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A couple of days after my children left, I was rushing to get ready for my date with Bradley.

It was our third.

And it was not working.

Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, he was interesting. Yes, he was interested in me.

But what I was trying not to admit to myself, and failing, was that he wasn’t Mickey.

He wasn’t so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. He didn’t make me feel so hard I lost sight of everything, even if with Mickey, much of what I felt with him was angry.

Mickey was not an option for me. He didn’t find me attractive. I knew that.

And he’d still ruined me.

Also, who actually did make people call them Bradley?

That reminded me of my father, who persisted in calling my brother Lawrence, when my brother hated that and everyone, even my mother, called him Lawr and he allowed me (and my kids) to call him Lawrie.

So I was going to have to end it with Bradley, something I had no clue how to do because that, too, was something I hadn’t done in decades.

Fortunately, in all the time he’d been gone, Boston Stone had only called twice, and one time I had been working at Dove House so he left me a message (that I didn’t return), and the other time I’d been having lunch with Ruth and Dela so it was rude to talk to him, except briefly.

In that brief time he’d told me he was coming home imminently, so I’d have to deal with him too.

I could have worse problems, I knew, having a husband who’d ended it with me. Being on the other side of that was always the wrong side to be.

So I had to be a grownup and get on with it.

I was digging through my makeup tray trying to find the lipstick I was looking for when my phone on the bathroom counter rang.

I looked to it and my heart stopped beating.

It was Conrad.

He’d never phone unless something was wrong with the kids.

I snatched it up, sucking in breath, took the call and put the phone to my ear.

“Conrad?”

“I’ll thank you to phone your brother and tell him to stop badgering me.”

I shot straight and looked unseeing into the mirror.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“He’s phoned twice, laying into me about turning my children against you, and I’ll not have it, Amelia.”

“Our children, Conrad.”

“What?” he clipped.

“Our children,” I repeated. “And if Lawrie’s calling you and you don’t want to hear from him, don’t answer the phone.”

“If this is your latest tactic—”

“Right,” I cut him off. “We’re not doing this,” I declared firmly. “I had no idea Lawrie was calling you but he’s a big boy. He does what he does. I can’t control him. I’ll phone him to ask him to stop. If he doesn’t, you be a big boy and don’t take his calls. Problem solved. What I won’t do is have you blaming me for something I didn’t do. And, I’ll ask, since I didn’t do it, that you don’t bitch to our children about their uncle badgering you when calling twice is hardly badgering, and doing that bitching blaming that on me. Truly, Conrad, with all that’s happening, you should man up and not complain to our children about the situation you created.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked hostilely.

“Think on it,” I answered. “Now, I’m late preparing for a date and I have to get going. But I’ll say one last thing and that is, you made it clear that communication between us should be curtailed completely. I’ve had you communicating with me twice while I’ve been in Maine, and twice it was unpleasant and unnecessary. So that goes both ways. I’ll leave you to your life. You leave me to mine. And in between, we share our children. Now, have a good evening, Conrad.”

“Amel—” he started.

I hung up and when I saw his name pop on my screen when my phone started ringing again almost immediately, I ignored it and kept digging for my lipstick.

* * * * *

“Yes, two. I have a reservation. Bradley Tinsdale,” Bradley said to the hostess as I stood by him, holding his hand, looking into the restaurant called The Eaves that I knew was very nice because I could see it. But also because Josie and Alyssa had both squealed over it when I told them Bradley was taking me there (well, Josie hadn’t actually squealed, but her excitement was clearly evident).

At that moment, it made me nervous because Bradley was taking me somewhere very nice, each date the escalation of nice was rising, as with each date the make out session at my door got more heated (okay, so there was only one other time, still that time was more heated).

I didn’t know if he was hoping to coax me into bed by buying me increasingly more expensive meals (which wasn’t happening) or if with each date he liked me more and was trying harder to impress me.

Neither was good since I was ending things with him that night (prior to any make out session happening, obviously).

This was what was consuming my thoughts when I heard the hostess say, “Please, follow me,” and felt Bradley tug my hand.

I followed him wishing I hadn’t used my most awesome outfit on this.

It was my first little black dress since Conrad divorced me. Simple. Skintight. Hem well above the knee (but not skanky). V at back and front, both deep, front exposing cleavage, back exposing skin all the way down to my black, lacy bra strap (which I hoped would be attractive should the V dip lower).

