LITMIR.BIZ

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wanted to see if Liam was attending afternoon tea, but she also wanted to grab a warm cookie. She inhaled. Darn it. A career she was passionate about was more important than her sister’s cookies, right? She forced her feet to move down the hall, away from the kitchen.

      In the sunroom, guests gathered in groups of two or four, drinking and eating the offerings. She leaned against the door frame.

      Liam sat next to the bay window. A group of local women who came to tea each month formed a ring around him. Wouldn’t they love his accent?

      His knuckles were white around his plate. His teeth clenched. Poor man.

      She entered the room.

      His head jerked up. Relief filled his deep blue eyes and he scrambled to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies.”

      Pressing her lips together, she held back a laugh.

      “Ms. Fitzgerald.” He almost lunged toward her. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”

      She smiled. “Good to see you, too.”

      “Is there someplace we can talk? Someplace other than—” he looked back at the ladies “—here?”

      She took pity on him. “Follow me.”

      “Goodbye, Liam,” a woman called.

      “Goodbye, Mr. Delaney,” another said.

      “Let me know if you need more information on my family,” a woman called as he left.

      As soon as they turned the hallway corner, she burst out laughing.

      He slumped against the wall. “Devil take me, those women were talking my ears off.”

      “I know just what will help, my sister’s molasses and ginger cookies.” She linked their arms. His was firm and muscular. “They’re the best.”

      She would be able to talk to Liam and have her favorite cookie. Score.

      “As soon as I told the group what I was doing in Savannah, they...they attacked.” He was a little breathless. “And they all looked alike. What are you doing down here, cloning crones?”

      She glanced behind her, but they were far enough away from the sunroom that no one could have heard him. “They all went to school together, and they’re wonderful.”

      “I’m sure they are, but they’re overwhelming.” His words ran together, a lovely Irish slur of sounds.

      She slipped her arm out if his. If she wanted an apprenticeship, she wouldn’t complicate things by acting too familiar.

      Photography was her focus.

      She pushed open the kitchen door.

      Abby slid cookies onto racks. She glanced up, her ponytail bouncing. “Hey, Dolley.”

      Liam stepped in next to her. Even through the magnificent smell of molasses, sugar and ginger, his scent came through.

      “Abby, have you met Liam Delaney?”

      “Not yet.” Abby grabbed a towel and dusted her hands. Moving across the kitchen, she shook his hand. “So glad you chose Fitzgerald House for your stay.”

      “Thank you for making an exception during the holiday.”

      “You are very welcome.”

      “I rescued him. He was corralled by the Saint Peter School ladies.” Dolley raised an eyebrow. “They were overwhelming him.”

      “They offered to help with my research.” Liam winced. “Even the women who weren’t Irish.”

      “What are you researching?” Abby asked.

      “Savannah’s Irish roots. For a combination book and documentary.”

      “That sounds like fun,” Abby said.

      “It will be.”

      “Since your tea was interrupted, would you like a cup in here?” Abby offered.

      “Yes, please.” His words rushed out. “I’d kill for one.”

      Dolley snatched up a couple of the warm cookies.

      Abby smacked her hand. “I’ll serve. Go light the fire.”

      “They’re best right out of the oven.” Dolley moved back to the sitting area. Passing Liam a cookie, she whispered, “I filched one for you, too.”

      He grinned, a wicked pirate grin that promised adventures and fun. It was the first smile she’d noticed crossing his face.

      She frowned. He hadn’t smiled at all last night.

      “I won’t rat on you.” He leaned close, his dark, wavy hair brushing next to her ear. “But I’d best get rid of the evidence.”

      She couldn’t help inhaling his scent. Could cologne be addictive?

      Liam took a bite. His eyes closed. “Oh, my,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

      “I know.” Dolley devoured her cookie and then pushed the buttons on the gas fire. It lit with a whoosh.

      “I saw that,” Abby scolded, although she was smiling. She set cookies and bars on the coffee table.

      “These are incredible.” Liam plucked another cookie from the platter.

      It was a sacrifice, but she nudged the cookies closer to him. A sugar high might lull him into agreeing to the apprenticeship.

      Abby set a teapot with cream, sugar and mugs on the table. “I’d love to chat, but I need to refresh the tea.”

      “Go.” Dolley waved her off. Besides, she didn’t want Abby finding out about her request for a mentorship. Especially if Liam said no.

      He poured cream in his mug and added tea. “It’s nice to get a real pot of tea. Some places I stay, I can hardly find a tea bag.”

      He prepped a cup for her. She couldn’t think of any man ever making her a cup of tea, or much of anything.

      “How was your morning?” She slipped deeper into her chair.

      “I took a long ramble around the squares, getting my bearings.” He took another cookie. “Savannah is beautiful.”

      “Wait until the azaleas bloom.”

      “And when will that be?”

      “Early March,” she said. “They peak around the St Patrick’s Day invasion.”

      “I can’t wait.” Liam took another cookie. “I want to film the festivities.”

      She sipped her tea. How could she steer the conversation to the apprenticeship? “Did you take any pictures?”

      “Thought I would scope things out first.” He downed his tea. “But I took a couple.”

      “When you’re doing a documentary, do you think in photographs or film?” she asked, not sure how to blurt out her request.

      “No one’s ever asked me that question.” He refilled his mug and slid back in his chair. “Both, I guess. I see moments that unfurl into scenes, into movement or a story.” He shook his head. “That sounds thick.”

      “I see that.” Her pictures tended to be of the B and B, but it was pictures like the ones of Mamma’s wedding, where Martin was twirling her in a circle, that she loved. It was a story of joy. “I get it.”

      “I did do one other thing today.” Liam pushed back his black hair. It was thick and long enough to curl around his shirt collar. What would his hair feel like?

      She refocused on his face, although that was distracting, too. “What?”

      “Called my producer. I’ve got room in the budget to put you on the payroll.”

      Dolley’s

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