Page 65 of Donovan's Men

Donovan cocked his head. “Together?”

We shook our heads. “Although we might’ve called each other afterward to compare notes.”

“Oh God, I wish I’d been listening to that conversation.” He used his fork to cut off a piece of omelet.

“Not all that interesting. What happened later, though, was.” I eyed Hamish. “I didn’t share what happened after.”

Hamish shrugged. “I figure if it’s worth knowing, then you’ll share.”

So damn trusting. Curious, but trusting. “Donovan called me.”

Donovan pressed his fingers to his temple. “You need to remind me?”

I burst out laughing. “Dude, this is so on you.” I turned my attention back to Hamish. “He calls me in a panic because he can’t reach Cole. Now, I’m thinking the guy just—finally—won a Golden Globe. He’s home with his partners. I could sort of understand why he wasn’t answering the phone.”

“He wasn’t answeringmycall. Colealwaysanswers my call.”

“That’s some friend.”

Donovan shrugged.

“So what happened?” Again, Hamish dunked a piece of waffle into his syrup.

I took a sliver of sauce on my knife and scraped it onto a corner of Hamish’s plate—before I forgot.

He grinned at me—clearly grateful.

“What happened? Donovan convinced me to go over totheCole Hamilton’s house on the nighthewon a Golden Globe and was celebrating withhispartners.”

Hamish’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“And what did you interrupt? I mean, if you can share. Because they must’ve been doing—” His cheeks flared red. “But with Cole still recovering…” He winced. “None of my business.”

“No. But interesting that’s where your mind went.” Donovan’s grin was positively devious. Clearly, he had zero fucks to give about having put me in that position in the first place.

“They were celebrating.”

“You can tell him the rest.” Donovan ate a bit of sourdough with peanut butter and marmalade. Seemed we were all doing a little British. Well, Portugal via Britain. Sometimes I knew way too much weird trivia.

I sighed. “I’m certain they’d be okay with me telling you. They exchanged rings—the three of them.”

Donovan swallowed. “Cole bought them. With my help. And yes, I am capable of keeping secrets.”

“Well, we certainly weren’t entitled to know.” Hamish, having finished his waffle, strawberries, and whipped cream, ran his fork through the steak sauce.

I waited with bated breath.How he feels about it doesn’t matter.Yet somehow itdidmatter. Every time we found something in common, that gave me more hope. Donovan and I had a few things in common. Same with me and Hamish as well as him and Donovan. But I felt less connected to a man with a PhD who perceived the world very differently than I did.

Hamish’s eyes widened. “Yes, that has quite a kick.”

“Yeah?” Donovan watched him with as much intensity as I.

“I like it.”

Donovan cut a piece of omelet, dunked it in my sauce, and held the fork out for Hamish to take.

This was wildly intimate—and yet also felt super right.