The dress was an Alyssa pick and it might be simple, but it was spectacular (incidentally, the lacy black bra was also an Alyssa pick, it was not simple and the jury was out on if it was skanky because it, and its matching panties, were sexy).

My legs were bare but I’d used this oil/lotion stuff on them that Robin had bought me for Christmas the year before that I’d never had a reason to use. But I found the results were divine as it gave a sheen to my skin that seemed natural, was absolutely not, but it was utterly fabulous.

On my feet I had black pointed-toed, slingbacks with pencil-thin heels, these covered in lace so the rim of the shoe was scalloped delicately…and amazingly.

I’d also spent a huge amount of time on my hair, arranging it in a messy side bun that took ages to pull off but I thought looked great.

Why I’d gone gung-ho, I didn’t know. The outfit didn’t say, “I’m ending it.” It said something else entirely.

Except perhaps that night, I was using my clothes as armor.

My mind still consumed with what would happen at the end of the evening (as well as uselessly contemplating the pros and cons of my outfit, something I should have done two hours ago), it came as a surprise when I heard Cillian cry, “Amy!”

I was studying my toes in my amazing shoes moving across the carpet, so at my name, my head shot up, and at what I saw, my whole body jolted.

Seated at a table were Cillian in a white dress shirt, Aisling in a pretty pink dress, and Mickey in his own white dress shirt under a well-cut, navy blue sports jacket.

They were perusing menus.

Oh God.

Why?

Why me?

Cillian circled his hand to me as Aisling turned and looked over her shoulder, the timid smile on her face dying the instant she saw Bradley.

That troubled me but I had no time for it because Mickey looked our way.

When he did, his eyes dropped the length of me and shot up, cut to Bradley briefly, then back to me, his face turning to stone.

Seeing that, how my daughter could think he was into me, I had no idea. He obviously disliked me and I knew this because he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Do you know them?” Bradley murmured, pulling me closer to him.

“They’re my neighbors,” I answered.

“Put the menus at our table, please. We’ll be there shortly,” Bradley ordered the hostess.

She nodded and swept away.

Bradley pulled me to the Donovan table.

“Hey!” Cillian cried when we got close and then announced upon our arrival, “It’s my birthday.”

Shit.

I didn’t know.

I controlled the accusatory look I wanted to throw Mickey’s way and instead smiled big at Cillian.

“First, happy birthday,” I said. “And second, please assure me that you accept late gifts.”

His smile got bigger. “Totally.”

“Also, assure me that you provide late wish lists,” I went on.

He beamed. “Totally.”

“Good,” I said, still smiling at him. “I expect that list to be in my mailbox by noon tomorrow.”

“You got it!” Cillian cried.

Bradley squeezed my hand and I quickly looked up at him, realizing I was being rude.

“Sorry,” I murmured then looked to the table. “Let me make the introductions. Bradley, this is the Donovan family. Aisling, Mickey and Cillian, the birthday boy. Donovan family, this is Bradley Tinsdale.”

Mickey stood and offered a hand wordlessly.

Bradley took it.

They both looked into each other’s eyes and held their grip two shades too long.

I fought squirming.

“Nice to meet you,” Bradley said to the table when he and Mickey finally disconnected.

Mickey seated himself, his eyes coming to me, and when they did, it felt like they were skewering me.

He was angry, plain to see.

But I couldn’t imagine how that could be.

“What?” I mouthed silently, gaze on Mickey.

His eyes dipped, came up to catch mine and they narrowed.

He was communicating, I just didn’t know what he was saying.

“What?” I mouthed again, leaning forward a little to put emphasis on my soundless word.

“Amelia?” Bradley called.

My body gave another jolt and I looked up at him to see him watching me closely.

“Yes?” I asked, trying to pretend he hadn’t just caught me mouthing to Mickey.

“Would you like to go to our table or chat with the Donovans?” he asked politely, but a little stiffly.

“We should probably go to our table,” I replied and looked to Mickey’s family, concerned to see Aisling had righted in her seat, this meaning she had her back to Bradley and me, which was impolite for a girl who was never that way. “Wish list, kiddo. Tomorrow. Noon,” I said Cillian.

“You got it,” Cillian replied, still smiling.

“Aisling,” I said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She glanced up at me swiftly and then away, muttering, “Good to see you, Amy.”

I braced and looked at her father. “Mickey.”

