Page 63 of Donovan's Men

I blinked. “Yes. Of course. Never alone again.” Yet even as I said the words, I wondered about their wisdom. We weren’t even officially together. So many barriers still existed. So how could I promise something I wasn’t actually convinced would ever happen?

But it will. Donovan’s personality, and sheer stubbornness, will ensure it happens.

“I’ve got your food.” Patrice, all stunning dark-brown eyes, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and curves to die for, arrived with a large tray. She handed each of us our food, and I salivated.

Last night’s dinner was a long-ago memory.

“Thank you.” Hamish beamed his appreciation. Always so damn earnest. Always so fucking adorable.

“You let me know if you need anything else.” With that, Patrice took off.

Donovan and I dug into our food, but Hamish hesitated.

I swallowed. “Something wrong? Those strawberries look delicious. And whipped cream?”

“I can think of all kinds of creative uses of whipped cream.” Donovan grinned. His attempt at lightheartedness fell flat.

Hamish swallowed, then—at length—his gaze met ours. “My boss and her husband live in Mission City. They’ve just had a baby. I, uh…”

Donovan laid his cutlery on the table and reached out his hand.

After a long moment, Hamish took it.

“You want to see them?”

He nodded. “I think I have to. Last night—” He leaned closer. “I want more of that. But I want it to be okay. Just—” He blinked. “I’m at risk of losing my job.”

I wanted to tell him that he’d be okay. That Donovan and I would take care of him—emotionally and financially. The truth was that Vancouver was an expensive city and even if we pooled our resources, we might have a tough time.

Pool our resources? What does that even mean? Moving in together?

I just didn’t know. Still, I offered my most confident smile. “We’ll get through this, okay? Between the three of us, I’mpretty certain we can come up with some great ideas.” Yet at the moment, I didn’t have one.

Donovan subtly pressed his thigh to mine. “We’ve made it this far—don’t give up on us yet.”

A message directed at Hamish—but for me as well.

Hamish nodded. He released Donovan’s hand, and then he cut a piece of waffle, carefully placed a strawberry atop it, added a dab of whipped cream—then dunked it into a pond of syrup. “You haven’t told us about the Golden Globes.” Then he shoved the forkful into his mouth—in a very un-Hamish-like fashion.

I smothered a chuckle.Okay. Change of subject. I empathize. Because we hadn’t even gotten to me yet.

Donovan grinned. “Well, a bunch of statues and—”

Hamish waved his fork around, swallowed, then met Donovan’s gaze. Then he swung his fork back and forth between my companion and me.

“Ah.” Donovan’s grin didn’t falter. “I will say that escorting Julie was close to the highlight of my career. Even if she hadn’t won, I was so damn proud of her.”

“She looked stunning in that emerald-green dress.” Because I wanted to prove I was paying attention to the important parts of his life.

“Yeah, she did. I was also with Elouise and Kelci. Man, Elouise’s performance in that movie? Just so amazing. I wasn’t surprised she won.” More grinning. “And Kelci’s choice to go without a wig was so cool. She owns her alopecia—which is amazing.”

“Didn’t she say something about Elouise giving her the confidence to go with her head uncovered?” Again, I was desperately trying to keep up with the important people in Donovan’s life.

He nodded. “For sure. Helped that the weather was so warm in LA. She’s not so quick to go without a wig and/or a hat in Vancouver during the winter.”

“Yeah. Lots of snow this year. More than usual.” Hamish winced, then he cut another piece of waffle. “Glitz and glamor?”

Donovan chuckled. “You’re of a singular mind this morning.”