Last Call at the Local (Love, Lists & Fancy Ships, #3)

by Sarah Grunder Ruiz

“You’re making sense.” He holds my gaze, then scans the pub again. “Say that’s exactly what the owner wants to go with. How could they make that happen?”

He obviously owns the bar

I gesture to the still swinging door Jack has just disappeared through. “About him waltzing right into your kitchen like he owns the place!” Ollie shrugs. “He does.” “He does . . . what?” “Own the place.”

Called it lol

“Then you’d love the underwear I’m wearing. At least that matches one of my socks.” Jack chokes on his coffee mid-sip, and I realize that I have just described my underwear to my most professional coworker.

She kills me

Just the other day she pulled a sock from her pocket and a cat treat came tumbling out. I was wondering where I put that, she said. I didn’t ask if she meant the sock or the cat treat. Neither would surprise me.

Hilarious

It hurts to think about. Because when I try to imagine myself there too, I can’t.

Aw honey

I’m not well. But I’m going to get better.

!!!!

“We could always make out on the couch,”

Straight forward. I like itt

“Níl mé ag iarraidh go dtéann tú.”

Ouch

“Don’t look at me. I’m a mess,” I say. “You’re not a mess.” I laugh. “How can you say that? Look at me!” “I thought you didn’t want me to look at you.”

Lmao

His eyes roam my face before meeting mine again, and the way he looks at me makes my chest ache. He wipes the tears from beneath my eyes, then cradles my face in his hands. “How can you think you’re too much, when I can’t get enough of you?”

🥹