“Amy,” he replied, drawing his brows together and again dipping his eyes before they came back to mine.

I had no opportunity to make a further fool of myself by soundlessly demanding to know what Mickey was saying because Bradley drew me away.

When we got to our table, he pulled my chair out and I sat in it. Then he sat. And thankfully we did this, ordered drinks and received them, all without incident.

We were perusing our menus when I looked across the three tables that separated us and saw Bradley’s back was to the Donovans, but Mickey’s side was to me and his head was turned my way, his complete attention on me.

And I could tell he was still angry.

Very angry.

That was when I had my first inkling I was in trouble.

He jerked his head in an aggressive manner that irked me.

Chancing a glance at Bradley, who was studying his menu, I looked back to Mickey, tipped my head to the side and flipped out a hand in my non-verbal, “what?”

He lifted a hand and jabbed a finger my way, tipping it slightly down, then up, then moving it to touch it to his chest.

Oh God.

Did I have something on my dress?

I looked down instantly and saw all was clear.

I lifted my head, snapped my brows together, and after another click glance at Bradley, who was still examining his menu, I looked back at Mickey and again flipped my hand out.

Her jerked his head in that aggressive way again but not toward me, in another direction.

I looked in that direction and saw there was a door to a hallway, above which it had a sign that read “Restrooms.”

I looked back to Mickey’s table to see he was no longer there. He was up and prowling infuriatedly toward that door, looking insanely hot doing this in his sports jacket.

God, he was killing me.

“What looks good to you?” Bradley asked.

Mickey Donovan, I did not answer.

“I need a moment,” I said and his head came up, his eyes to me. “Just need to freshen up a bit. Do you mind?” I asked.

“No, Amelia,” he replied, his face getting soft. “Take all the time you need.”

He was a nice man.

And I was an idiot.

Even knowing that, it didn’t stop me from grabbing my clutch and shooting out of my chair perhaps a wee bit too swiftly for someone who’d just insinuated she might need to use the restroom but mostly she wanted to fix her lipstick.

Then I stormed across the restaurant to the hall and down it.

It was a long hall and at the end of it, another hall led off at a T with a sign that said “Restrooms” with an arrow pointing right, “Staff Only” with an arrow pointing left.

I went right, passing the men’s (why was the men’s room always first? irritating) and then the ladies’, heading to the very end of the hall where Mickey was standing, arms crossed on his chest, scowling at me.

I shoved my clutch under my arm, again lifted both hands, stomping his way, but this time I asked a verbal, “What?”

I arrived at him.

Then I was not in the hall but shoved into an alcove off the side, which was quite possibly a place where they put racks to hang coats during winter months but right then was a dark space totally removed from everything.

“Mickey,” I whispered, half in shock, half something else entirely.

“Uh…no,” he said infuriatedly and bafflingly.

“No, what?” I asked, staring up at him, not believing I was in a dark area removed from a restaurant where my date was, his kids were, and I was pressed against a wall by an aggressive, inexplicably angry Mickey Donovan.

“No,” he repeated but he did this shocking me to my bones by lifting a finger and gliding it from the very start of the cleft of my cleavage over that cleft, dipping slightly into my cleavage.

Even though his touch made my nipples harden instantly, I lifted my hand and snatched his finger away, keeping hold of it.

“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.

“Pull your goddamned dress up,” he clipped under his.

“Are you crazy?” I kept hissing.

“That guy, fuckin’ Bradley, is that a joke?” he asked.

I didn’t know what that meant.

That didn’t stop me from snapping, “No.”

“Amy, even your ex, who’s a dick, is not as big of a douche as that douche at your table.”

Oh my God!

“Bradley is not a douche,” I retorted.

“Bradley is a douche and you do not give cleavage to a douche who you’re gonna let take you out for a couple of dinners and then dump his ass when you figure out he’s a douche.”

“For your information, I’m ending things with Bradley tonight, but not because he’s a douche, since he’s not. He’s nice. Because it just isn’t working for me.”

Mickey’s expression clouded over with sudden brotherly affront. “And you’re showin’ your tits to give him a look at what he’s not gonna get?”

I felt my face get pink and not in ways that Mickey normally made it pink.

Because I was furious.

“I have cleavage because my dress has cleavage, Mickey.”

“Pull up the dress, Amelia.”

I looked from side to side in mock panic before looking back to Mickey, letting his finger go, and grasping frantically at his lapels.

