“Where do you want to eat?” Shea asks, making plates. “Table, island, living room in front of the television?” She doesn’t speak with an accent anymore,either.
“Here is fine.” I take a plate and sit on one of several stools at the island.
“Wine, love?” Trace asks, reaching into the wine cabinet.
Shea’s eyes lift to mine, and then she looks away. “No thanks.”
“You can drink. I can handle it,” I say.
“Heineken NA, Cormac?” Trace asks.
I look up. “You bought non-alcoholic beer?”
Shea nods. “I ordered it from our service.”
“There is alcohol in it, you know.” I sprinkle grated cheese and fresh pepper on my dish.
“Really?” She looks at Trace, who shrugs.
“Try these energy spritzers. No alcohol and only ten calories.” Shea puts a slim can in front of me. “The caffeine gives it a kick.”
“Sure.” I open it and take a sip. A burst of raspberry and peach hits my tongue. “Tasty.”
Trace makes a plate and sits next to me.
“I have some news to share,” I say, and plan to dive right into the Hamilton interview, but two sets of eyes fly up at me.
If those stares were knives, I’d be sliced like an onion.
“What?” Shea asks in a panic. “Are you…moving back to Seattle?”
Darragh came back to New York specifically so Ana could take her place with the Bratva. By then, all my brothers were having kids, and he wanted Sophie to grow up close to her cousins.
“No,” I answer. “In fact, darling Darragh gave up his teaching position at Hamilton and recommended me to replace him.” I don’t bore them with the logistics of the class switch.
“You’ll be a professor? At a medical college?” Sheaasks with a hint of skepticism.
“Yeah.” I put down my fork and use a napkin to wipe my mouth. “I don’t need the pressure of surgery anymore.”
A therapist at the California rehab suggested my compulsion for control and perfection led to too much self-soothing.
“I think that’s great,” Trace says, and fist bumps me. “When do you start?”
“Soon.” I pick up my fork and push the food around. “There’s orientation. Onboarding. Lesson planning.”
A student to stop thinking about.
“Full-time?” Shea asks, stabbing at the pasta.
“Just one class the first semester.”
“A probation period,” Trace says, sounding like he understands.
“Exactly.”
“I think that’s great,” Shea says. “And Kieran is good with it?”
I resist an eyeroll that I need the king’s blessing. “I assume.”