Padraig stood at the railing, looking out across the water. He’d remained at Mia’s until just after dawn, holding her as she slept. Then he’d laid her down on the couch, tucked her in and left a note with his phone number on it, asking her to call him later with the details about her doctor’s appointment.

The wind had died down a bit from the previous night, but not even the bright sun could penetrate the chill in the air. After leaving Mia’s apartment, he’d started to head home. However, he walked right by the pub, too keyed up and anxious to consider sleeping. Padraig did his best thinking while walking, so he’d spent the better part of three hours, zigzagging his way all over Baltimore as he’d tried to gather his thoughts, tried to find logic in something that didn’t make sense.

Twenty-six-year-old women didn’t die.

And while he knew that wasn’t true, he knew it should be.

Padraig was perfectly aware of the old adage that life wasn’t fair, but sometimes it went beyond unfair and straight to complete and utter shit.

He’d spent exactly twelve hours with Mia. Just twelve. And when he thought about her dying, it felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Probably because he wasn’t that much older than her, and he definitely wasn’t ready to die.

Like her, he had a list of things he wanted to do, and his list mirrored quite a bit of hers. Marriage, family, pets, travel. Even with the simpler things that were easier to accomplish. Mia wanted to dance in a club. He wanted to run in a marathon.

She wanted to see her next birthday, and now…he wanted to see her on that birthday. To watch her blow out the candles and plow through the cake, using nothing but her hands.

When he considered that, his path seemed very clear. Very straightforward.

And the idea that had kept him out of bed, walking the streets ’til dawn, took root. Held fast.

“Guess that settles that,” he murmured to the water, the anxiety he’d been suffering all night suddenly vanishing.

Despite his lack of sleep, there was a spring in his step now as he walked back to the pub. He’d made up his mind.

Padraig hadn’t made it a few feet inside before he spotted his dad behind the bar, unpacking a box of liquor, restocking the shelves.

Dad turned, giving him a quick up and down. “Out early or in late?”

“The latter,” he admitted as he sank down on a stool across the counter from his father.

“Ewan said Finn finished up your shift for you last night. Out with that new girl? What’s her name? Brooke?”

Padraig shook his head. “No. Not Brooke.” His father’s question reminded him that he needed to add one more thing to his to-do list. Call Brooke and break things off.

His response caught his dad’s attention. “No? Thought you liked Brooke.”

“I did. Do,” he corrected. “But it’s not going to work out between us.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Padraig took a deep breath. “I’m marrying someone else.”

Dad frowned. “Who?”

“Mia Curtis.”

“Who the hell is that?”

Padraig had anticipated the shocked response. After all, he’d just announced he was marrying a complete stranger. Regardless, Padraig’s mind was made up, and he wouldn’t be swayed. Which meant he needed to make his family understand.

“She’s a regular here at the pub. Moved to Baltimore about four months ago. Usually sits there.” Padraig pointed to Mia’s usual stool. “Reddish-blonde hair, green eyes, pretty, quiet. Roots for Chicago.”

Padraig should have led with the sports information. Dad was pretty good with names and faces, but he was Einstein when it came to remembering who everyone who’d ever darkened the door of the pub rooted for.

“I know who you mean. Didn’t realize the two of you were dating,” his dad said, obviously still confused.

“We aren’t.”

Dad put down the bottle of bourbon he’d been holding throughout their conversation and rested his palms on the low counter behind the bar. “Maybe we should take this from the top, because I’m missing a few hundred pieces. You’re marrying a stranger—”

“Mia,” Padraig added.

“You’re marrying this woman you barely know, whose name is Mia, because…” Dad paused, waiting for Padraig to fill in the blank.

“Because she’s dying.”

Dad never missed a beat. “Keep going.”

“She came into the bar last night, and I could tell something was wrong. She was visibly upset when she left, so I asked Finn to cover for me while I followed her to make sure she was okay.”

Dad nodded approvingly.