“Oh God!” I cried. “Did I enter a time machine and didn’t notice it? Are we back in 1818 where a man can drag a woman into an alcove at an eating establishment and demand she cover herself up?”

Mickey didn’t answer, and him not having a ready comeback surprised me enough to pay closer attention.

And what I saw was him looking down at me, his face thunderous, his jaw ticking, looking like he could easily murder someone, painfully and bloodily.

And the closest someone was me.

“Mickey,” I whispered, uncurling my fingers in order to smooth his jacket and then hopefully slide away and escape.

I didn’t get that far.

He muttered a terse, “Fuck it.”

And then he was kissing me.

Mickey Donovan was kissing me!

At first, I was suspended in utter disbelief.

Then his tongue touched my lips, I opened my mouth, it slid inside…

And I tasted Mickey.

He was the most beautiful taste to ever touch my tongue.

Because of that, I wanted more.

And I took it, in doing so receiving the best kiss I’d had in my life.

It was deep, wet, blazing.

So much of all that I forgot everything.

I forgot I was in a restaurant.

I forgot I was on a date.

I forgot my date was in said restaurant.

I forgot Mickey’s kids were there.

I forgot everything.

Everything, but Mickey.

It consumed us both in its blistering heat to the point mouths and tongues weren’t enough and we both started groping.

I was right.

He was hard and he was hot, everywhere I touched.

I loved it.

And his hands on me, over my clothes, did things to me I didn’t know I could feel.

I whimpered against his tongue and he tore his mouth free.

But he didn’t go far and I found myself pressed to a wall by the solid heat of Mickey, his fingers tangled in my hair, his other hand cupped on my behind. My arms were in his jacket, one hand clenched in the back of his shirt, the other one pressed tight against his rock-hard shoulder blade.

We were both breathing heavily.

“Two choices, Amelia,” he stated in a low, throaty voice that sped right between my legs, forcing the wet already gathering there from the kiss to become soaked. “You either go out there and tell that guy to take a hike, come and sit at our table and have Cillian’s birthday dinner with us or you go out there, get that guy outta here, end it with him and I’ll be over later.”

“It would be rude to tell him to take a hike,” my mouth said for me.

“Then get his ass outta here, end it and I’ll be over later.”

Oh God, what was happening?

“Mickey,” I whispered.

He pressed me into the wall and his fingers slid deeper into my hair, gripping my side bun as his hand at my behind clenched.

Sodden was history, now I feared I was dripping.

“Get him outta here, Amy,” he growled.

“Okay, Mickey,” I breathed.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and he muttered, “Right across the street, fuck.”

“Mickey, I think—” I began.

He interrupted me, “You think for the next three hours that you’re gonna think about anything but that kiss and ending it with that guy, I’m gonna kiss you again, Amy, so you won’t.”

He couldn’t kiss me again. If he did, I’d lose thought of everything and probably end up having sex against the wall in a dark alcove in a fancy restaurant with Mickey.

“I don’t think I’ll forget that kiss,” I told him breathily.

“Right,” he bit off, sounding angry.

“Are you angry?” I asked.

“Are you gonna walk out to that guy wearing that dress?” he asked back.

“Well…yes.”

“Then yeah, I’m angry.”

More baffling.

“Why?” I asked.

“Reverse roles and think of me walkin’ out to a woman who was wearing that dress,” he clipped.

That wasn’t baffling.

“Oh.”

I had a feeling my fourteen-year-old daughter was right.

Mickey Donovan was into me.

“Now are you gonna be cute, which means I’m gonna have to kiss you again, which will maybe be so hot I won’t be able to stop it this time so I’ll have to fuck you against a wall in the hall of a restaurant while my kids are waiting for me to eat my son’s birthday dinner? Or are you gonna get your ass to the table and get that guy outta here?”

I was breathing heavier when I answered, “I’m gonna get that guy outta here.”

“Good call.”

We stared at each other and didn’t move.

This lasted long moments before Mickey noted, “You aren’t leaving.”

“You have to let me go, honey,” I whispered.

“Fuck,’ he whispered back, and the unbearable happened.

His fingers slid out of my hair, his hand glided away from my bottom, and he stepped back.

I felt like a treasure chest full of gold had been bared to me, all mine for the keeping, and then the minute I dug my fingers into the gleaming coins, it disappeared in a blink.

