Makena

Watching Shane with his family is disarming.

He’s just as cocky and playful with them as he is with me, maybe even more so. But seeing him here, with them, I realize that maybe the whole bad boy with a good heart vibe he gives out is real.

I saw him cringe when Aiden placed his niece in his arms, but there was also an ease to the way he held her that told me he didn’t hate it as much as he’d like everyone to believe. In fact, he hadn’t handed the baby back until his mother took her from him.

Sure, he’s by no means father material, but he’s not just the one-dimensional-sex-god that I’d first pegged him for.

Yes, he’s still a sex god. Hell, the man can make me wet with just a single, heated glance. But there’s more to him. Something good. Something I could see myself falling for.

And that is why I shouldn’t be here. Why I need to put an end to whatever this thing is we’re doing.

“You look so familiar,” Bree, Owen’s wife, says from across the table during dinner.

“I get that a lot,” I mutter, knowing where this conversation is heading.

“Maybe you look like someone I know,” she continues.

Both Bree and Delaney are American like me, which explains Emer’s earlier comment about the guys not choosing to date single Irish women.

“Jennifer Garner,” Emer says loudly. “That’s who ye look like.”

“I was thinking Rachel McAdams,” Delaney chimes in.

“Who?” Cillian asks.

“The girl from The Notebook.” Delaney shakes her head at her husband like he’s clueless.

Cillian shrugs. He’s got this whole broody rock star thing going on, but despite his moods, it’s unmistakable how in love he is with his wife.

“You haven’t seen it?” Delaney looks appalled. “It’s only the best movie of all time.”

“Sounds like a chick flick,” Cillian grumbles.

“Just because it’s a love story doesn’t make it a chick flick.” Delaney rubs her belly. “And the person who wrote it is actually a man.”

Cillian grunts, and their banter continues. I have no doubt the woman will be having him watch it as soon as they leave here tonight.

Grateful that the attention is off me, I take a sip of my wine.

Shane leans close and whispers in my ear. “Not sure who either of those women are, but I can’t believe they’re half as gorgeous as ye.”

My cheeks heat at the compliment.

He takes my hand under the table and gives it a small squeeze. “We don’t have to stay long if ye’re tired.”

I know what he’s implying, and I doubt he has any intentions of letting me sleep much tonight.

“I’m-”

“Oh, I know who you look like,” Delaney says, her eyes brightening in recognition.

Please don’t say it, please don’t say it.

Shane’s hand tightens around mine, and he says a little too harshly, “She looks like herself.”

Delaney closes her mouth, and the rest of the table goes silent, all eyes turning to Shane. Brows raise in question at his sudden outburst.

I sigh and admit, “Chad Hollister is my ex-husband.”

There’s no sense lying about it. I wouldn’t feel right. Not when they’ve so graciously accepted me into their home. And Shane’s right, I do need to stop worrying about what people think of me.

If I can learn that one lesson, then maybe I’ll finally be free of the anxiety I’m constantly walking around with.

I’m met with a tableful of deer-in-the-headlights looks. It would almost be humorous if I hadn’t just outed myself to a table full of strangers.

Silence stretches awkwardly, until Delaney says with a smile, “I was going to say Rachel Bilson.”

“Even I don’t know who that is.”

Everyone chuckles.

“The O.C.,” Delaney says, then shakes her head when she’s met with blank stares. “Hart of Dixie. Do you people not watch TV?”

She gives me a small wink as the table breaks out into conversation about what constitutes good television versus crappy American sitcoms and reality shows. I give her a grateful smile, feeling the unrelenting pressure that never seems to go away, lift slightly.

After dinner, cleaning the dishes becomes a family affair that even the men are a part of, but as soon as we’re in the kitchen, Shane’s mom quickly shoos everyone out, muttering about doing it herself.

“I can help,” I offer.

“Don’t bother,” Shane says coming up behind me and placing a hand on my lower back. “She’s as stubborn as a mule, that one.”

His mom grunts. “A trait I unfortunately passed down to my children.”

Shane chuckles, then leans over and kisses her on the cheek, which wins him a smile, and my heart melts.

Over and over, he keeps surprising me.

“Shane,” Owen says, from the doorway, motioning him into the other room.

“Stay and help,” Agnus says, surprising me, when I start to follow him. And I know what’s coming. The Mom Talk.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn.

“Of course.” I move beside her and start scraping the plates into the wastebasket.

“That boy is stubborn,” she mutters, her tone a mix of affection and frustration.

“He’s definitely persistent,” I say while passing her a dirty plate, then clamping my mouth shut the moment the words are out. Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.

She chuckles, and something glimmers in her eyes. “He is when he wants something bad enough.”

More heat blasts my face.

“You must be very proud of him,” I say, changing the subject.

“I’m proud of all of them. Practically raised each one, ye know.”

“I didn’t.” I glance over my shoulder at the four men that surround each other in the other room. Each one is good looking in their own way, but it’s Shane who stands out. Tall and rugged with a natural ease to his stance. Owen seems to be the leader, Cillian the broody one, and Aiden the most laid back of the four. But Shane lights up the whole room. And when he laughs, I can’t help but smile, feeling his happiness in my core.