“She broke down just outside. The wind was brutal last night, so we walked to the Daily Grind, talked for a while. About everything—our families, our jobs. And then, she dropped the bomb. Said she has an inoperable brain tumor. Six months to live.”

“Jesus,” Dad muttered. “Poor little thing.”

“I walked her back to her place and we talked some more.” Padraig recalled his promise to Mia. “I was hoping Mom would go with her to her next doctor’s appointment. She went alone yesterday, and I’m not sure she heard much of anything else the guy said after he told her she was dying. Figure Mom might know what questions to ask, and suggest another doctor so Mia can get a second opinion.”

Dad rubbed his chin. “I’m sure your mom would be happy to. In fact, when you tell her what you’re telling me, I suspect she’ll insist on it.”

“She’s got nobody, Dad,” Padraig said at last. It was that part that bothered him the most. If, God forbid, he’d received the same diagnosis, Padraig would have been surrounded by no less than fifty friends and relatives, all ready to support him, care for him. “She’s new in town and estranged from her mother, who sounds like a pretty nasty person.”

“Paddy. You’ve got a heart as big as California. You always have. But, son, you can support this woman as her friend. You don’t have to marry her.”

“She, uh…she had a list of things she always thought she’d do before she died. First thing on it was to get married.”

“Did she ask you to marry her?” Dad asked.

Padraig shook his head. “God no. She doesn’t even know I’m thinking about it. Knowing her, she’ll turn me down flat. I’m going to have to take some time, help her work her way through the rest of her list and then, hopefully, I’ll be able to convince her.”

“Convince who?”

Padraig turned, surprised to see Pop Pop standing behind him.

“You’re here early.”

“Breakfast special is the Full Irish. You know I never miss that.” Pop Pop also never missed gossip. He’d arrived just in time to catch the very end of their conversation, and his curiosity was piqued. “So who are you convincing? And what are you trying to get them to do?”

“I’m going to ask Mia Curtis to marry me.”

Dad sighed and muttered something incoherent.

“I thought your girlfriend’s name was Brooke?” Pop Pop replied.

Padraig wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to call a family meeting and give them this news all together.

“Brooke isn’t my girlfriend. We’ve only gone out on a handful of dates.” Padraig looked from his grandfather to his dad. He’d spent his entire life emulating these men, trying to be like them. He didn’t doubt for a second they would understand why he wanted to marry Mia. He just needed to do a lot better job explaining it.

“Mia has an inoperable brain tumor, Pop Pop. The doctor has given her six months to live.”

“Oh my.” Pop Pop shook his head sadly. “She’s the little redhead who holds up the end of the bar every now and again, right?”

Padraig nodded. There was very little his Pop Pop didn’t notice.

“So young,” Pop Pop said with a sigh.

Dad ran his hand through his hair, giving away the stress Padraig’s announcement was causing him. “Apparently, she and Padraig spent a great deal of time together last night, and now—”

“I want to help her live the life she imagined for herself when she thought she had decades instead of months. She has a list. A bucket list, I guess you could say.”

Pop Pop was quiet for a moment, so Padraig followed suit, giving the older man time to think.

“Are you in love with this woman?” Pop Pop asked.

Padraig shook his head. “No. But I like her. A lot. She’s nice and funny and stronger than she realizes. She doesn’t deserve what she’s been given.”

“You like her,” Pop Pop said, looking at him closely.

Padraig could only begin to imagine what he must look like. He’d been up all night, his eyes felt dry and scratchy from the lack of sleep. Plus, he’d spent the last few hours outside in the freezing cold. His lips were chapped, his cheeks windburned, and his hair felt frozen to his scalp.

“Death is a hard thing. I suspect she could use a friend.” Pop Pop smiled at him.

“He’s not talking about being her friend, Pop,” Tris corrected.

“No, you’re right. He wants to marry her.”

Want seemed like the wrong word for a second or two. Then Padraig realized it wasn’t. He did want to marry her. “Yeah. I do. I really do.”

Pop Pop’s grin grew, and Padraig got the feeling he’d heard more in his response than what he’d actually said. “So marry her.”