“Go, baby,” he ordered gently.

I held his gaze, licked my lips, rolled them together and nodded.

Then I started to go but stopped when he called a soft, “Amy.”

God, just my name on his lips made me even wetter.

I turned to him to see he’d grabbed my forgotten clutch from where it had dropped to the floor and was holding it out to me.

I took it, whispering, “Thanks.”

“Go,” he whispered back.

I took off, wisely going first to the bathroom to fix my hair (it didn’t look near as good when I finished, then again, I didn’t have a lot of time and my hands were shaking).

I also put lipstick on.

But there was no way to hide I looked like I’d been kissed. Thoroughly. My lips were swollen, my cheeks flushed, my eyes dazed. I tried to rectify it but I didn’t have time enough for that either.

This would be to my fortune, though not entirely, for it would make my errand of getting Bradley out of the restaurant easy, it was just that doing it wasn’t pleasant.

He’d noticed Mickey gone.

He noticed my thoroughly kissed mouth and disheveled side bun when I returned.

So when I shared gently we had to leave so we could talk, he threw an acid look Mickey’s way before he tossed his napkin down, pushed his chair back, got out his wallet, flung some bills on the table and stalked away.

He didn’t help me out of my seat.

He didn’t hold my hand as he marched out of the restaurant.

And he went so fast, I had to hurry to keep up so I could only glance and wave at the Donovan table.

Mickey was looking at me, his look was a mix of annoyed and heated.

Cillian waved at me.

Aisling only glanced at me but when she looked away, she smiled a little smile like the cat who just got her cream.

* * * * * *

I was pacing in front of my wall of windows, phone to my ear.

I was also babbling.

To voicemail.

“Okay, so I know I pulled back. I know you tried to keep in touch with me. I know I had a lot of things on my mind but you were one of them and I should have let you know that and not just through texts,” I said to Robin’s mailbox. “But a lot was happening with me, is happening with me, and while that happened, I made a lot of mistakes. Lots of them.”

I pulled in a deep breath and kept babbling.

“But later tonight, a man is going to ring my doorbell and I know in my heart I won’t be making a mistake opening it to him. But I screwed up so bad picking Conrad, who I knew in my heart was the man for me, I’m scared to death because that man that’s soon arriving and I…it’s been rocky. It’s been…Robin, it’s been really rocky.”

I closed my eyes and started winding it down.

“I’m shutting up now. And I’m hoping to all that is holy that you’re not communicating with me because you’re angry with me and not because something has happened with you and nobody’s told me.”

I turned and looked out at the sea.

“Call me,” I finished. “Please, Robin, call me. And if you’re angry with me, then at least text me to tell me you’re okay.”

With that, I ended the call.

I stopped pacing and looked out the windows.

Suffice it to say, while Bradley was wasting no time (and scaring me a little) driving like a madman to get me home and dump me at my house, he didn’t mind at all that I was ending things.

He also didn’t walk me to the door or even wait to reverse out of my drive and take off before I got to it.

This was beyond awkward and it made me feel like a bitchy slut, or a slutty bitch (no, actually, both).

So after I let myself inside and turned on a lamp by the TV, walked to the kitchen and flipped on the pendants over the bar, I put my clutch on the counter and dug out my phone.

Then I texted him, There’s no excuse for what happened tonight so I won’t try to make one. I’ll only say I’m very sorry. I enjoyed our time together and I’m sad that it ended this way.

I said no more, not telling him he’s a good man and he’ll find someone, which would probably not be something he wanted to read from me. Nor did I tell him I wasn’t leading him on or playing games and that things with Mickey and I were complicated, which was true but would sound banal to him and also something he wouldn’t want to read. Nor did I tell him I hoped he didn’t think badly about me because that was selfish and likely an impossible feat.

I kept it short and offered my apologies. It was the only thing I could do.

I fretted for a while about my behavior but the fretting drifted away and the pacing started when it sunk in completely that Mickey Donovan had kissed me.

Kissed me.

I didn’t know how that could happen. I’d kissed him and he’d pulled away, told me I was…“attractive,” gave no indication he was interested in me, and in fact gave lots of indication he didn’t much like me.

When the fretting about that started to overwhelm me, I’d called Robin.

With that call done, now I had hours before Mickey would show at my door, possibly to kiss me again (which caused such extreme excitement I felt the urge to go straight to the toy in my nightstand drawer and make use of it). He also possibly would ask me out, which was frankly unfathomable (or had been, until he kissed me).

