“Ignore him,” Will said to me. “He’s a busybody who loves nothing more than knowing what’s going on with every person he meets so he can give them shit about it. Don’t tell him a thing. Make him suffer.”

Max reached out to stop a waitress who was passing our table. “Sorry, love. Think you could bring this one ’round a bowl of bran?” he said, motioning to Will. “He’s a wee bit irritable this morning and a bit of fiber might help to sort him out.”

The waitress looked between them and nodded awkwardly, before walking away. For his part, Will just chuckled into his cup.

I was beginning to see that this was just their thing, and exactly what Niall had meant when he’d said his brother was a character. I could stay here all day and watch it.

“Would you like me to leave you two alone?” I asked finally. “I could let you have my hotel room for the day?”

They both turned to me; Max was already laughing.

“This one’s got your number,” he said to Will. “Quite like to keep her ’round.”

“You sure your guy’s ready for her?” Will said, lifting his chin to me. “She’s got some fire and Niall—”

“Aw, he’s all right, in’t he?” Max cut in, sounding sweetly protective. “Just needs to clean his system of the other one. Bloody nag, she was. Niall likes adventure as much as the next bloke.”

I nodded in emphatic agreement.

“I think you’re right,” Will said. “What was it you said about repressed sexual energy?”

“Enough to power the whole bloody city, if you ask me,” Max said. “That’s where his real urban planning skill would come in—hooking himself up to the grid . . .”

Will laughed into his mug. “Well, it worked for Chloe and Bennett. A little boss, a ball-busting intern—”

“Niall is not my boss,” I said, with perhaps a bit too much conviction. It was like someone gathered up all of the awkward in the room, wrapped it up in a bow, and dropped it right in the middle of our table.

Thankfully, they were each polite enough not to acknowledge it. Instead they took sips of their coffee, straightened their silverware, and checked the time. Subtlety was not their strong suit.

“Okay,” I said with a sigh, unable to take their dramatic silence any longer. “I like him. A lot.”

Max’s enormous grin was back and God, just like his brother, so damn endearing.

“Now you’ve done it,” Will said. “This limey’ll never butt out. Might as well invite him to move in. Plan all your dates, your wedding. Name your children—”

“Just be patient with him,” Max said, ignoring Will. “He’s a tough egg to crack.”

“I’m discovering this,” I said. “He is not skilled in the art of the overshare.”

Max laughed and lifted his cup in reply. “He may not say much, but I can assure you that for every one thought Niall verbalizes, there are at least six running through his head. Been like that his whole life.”

“Great.” I dipped my head, staring at what was left of the foam floating at the surface of my latte.

Across from me, Max set down his coffee. “Allow me to be protective big brother for a moment though, yeah?”

I looked up and his expression softened when I murmured, “Of course.”

Even Will, who seemed to realize the serious turn the conversation was taking, leaned forward to listen.

“My brother is loyal to a fault, always has been. Whether to us, or his job, or a woman. I’m not sure how much you know about his divorce . . .” he said, letting the implied question—what has he told you?—hang in the air.

“We’ve talked about it,” I answered, wanting to be honest but not wanting to betray Niall’s fragile trust. “A little. I get the sense she was . . .”

How to finish that sentence?

“Maybe a little difficult?” I said delicately.

“Well put,” Max said with a knowing wink. “I think his loyalty is why he stayed for so long. And why, I think in many ways, he feels like he failed . . . or should have done something different, left sooner. She wouldn’t have been happy no matter what, but that’s a tough truth to accept. He’s had a rough go of it this year.”

“I sense that.”

“Give him time. Might have to chip away at the outside, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Niall was at his desk when I walked in, and I closed the door behind me. His pen stopped moving midsentence, and he set it down, slipping off his glasses to look at me. His eyes moved from the tips of my patent leather pumps to the top of my hair. Heat curled in my stomach and slithered lower.