“Pop—” Dad said, but Pop Pop raised his hand to cut him off.

“You disagree?” Pop Pop asked. “Think about it. Think about what your son is proposing to do. He wants to make a dying woman’s dreams come true. He wants to ensure she doesn’t die alone. Padraig plans to fill her last months with happiness, rather than sadness. If you’re unhappy with his decision, then maybe you should have raised him to be more selfish, less empathetic and less kind.”

Dad closed his mouth. It was damn hard to win an argument with Patrick Collins.

Padraig wasn’t trying to win anything, but Pop Pop’s words still resonated with him, gave him too many things to think about. Things his exhausted mind and impulsive nature hadn’t really considered.

Satisfied that the matter was closed, Pop Pop turned back to Padraig. “How many things on her list are achievable in the time that’s left?”

Padraig had given her list a great deal of thought this morning during his walk around the city. “All of them.”

Pop Pop smiled. “Good. A person should never leave this life with regrets. So, what do you need from the family?”

Padraig knew the answer to that. “Help convincing her to let me work through the list with her. I’m basically a stranger, so I sort of need you all to help me prove to her that I’m not a lunatic.”

“You’re doing a pretty good impersonation of one,” Dad muttered.

Pop Pop waved his hand as if Padraig’s concern was inconsequential. “You’re a charming, good-looking guy, Paddy. It won’t be a problem. Besides, you’ve got a whole arsenal of relatives ready to back you up. Although, on second thought, I suspect you’ll only need Riley. She can be very persuasive.”

Dad shook his head. “Christ, Pop. I’m putting my foot down there. The poor woman is sick. We’re not siccing Riley on her unless we need to. She’s the last resort.”

“Here’s what you’ll do.” Pop Pop began detailing Padraig’s plan of attack as more and more family members made their way over to the bar, adding their own ideas of how Padraig could convince Mia Curtis to spend her last six months with him.

Two hours later, he finally made it to his bed, exhausted but smiling.

* * *

Mia awoke to the sound of someone knocking on her door. She glanced at the clock on her DVR. It was nearly six, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall what day it was or if that six was a.m. or p.m.

Her initial doctor’s appointment had been Friday afternoon, and she’d ended that day with Padraig.

Ever since Padraig had left, she’d holed herself up in her apartment. She vaguely recalled texting the assistant manager at the office, telling him she would be out on Monday. But she couldn’t remember if she’d done that last night or the night before.

Waking up Saturday morning—alone—had given her too much time to think and ride on the emotional roller coaster. She was already sick of the goddamn thing. She wanted off.

Whoever was at the door knocked again. She ignored it. She hadn’t showered or eaten in days. Her eyes were gritty and sore from crying so much, and she didn’t feel like company.

“Mia. Open the door.” It was Padraig.

Friday was the last time she’d felt like a functioning human being, and it was because of him. His kindness.

At the time, she’d needed someone to talk to, and he’d offered a shoulder to cry on. Since then, she’d given up all semblance of trying. She had pulled the shades, turned off the lights and spent three—maybe four?—days alternating between restless sleep and crying. All of it done right where Padraig had left her. On the couch.

Padraig knocked again. Louder this time. She sat up, wincing. Her neck was wicked stiff, and she could still feel the dull ache left behind from yesterday’s migraine.

No. Not a migraine.

A tumor.

“Open the door, Mia, or I’m calling 9-1-1.”

She slowly stood, her legs weak, wobbly.

She made herself cross the room and unlock the door, pulling it open.

Mia didn’t have to check a mirror to know how bad she looked. She got a good enough sense of the damage through Padraig’s frowning expression.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I’m dying.”

Padraig’s eyes darkened at the bitterness in her voice. “Yeah. I heard that. Thing is, I’m pretty sure you’re not dying today. So go get a shower.”

Now it was Mia’s turn to frown. While Padraig had pledged friendship, they were nowhere near the point in their relationship where he could feel comfortable enough to tell her what to do.

“Excuse me?”