Or he possibly would come over in order to tell me what happened at the restaurant was a huge mistake and he thought it best we never see each other again.

Which would mean I’d lose Mickey even though I didn’t have Mickey and when I did, we were fighting.

Even so, the very idea of that loss was too much to even contemplate.

It would also mean I’d lose Aisling and Cillian.

Something else I couldn’t contemplate.

When these thoughts were about to send me over the edge, I decided to call my brother, who would listen then give it to me straight. And since he was a man, he might know what was in Mickey’s head.

On this decision, my phone in my hand let out a chime.

I looked down at it then quickly slid my finger on the screen to get to the text.

It was from Robin and it read, “I’m fine. I’m also pissed at you. Give me three days to hold a grudge then I’ll call you. But I reserve the right for the grudge to last less time.

That was it but it gave me relief, made me smile and was a little surprising since a three day grudge for Robin was unheard of—case in point, the grudge she had against her ex lasting five years without cooling.

Before I could send a reply, I got another text from her.

And this guy better be hot. Hot enough to make Conrad lose his mind and consider suicide. Anything less, MeeMee, and I’ll be very disappointed in you.

That made me smile bigger because it was funny and because she would very much approve of Mickey. She might live for revenge against her cheating ex-husband, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate masculine eye candy.

I texted back, Okay, sweets, and this is the last you’ll hear from me until your grudge is over. But just to put your mind at ease, Mickey is definitely hot.

After sending that, I called my brother.

“Hey, MeeMee,” he greeted.

“Hey, Lawrie. You free?”

“I’m at work but for you I’m always free.”

I was not surprised he was at work, seeing as it was earlier there, not to mention the fact that, since both his boys were old enough to drive and go off and do their own things, my brother stopped working constantly and started working constantly in order to escape his wife.

I was also not surprised he would make himself free for me. In my life, after I’d found that Conrad didn’t, Lawr was the only one who loved me demonstrably and unreservedly.

“Listen,” I began. “Conrad called tonight and he asked me to ask you to quit badgering him.”

I heard Lawr hoot before he replied, “Jesus, that guy’s an asshole. I called him twice, MeeMee. The first call lasted two minutes before he hung up on me. The second was right after that where he answered and I shared he was a dick before I hung up on him. That’s not badgering.”

He would know badgering. He was an attorney.

“I figured it was something like that,” I muttered, then clearer, I said, “He’s blaming me, so I appreciate you sticking up for me, but I’d prefer you stopped doing it.”

“He mention the kids?” Lawr asked.

“No. Why?” I asked back, my neck muscles tightening.

“I called them too.”

I stared at my reflection in the window. “I’m sorry?”

“Told them to cut you some slack. Told your son that you don’t have anybody since his father tore apart your family so he was up to bat and had to take care of his mother. Told your daughter she had one good female role model in her life and she was going to blow it if she lost that.”

So that was why they spoke to me. Because their Uncle Lawrie, who they both loved, adored and respected, had called them and laid it out.

God, I loved my brother.

“Should have done that years ago,” he murmured.

“They were a lot better at the last visit,” I told him.

“Good,” he said softly.

“Kinda shocking, you being a pain in the behind big brother for twenty years then turning out to be so cool when you’re nearly fifty.”

“Shut up, MeeMee,” he returned, a smile in his voice.

I smiled at my reflection and asked, “Do you have more time?”

“Are you my MeeMee?”

God, I loved my brother.

“I am,” I confirmed.

“Sock it to me, sweetheart,” he invited.

That was when I started pacing again because I did. I socked it to him and told him everything—absolutely everything—about Mickey.

This took a while. There was a lot of pacing. I was still in my slingbacks and it would be a lot later when I would come to the happy realization I could walk that much in them and they’d still be comfortable even being new shoes I’d never worn.

When I was done telling my brother everything, I stopped, wrapped my free arm around my belly, stared at my toes and asked, “So? Is Pippa right? Is this guy into me?”

At that, I heard Lawr burst out laughing.

My head came up. “What’s funny?”

“Is this guy into you?” Lawr asked my question back to me, his deep voice still vibrating with humor.

“That’s the question and in my current circumstances, I don’t find anything funny,” I snapped.

