“You’ve been working a lot of hours,” I remind her.

“You need to take a few nights to yourself, Maeve,” Keegan agrees. “I don’t need to be taking up all of your spare time.”

“What am I going to do, sit at home and binge Netflix?”

“That sounds lovely,” I say. “But something tells me you’re not the sit-and-watch-TV type.”

“You’d be right.” She cringes. “But I think I’ll have to take you up on it because I can’t grip drinks with this hand. Sorry, guys.”

“Just take care of yourself,” Keegan assures her.

We finish cleaning up the bar, and Keegan walks his sisters out to their cars. I go ahead and climb the stairs to the dwelling above. I like Keegan’s apartment. It’s very small, but it’s comfortable. And it always makes me feel safe.

Maybe that’s because it was literally my safe place after my world fell apart.

I’ve just peeled off my clothes and stepped into a warm shower when the bathroom door opens.

“I’m glad you feel at home here.” He steps into the shower with me and immediately starts to wash my hair.

This is a little luxury I love. It always feels better when someone else washes your hair. And Keegan’s hands are the best.

“I’m glad you don’t mind that I make myself at home.”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t invite you up here. And we can’t do this at Maggie’s house. She’d barge right in.”

I laugh and then sigh when his fingertips massage my scalp. “You’re so good with your hands.”

“Hmm.”

He rinses my hair, and then kisses me long and slow while he ducks under the spray. I wash his back, his arms, his stomach.

“The first time I saw your abs, I thought that a woman could wash her clothes on them.”

He lets out a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Have you seen them?”

He glances down. “There they are.”

“Bless them.” I let my hands drift over each individual muscle. “I was never really an abs girl before. I mean, I could appreciate a flat stomach on a man, but it really wasn’t a big deal. And then you took your shirt off, and I suddenly understood what all the fuss was about.”

I glance up, expecting to see him scoff or laugh, but his face is suddenly serious.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” He kisses my forehead. The water runs down his torso, taking the soap away. He turns off the tap and reaches for a towel, wrapping me up in it. When I’m good and dry, he reaches for another, and I help him mop up the water.