Padraig was smart enough to take heed. Rather than reply, he stepped inside and closed the door.

She’d spent the first couple of days, sitting around in a numb state of denial. This morning, she’d woken up pissed off at the world. In fact, her train was currently parked at the station of fiery outrage. Her anger was looking for an outlet, and since he was the only one here…

He glanced around the room and she followed suit. Mainly because she wasn’t sure what he was going to see. The fog that had surrounded her for days was only just beginning to lift.

It was as if she’d decorated the dimly lit room to match her outfit. Tissues were strewn across every piece of furniture, along with half-empty water bottles. She’d had more success in emptying the wine bottles. There were three—that she could see—lying on their sides next to the couch. Given the fact the only visible glasses she could see were the ones she and Padraig had used Friday night, it was safe to say she’d chugged her alcohol straight from the bottle.

There was a bottle of pills on the coffee table, the contents scattered across the dusty surface. And the couch was in a state of complete disarray, covered with crumpled blankets and three pillows that looked like they’d seen twelve rounds in the ring with a heavyweight champ.

Glancing down at herself, she decided the room probably looked better. She was still in the clothes she’d been wearing on Friday. The shirt was wrinkled, stained with red wine and beyond saving. Her pants hadn’t fared much better.

She ran a hand through her hair, but her fingers got stuck in the matted mess about two inches deep, and she had to give up on the quick finger brush.

“It’s funny,” she said, her voice sounding rough, hoarse from too many days of loud sobbing. “I used to be afraid of the dark. I’d wake up in the dead of night and panic.”

“What would you do?”

“Call out for my grandma. She’d come in, and the first thing she always did was turn on the light. She’d tell me to look around, so I could see there was nothing there in the dark that wasn’t there in the day. She would tell me there were no monsters lurking, not in the dark or in the light. She was wrong. There are monsters everywhere.”

“I should have come by sooner,” Padraig said at last. “I thought maybe you’d want some time to yourself. I won’t make that mistake again.”

She was taken aback by the guilt, the self-recrimination in his tone.

“You’re not responsible for me,” she said, trying to soften her words. She failed. Everything she said sounded like an accusation, which was ridiculous. What she said was true. Padraig, despite his vow of friendship, was basically a stranger.

Story of her life. She’d wasted her entire twenty-six years of existence, hanging out with strangers, never managing to form any close or lasting attachments. That was the one thing that kept coming back to her all weekend.

She was completely and utterly alone. And she had no one to blame for that but herself.

“Give me your hand,” Padraig said, holding his out. His voice was quiet, gentle, and she responded to it before she could consider her actions.

The moment her fingers touched his, a sense of peace washed through her. He’d held her hand Friday night, and now, like then, the simple gesture relaxed her, gave her comfort.

“Can I be brutally honest with you?”

She nodded, her anger fading fast.

“If your doctor’s diagnosis is right, we don’t have the time we need to let this friendship grow naturally. That means we’re going to have to start somewhere in the middle. Going to have to pretend we’ve known each other for years, rather than months. I went all through school with this girl, Kelli. We’ve been best friends since second grade. If I’m acting like a jackass, she has no trouble calling me out for it. And if I think she’s doing something dangerous, I give her the what for. You can do that with people you’ve been friends with forever because the relationship is solid. Kelli has seen me pissed off, brokenhearted and drunk as a skunk. I’ve seen her in full-out bitch mode, I endured her brief skanky phase in tenth grade, and I’ve returned that drunk-as-a-skunk favor and held her hair while she threw up after she’s gotten wasted.”

Mia grinned. “I’d like to meet Kelli. She sounds pretty cool.”

“I’ll introduce you.” Then he continued to explain what was on his mind. “My point is, you and I don’t have a shared history. And we might not have the luxury of time…”

Mia scoffed, even though she liked how he kept saying “might.” She’d seen the X-rays and she knew it wasn’t a “might” or an “if,” but there was something very comforting about the fact that he hadn’t written her off yet.