“Right.” That word sounded kind of strangled, like he was choking back laughter, and he still hadn’t quite done it when he went on, “I’ll confirm a fourteen-year-old girl’s keen perception of the way of things with you and this guy are even though she witnessed you with him for all of five minutes. Amelia, this guy is into you.”

I felt shivers trail over my skin at his confirmation and his emphasis.

But my voice was an octave higher when I asked, “How can that be? For weeks, we’ve hardly exchanged a pleasant word.”

I barely finished speaking before Lawr launched right in. “First, a guy might see a man in a woman’s face and intervene, but he will not offer to help her around the house unless he likes what he sees.”

“That’s impossible, Lawrie. I hadn’t even had my hair highlighted then,” I informed him.

Lawr ignored that and continued, “He also doesn’t give a shit she’s running herself into the ground doing some house sale, so he certainly doesn’t ask her over for a barbeque to help her relax.”

“When you do something like that with children involved, and you’re interested in the woman you’re inviting, it requires planning,” I shared haughtily. “Mickey’s invitation was near on spur of the moment.”

Lawr kept ignoring me. “And if he’s not interested and his daughter asks for her recipes, or wants her over for dinner, he tells his daughter to go over herself and get them and he finds a way to say she can’t come over for dinner.”

“He doesn’t have full custody of them, Lawrie,” I reminded him. “So she’s not around all the time. And she’s sweet. She’s a hard girl to say no to.”

My brother again ignored me.

“And bottom line, a man does not lose his mind every time another man is anywhere near this woman if he doesn’t want her for his. He doesn’t expend the energy to fight with her because if he doesn’t give a shit, he wouldn’t bother. But in his case, he was fighting with you instead of doing what he really wants to do with you. And he sure as fuck doesn’t shove her into an alcove in a restaurant and kiss her, infuriated she’s out on a date. And I’ll say that also saying I know your age, I know you’ve been married and have kids, but I’m talking about a man shoving my little sister into an alcove and kissing her and I’m doing it under duress.”

I almost smiled at that.

But I didn’t.

Lawr carried on, “I’m also doing it saying that was a bold move, and commendable, if the woman he wants is stubborn and irascible, like you are, he’d reached the end of his control, and the time had come where he needed to make his play.”

I moved to the window and leaned a shoulder against it, dropping the side of my head to the glass, eyes out to the dark sea, ignoring his comment about me being stubborn and irascible, because we both knew I was so there was no use discussing it.

“He told me I’m…attractive,” I whispered.

He understood that and I knew it by the tender tone of his response. “Can’t call that one, MeeMee. Maybe denial. But this guy’s actions aren’t speaking louder than words. They’re shouting. He likes you.”

I closed my eyes. “I’m a whackjob.”

“What?”

I opened my eyes. “What happens when he finds out how I lost it with Martine and Conrad? How I lost my kids? If he really likes me and something happens between us, he’ll eventually find out.”

“That you loved someone, lost them and acted out?” Lawr asked. “MeeMee, I know Mom and Dad wanted us both to be perfectly programmed automatons, but you’re human. Give yourself a break. This guy sounds like a good dad. He sounds like he’s responsible. He sounds like his ex-wife put him through the wringer and he made it to the other side while guiding his kids there. He sounds like he knows practically nothing about your situation and has a better lock on it than you do. Give him a break too. Life is life and it’s happened to this guy just like it’s happened to you. He’s going to get it. But I’ll tell you this, if he learns that about you and runs a mile, that says more about him than it does about you.”

“I wish you were closer,” I blurted, and I really did.

I loved my brother, my kids loved their uncle, he was the only real family I had (outside my kids), and I wanted to be in a position to see him happy and do something about it.

This would mean me conniving to break him up with the witch he called a wife but I wasn’t above that, absolutely not.

I’d proved I’d do anything in the name of love.

In fact, I’d wanted to fix him up with Robin for a long time. When she wasn’t being scary and wreaking vengeance, she was sweet, funny, and above all, loyal. And whenever Robin and Lawrie were together, he was always being droll and hilarious, this aimed often at Robin, and she was always laughing and being suggestive, and this was aimed at Lawr but mostly it was aimed at the witch because Robin hated Lawrie’s wife just as much as me.

Hmm.

“I’ll come out and visit,” Lawr told me.

“Thanksgiving,” I said instantly.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Leave the witch, bring the boys,” I said with no hesitancy.

