be uncomfortable to be so pregnant.
Chapter FOUR
ANDIE
I glance out the window at the rumble of a car on the driveway. Connor slides out of the SUV, sticking his head into the cottage for a moment before walking to the back steps. My eyes drink in the smooth lines of his suit.
He always dresses in a sharp suit. I’ve never seen him in a T-shirt or even jeans. He doesn’t need to wear a T-shirt or jeans. He wears thehellout of a suit.
Shaking my head, I turn my back firmly on the window, continuing to lay the table. I shouldn’t be thinking about how well my boss wears his suit. I shouldn’t be thinking anything about my boss further than how he likes his shirts pressed and what he wants to eat for dinner.
The backdoor creaks softly as he steps inside, closing it behind him and nodding to me as he slides into the laundry to wash up.
Moving across the room, I open the oven, lifting the casserole dish. Placing it on the kitchen island, I grab a spoon from the drawer to start serving.
Connor eyes the plate of cinnamon scrolls eagerly as he comes out of the laundry, removing his suit jacket and laying it over the back of one of the bar stools along the far side of the island.
“They look good.” His eyes are still glued to them as he works the knot of his tie loose. I bite my lip, dropping my eyes away from the sight. It should be illegal to look that good in shirtsleeves and a loosened tie.