She wished she could muster that same determination. Dig deep and find some sort of positive in this. Or at the very least, the energy to make her final days count for something.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t there.

For the past few days, she’d tossed and turned on her couch, cursed God and Buddha, her mother, her sperm donor, and pretty much every other asshole who had ever looked through her rather than at her. At her lowest point, she’d taunted God to just go ahead and fucking kill her. Why bother with six months? What was he waiting for?

The worst part was…she still felt that way. Going through the motions, dealing with the worsening headaches, waiting and wondering if today was going to be the day she died, seemed like too much damn work for absolutely no reward.

What the hell did she have to live for?

It took her a few minutes to realize Padraig had stopped talking. She looked into his eyes and read the concern there.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ve already given up. You want to die now.”

She flushed, wondering if Padraig could somehow read minds. Then she recalled his ability to read faces, to look at a person and know if they were sad or angry or…praying for death. For four months, she’d watched him ask all the right questions at the bar whenever a patron came in and ordered a drink.

She gave him the truth because she had nothing else left to lose at this point. “It would be a lot easier.”

“I’m not letting you take the easy way out.”

It occurred to her now how the room must really look to him—the drawn shades, the empty wine bottles, the spilled pills. “I didn’t…I mean, I’m not planning to kill myself. I just think it would be easier if this tumor did whatever the fuck it’s going to do, and…”

Padraig squeezed her hand, then used his hold to tug her closer. He was a tall guy, with broad shoulders and a muscular build that sent the message he could definitely take care of himself in a fight. When their faces were just a few inches away, she saw the fierce determination in his gaze.

“From now on, I’m going to talk to you like I would Kelli. We’ve been friends forever.”

She wished that were true. Maybe her life would have turned out differently if she’d ever let someone get as close as Padraig had let Kelli.

“So as your forever friend, I’m putting my foot down. The pity party ends now. You’re going to get a shower while I clean up this mess. You’re going to put on some makeup, fix your hair, and then I’m taking you over to the pub for a hot meal. Maybe three hot meals. From the looks of you, I’d say you haven’t eaten anything in days. And then you and I are going to make some plans for the future.”

“That shouldn’t take too long.” Every time she thought the bitterness was under control, it found a way to seep out again.

“You get one of those a day. And that’s it.”

Mia grinned, completely enthralled by his heavy-handedness. No one had ever cared about her enough to tell her off, to put her in her place. The second anyone got too close, she backed away, made sure she was gone before they got too deep.

By skipping the trust-building phase, Padraig was thrusting her beyond her fears. Putting her in a place where the trust was assumed. Strangely, it wasn’t freaking her out.

“What’s the special tonight?” she asked, her stomach confirming what he’d just said. Now that he’d promised her food, she was starving.

“Lamb stew.”

Her stomach rumbled again, the return of her appetite sudden and painful.

“I’ll hurry.” She started toward the hall, but stopped at the sound of him picking up the wine bottles. “You don’t have to clean up. I can do that later.”

“It’ll give me something to do while I wait.”

She attempted to stare him down, but Padraig turned away and continued tidying. He clearly wasn’t the type of man to obey any order he didn’t agree with.

Mia locked herself in the bathroom, peeling off the clothes she’d worn for too long, dumping the entire outfit in the trash, and then climbing under the hot water.

The heat and steam and soothing jets worked out the tiny bit of tension remaining. Padraig had taken care of the rest of her anxieties with his take-charge attitude.

She gave her hair and makeup a lick and a promise because hunger was winning the war against vanity. Padraig had done wonders with her living room, the place put back together perfectly by the time she returned. He’d opened the shades, allowing the last rays of sunlight in as afternoon gave way to evening. He’d taken the environment from dreary cave to cozy home once more.

“Ready?”

She nodded, pulled on her coat and accepted his outstretched hand. Holding his hand was starting to feel normal in addition to nice.

They talked about a whole lot of nothing on their way to the pub. She told him a little bit more about her work and he filled her in on the latest hockey scores. It did indeed look like his Caps were heading to the Stanley Cup playoffs. Of course, so were her Blackhawks. They were still trash-talking when they entered the pub.