“They’re good boys,” Agnus says on a sigh, and I see her glance over at the group. “All of them. Each one’s suffered their share.”

The men laugh and talk like they don’t have a care in the world. But then, I learned the hard way not to believe everything you think you know.

The woman’s hand rests on my arm, and she gives a small smile while studying me. “But I have a feeling ye know about sorrow. Ye’ve got the look in yer eyes.”

I suck in a breath, seeing the sympathy in the green eyes that are so much like Shane’s.

“My life hasn’t exactly turned out the way I thought it would,” I admit.

She nods. “It very rarely does. Pass me that pot, dear. And there’s some drying towels in the second drawer.”

After handing her the large pot, I find the towels and start wiping down the plates in the drying rack.

“Shane seems quite taken with ye.” Elbows deep in suds, she watches me for my reaction.

“I…” My gaze naturally drifts to Shane.

He catches me watching him and gives me a crooked smile before turning back to Owen and saying something that makes them all laugh.

“We don’t really know each other,” I admit. “We’re just…friends.” I’m starting to hate that word.

“Friends don’t look at each other the way ye two do.” She hands me a pot to dry, and gives me a knowing look.

“Mom,” Emer says sternly, coming into the kitchen. “Ye’re putting our guest to work, when I clearly told ye I’d do it in the morning.”

“I’m happy to help,” I say.

“Ye don’t need to be doing dishes when ye’ve got the baby to take care of,” Agnus says, continuing to scrub another pot.

“And ye’re supposed to be resting.”

Agnus mutters something under her breath that sounds more like Gaelic than English, then says, “I enjoy being busy.”

“At least, it keeps her out of trouble.” Emer winks at me. “Ye’ve got to watch this one. She’ll be planning yer wedding before ye even know ye’re engaged.”

Agnus clucks her tongue. “Ye were already married when I planned yer wedding. And I wouldn’t have had to do it if ye’d just done it right the first time.”

Emer rolls her eyes. “Getting married in Vegas or at the Sistine Chapel doesn’t make it any less real. I’d have been happy just to have lived common-law if I didn’t think it have given ye a stroke.”

“I would have disowned ye.” Agnus points a finger at her daughter, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not.

Emer rolls her eyes, but there’s a flash of humor there, and I realize that she’s enjoying getting a rise from her mom. But despite the constant battle of wills that I’ve seen between them tonight, the affection is clear.

“Shane said ye’re staying at Colleen’s house?” Emer takes the dry plate from my hand and places it in the cupboard.

I nod.

“I’ll stop by some time and see ye, then. That’s if ye’re not too busy.”

“I’d like that.” She reminds me a little of Quinn with her big, cheerful personality and natural way of making everyone want to be around her.

“Shane didn’t say what ye’re doing here,” Emer says, and both she and her mom watch me expectantly.

“It’s been a rough year. I just needed a change.”

Agnus nods. “Do ye have any family here?”

“No.”

She purses her lips, then says pointedly, “Well, ye do now. Ye need anything at all, ye just ask. No matter what.”

“Thank you.” Their kindness makes me slightly emotional. Other than my own family, I’ve felt disconnected from the people I once called friends. It’s nice to have people accept me just as I am, and not judge me based on what they think they know.

You don’t find that very often.

“What are the three of ye conspiring about over here?” Shane’s deep voice says behind me.

Emer grins up at her brother. “Mom was just getting all of Makena’s personal information so she can pass it along to Father Patrick. Were ye wanting a summer or a fall wedding?”

Surprising me, Shane just laughs and points a finger at her. “Ye’re a brat. And I’ll make ye pay for that.”

“As long as it’s not with teal bridesmaid gowns,” Emer says in a terrible American accent that sounds more like one of the Kardashians. “The color does nothing for my complexion.”

Shane scoops up a handful of dirty sink water and splashes her.

She puts her hands up in surrender, still laughing.

“Shane,” Owen says gruffly from the entranceway, walking toward us. “Ye’re going to want to see this.”

“What is it?” Shane asks, his grin gone.

Owen glances at me briefly, a small frown pulling at his lips, then hands his phone to Shane, who scrolls through whatever is on it, his features tightening the longer his eyes are glued to the screen.

“Fuck,” Shane mutters, then glances up at Owen. “Where did ye get them?”

“A kid’s blog. She posted them this morning. And because of…” Owen looks back at me and winces. “They’ve gotten a lot of views already.”

“Have them taken down.” It’s the first time I’ve heard real anger in Shane’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, having a bad feeling that whatever it is involves me.

Shane drags his hands through his hair, then hands me the phone. “Someone must have taken pictures of us this morning at the Shamrock.”

With trembling hands, I scroll through the photos. They’re innocent enough. Just two people sitting at a booth together, talking. Except we’re not just two people. And with the right headline, the media can spin the pictures any way they’d like.

“It’s not a big deal. We’ll have them taken down,” Shane assures me.

My gut twists, because I know that even if they can somehow manage to remove the photos, they’re already out there in cyberspace.

I came here to get away from all this.

Emotion tightens my throat, and if I didn’t have half a dozen pairs of eyes on me I’d probably let the tears that burn the back of my eyes fall.

“Can you take me home?”

Shane frowns down at me. He opens his mouth to say something, then clamps it shut and nods. “Let’s go.”