Monday night was typically one of her usual nights at Pat’s. Mainly because, like most everyone in the world, she hated the beginning of the work week, and she was tired at the end of the day. Plus, Mondays were slower at Pat’s, so the fact she was eating alone week after week was obvious to fewer people.

She started to walk to her usual stool, but Padraig tugged on her hand, guiding her to a table right in the middle of the room. Mia smiled as she sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “Sorry. Habit.”

He grinned at her. “Thought the table might be more private. My dad is manning the bar tonight and he’s a terrible eavesdropper. Plus, Pop Pop is here to watch the game and he’s nosier than an old woman. I suspect he’ll be over soon under the guise of ‘just saying hello’.”

“Should I prepare myself for the Spanish Inquisition?”

Padraig shook his head. “No. I don’t think it’ll be anything as serious as that. He already knows the worst about you.”

Mia’s smile faded. “Oh.”

Padraig sighed. “I wasn’t talking about the tumor. I mean, he does know about that, but I was actually referring to your misplaced devotion to the Blackhawks.”

Mia laughed, startling herself with the loudness and the actual joy behind it.

“My family sort of operates on a hive mind and a hive heart. I talked to my mom about your health concerns and it snowballed from there. Which means…they all know and they’re all worried about you.”

She tilted her head, confused. “They don’t even know me.”

Padraig seemed as flummoxed by her response as she was his. “You can’t feel empathy or concern for strangers? Hell, I wouldn’t even call you a stranger. When I mentioned your name, my dad and Pop Pop both knew exactly who you were, that you were from Chicago. That you were pretty and sweet.”

She blushed at his compliment. “Is charm a Collins’ trait as well?”

“It certainly is, young lady.”

Mia and Padraig looked up, both trying not to laugh as his Pop Pop stood next to the table.

“That didn’t take long,” Padraig muttered.

“Patrick Collins,” the older gentleman said, reaching out to shake her hand. “But you can call me Pat or Pop Pop.”

“Pop Pop?” she asked. “I don’t think—”

“Actually, I think I prefer that. So scratch the Pat part. You will call me Pop Pop.”

Mia wasn’t sure how to respond to yet another heavy-handed male. She would have thought that character trait a defect in a man, but somehow the Collins men made it feel appealing, and in Padraig’s case—God help her—sexy.

Maybe her problem dealing with men in this situation was her upbringing. Her adult role models growing up had all been female. Hell, even her boss was a woman. She lacked experience in the Y chromosome world.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said.

“Padraig tells us you’re from Chicago.”

She nodded. “Yes. Born and raised.”

“And you’ve moved to Baltimore because of a job opportunity?”

“I’m opening a satellite office for the company I’ve been working for the past five years. It’s an office supply store. My boss is an amazing woman, very driven and savvy. She started out with one office, but now she has two branches in Chicago, one in Atlanta, and this one in Baltimore.”

“She must think very highly of you and your work.”

Mia blushed and shrugged. “I guess.”

“No guessing about it. I like a person who isn’t afraid to roll up their sleeves and work hard.”

Mia smiled. The Collins men weren’t shy when it came to giving compliments. Before she could reply, Padraig’s dad appeared.

“You interrupting Padraig’s date, Pop?”

Mia started to correct the man about this being a date, but Padraig spoke first.

“Dad, this is Mia. Mia, this is my dad, Tristan.”

“Hello, Mr. Collins,” she said.”

“Tris,” Padraig’s dad corrected her. “Can I get the two of you something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Guinness. Thanks. Mia?”

She typically drank white wine, but she liked the idea of trying something different tonight. “I think I’ll have the same.”

Tris appeared impressed as he turned to get their drinks.

“A Guinness girl, eh?” Mr. Collins was smiling at her, and she felt her fondness for the older man growing with each passing minute.

“I’ve actually never had it.”

“You’ll love it. Who knows? Taste of Irish goodness might clear your head and help you to see the light about those damn Blackhawks. Tsk tsk tsk. And, with that, I’ll leave you two to your date.”

Mia shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s not like that. We’re just…” She didn’t bother to finish her sentence because Mr. Collins was already gone, settling back onto his stool at the bar, his gaze glued to the beginning of the hockey game.

Tris returned with their drinks, but like Pop Pop, he was clearly distracted by the game. He set the beers down with a quick “enjoy” and was back at the bar within seconds.

“Your family is very nice.”

“Thanks.”

She sort of expected Padraig to follow suit with his dad and Pop Pop and start watching the game. After all, he was a die-hard fan as well, and it was his beloved Caps playing. She was pleasantly surprised to discover all his attention was on her.

“We could move over to the bar if you wanted to watch the game with them. I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “I’ve seen a million hockey games in my life, Mia. This one can go on without me. I actually brought you here so that we could—”

“Hey, Paddy.”

They looked up to discover yet another relative next to the table.

Padraig sighed. “Mia, this is my aunt Riley. And,” he paused for three seconds as a beautiful dark-haired woman approached as well, “my aunt Keira.”

He looked over their shoulders as if searching for someone. “Where’s Mom?”

Riley grinned. “Sitting over on Sunday’s Side. We thought it might be annoying if we all just swooped around you at the same time.”

Padraig rolled his eyes as Mia laughed.

“Hey, Mom,” he called out loudly.

A head peeped around the corner, and Mia stood slowly as Padraig’s mother walked over to their table.

“Mia, this is Lane,” Riley said, taking over the introductions.

Mia hoped there wasn’t a test later. She stretched out her hand, but Lane bypassed it, drawing her into a warm embrace.

“Padraig has filled me in on just a bit of what the doctor told you. I know your next appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I was thinking the two of us could go out to lunch beforehand and make a list of the questions you have.”

Mia blinked rapidly, surprised by the sudden wash of tears. She was touched by the kindness being shown to her tonight. “That would be nice, but I don’t mean to monopolize so much of your day.”

Lane waved away her concern. “We’re going to get the answers we need, Mia. After the consultation, we’ll come back here and figure out our next course of action. Okay?”

The more Padraig’s family offered to help her, the more Mia realized she never would have been able to do all of this on her own. “I’m not sure how to thank you—”

“No thanks necessary. Now, I’m going to take my sisters-in-law back to Sunday’s Side and let you two get back to your date.”

“It’s not—” Mia started again, but Padraig drowned her words out once more.

“We’ll both have the special, Aunt Riley.” He looked at Mia. “You want an appetizer? Bread?”

She shook her head. After so long without food, she was worried about overeating. “Just the stew will be great.”

Riley promised to bring the food right out and, once more, she and Padraig were alone. Not that Mia expected that to last long. Family members appeared to crawl out of the woodwork around here.

“I really do appreciate your mom’s willingness to go see the doctor with me.”

Padraig reached across the table and took her hand. “I’d like to go too, if that’s alright with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. I have a bunch of questions for your doctor myself.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Spent the better part of the weekend talking to my mom and looking some stuff up online. Apparently, treatment plans and such depend on the size and location of the tumor. And just because this guy doesn’t see much hope—”

“Any,” she corrected. “He doesn’t see any.”

Padraig frowned. “My mom has the name of a brain surgeon. One of the best in the country. She has some connections and thinks she can get you in to see him. We’re not packing it in just yet.”

Again with the word “we.” Mia couldn’t believe how such a tiny two-letter word could provoke such a powerful, overwhelming feeling of happiness inside her.

Padraig glanced around the room and, for a moment, she thought he actually looked a little nervous.

“Listen,” he began. “Before any more of my family makes their way over here, I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been giving a lot of thought to your list.”

“My list?”

“The things you thought you would do before you died.”

Mia recalled Friday night and how she’d rattled off all of her regrets. “Oh. Yeah. What about it?”

“I think I can help you achieve them.”

She frowned. “Which ones?”

“All of them.”

Mia considered his comment, then decided he must be joking. There was no way she could accomplish even half of the things she’d mentioned. “That’s not possible.”

“You’re wrong.”

She was starting to recognize Padraig’s “stubborn” tone, the sound that emerged whenever he was determined to do whatever he wanted despite her arguments.

“Padraig,” she argued, “I’m not even going to get past number one.”

“Maybe not right away, but…”

“But?” she prodded.

“Let’s focus on the others first. You have a passport?”

Mia nodded numbly, trying to figure out if Padraig was kidding or not. He’d promised her a lifelong friend, which for them meant two people with a pretend past and a short-term future.

“Good. We’re going to tackle Paris by way of Harry Potter World.”

“Florida isn’t on the way to France.”

Padraig laughed. “It will be the way we do it.”

Mia fell silent when Riley appeared and placed a basket of freshly baked bread on their table. All she said was, “You look hungry,” before she returned to the kitchen.

“Listen,” Mia began. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I’m actually overwhelmed by all of,” she lifted her hands and gestured toward his family, “this. But you have your own life to live, Padraig. I don’t expect you to put everything on hold just because I have this stupid tumor in my head.” She rubbed her brow, realizing the dull ache that was always there was less painful tonight than it had been in a long time. Probably because Padraig was distracting her. Typically, she was alone with too much time to think. And feel.

“Hear me out, Mia. The other night, when you started making that list, I realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“None of us get any guarantees in life. I sat in your living room and listened to all your dreams, and I realized many of them were the same as mine. We have a chance to chase a few of them together.”

“Padraig. I can assure you. I’m not going to be great company. In addition to my constant headaches, I’m bound to be an emotional train wreck. You can’t honestly think that sounds like a good time.”

He didn’t appear to agree. “You can be anything you want to be, Mia. Happy, sad, angry. I suspect you’ll be all of those in the months to come. But you have to remember something. Life isn’t measured in years. It’s measured in moments. I want to be there for your moments.”

Mia swallowed heavily, certain she’d never heard a more beautiful request. If only they’d started talking before…

Before.

“You don’t seriously expect me to believe Harry Potter World was on your bucket list,” she said, trying to lighten the moment, trying to make this very sweet man understand that, while she would be forever grateful for his kindness, she couldn’t let him turn his world upside down for her.

Padraig gave her a wicked grin. “I can go upstairs right now and bring down my Seamus Finnigan wand.”

She laughed. “Please tell me you’re kidding. Who owns a Seamus wand?”

“Might have been a gag gift from my brother Colm for Christmas a couple of years ago. Got drunk one night during a Harry Potter marathon—okay, drinking game, my cousins have issues when it comes to parties—and went on a rant about how Voldemort never would have made it to book seven if there’d been more Irish in the series.”

Mia pressed her hand over her mouth, trying not to keep laughing. “I’m not going to lie. That explanation just raises more questions in my mind. You were playing a Harry Potter drinking game?”

“We took a shot of whiskey every time they said He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“First of all, that’s sacrilegious, and I hope you’ll invite me the next time you play. Colm seriously got you a Seamus wand?”

He nodded.

“I didn’t even know they made a Seamus one.”

“Had my Irish on that night. The name Seamus always reminds me of an old Irish folktale my Pop Pop told me when I was a kid. Not going to lie. Colm gave the wand to me as a joke, but I like it. Feel like maybe there’s a bit of magic fighting to get out of me.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” she said, giving in. “Maybe Harry Potter is on your list, but Paris?”

“You’re joking, right? Tour de France? FIFA?”

Mia shook her head. “It’s beginning to occur to me that I’ll never win an argument with you.”

Padraig leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Good. Glad we’ve crossed that bridge early. Now we can stop wasting time.”

“What bridge?”

“The one where you keep fighting me. Here’s what’s going to happen next. We’re going to the doctor tomorrow and getting some answers. If this is something we can fight, we will.”

“And if not?” she forced herself to ask.

“We start working our way down that bucket list.