I was straight with Lawr, Lawr was straight with me. He knew I didn’t like her. He also knew (since he told me) that their marriage was over and he was holding it together, supposedly for the boys.

But I suspected, after telling my father to shove his billion dollar company up his ass and going into the law (a profession Lawr had always been fascinated with), he’d exhausted his rebellion, so divorce was out of the question.

“I’ll think about that too.”

I blinked.

Lawr had never considered something like that.

“Really?” I asked.

“Maybe experiencing my little sister fighting for happy is teaching me something.”

Oh God.

That would be wonderful.

“I won’t jump on that, push it and do it while flipping cartwheels,” I promised.

“Good, because you’re on the phone with me and if you did that, you’d have to do it one-handed and you might break your neck, which would mean a date with this guy would be postponed indefinitely.”

A date with Mickey.

More shivers.

“Perhaps Robin is free for Thanksgiving,” I mused.

“Christ, what’d you say about pushing?” Lawr asked.

“I’ll stop talking,” I offered.

“And I need to get back to working. Your big brother sort you out?”

I grinned even though he didn’t, not entirely. I was still anxious and a bit confused.

But I was less of both.

“Yes, sweets,” I replied.

“Then I’ll let you go, MeeMee.”

“Okay, Lawrie. Talk to you later.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. Take care.”

“You too.”

We hung up and I rested my phone against my chin and stared out to sea.

Then I took it from my chin, activated it and saw the time.

I still had hours to wait before Mickey would come to me.

But it was after eight and thus not too late, so I opened up my texts and sent a group message to my kids.

Your Uncle Lawrie is thinking about bringing your cousins out for Thanksgiving. If you have time, text him or call him and tell him you’d like to see him. Love you, honeys.

I sent it and pushed away from the window, wondering if I should change before Mickey got there, when the doorbell rang.

I looked that way, saw the motion sensor outdoor light had been activated and Mickey’s body was framed in the stained glass window.

What on earth?

It wasn’t even nine o’clock. They couldn’t have ordered and eaten and gotten home in that time.

I hurried to the door as my phone in my hand sounded.

Startled, I looked down and saw a short text from Auden.

On it.

Oh my God!

I was grinning and still hurrying to the door when my phone sounded again.

I was at the door, multi-tasking by unlocking and reading a text from Olympia.

Me too.

I didn’t know if that was for Lawr or me or both.

I just knew it was more progress.

This made me happy.

And as I opened the door, I hoped by all that was holy what lay behind it would make me happy too.

I looked up to Mickey’s face, caught his expression and froze, the happiness leaking right out of me.

He said nothing, just moved inside in a way I was forced to move back. Once he got in, he stopped and so did I.

He closed the door and turned back to me.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey, Mickey,” I replied in the same tone.

“Gotta get back to my kids,” he told me.

But, he’d just arrived.

“I—”

“Rhiannon didn’t show.”

I stared in shock.

His ex was supposed to be at dinner?

This knowledge forced a variety of thoughts to tumble through my head, including the fact he’d kissed me at the restaurant and one of his options after our kiss had included joining them—joining them for a dinner that would be consumed with his kids and ex-wife.

I also thought of something I hadn’t noticed. That they were at a four-top and they’d had their menus when Bradley and I arrived.

They’d also had them when we’d left.

But the priority thought that pushed all others aside was that Cillian’s mother didn’t come to his birthday dinner.

“Oh no,” I breathed, getting closer and lifting a hand to place it on his chest. “She was coming?”

“We have an agreement,” he said shortly, looking strange, speaking strange, like he was controlling something but only barely. “So the kids wouldn’t feel all the loss her bullshit could make them feel, we’d do what we could to give them their family on days that were special. Not goin’ all out, shit like her sleepin’ over Christmas Eve, which could give them ideas. But at the very least birthday dinners, Christmas dinner, Thanksgiving, we’d have them together. If one of us found someone, that’d be part of the deal and whoever that was would have to get that. We’ve been divorced a year and a half, separated a year more than that, and this has worked. She’s never bailed on our kids.”

“So,” I started cautiously, “did she call? Explain—”

“Oh yeah, the bitch called,” Mickey interrupted me to growl viciously.

His tone frightened me but I forced myself to stay in his space and keep my hand light on his chest, even though he wasn’t touching me and he was holding himself in that strange way he’d been speaking.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I noted quietly.

“It wasn’t,” he confirmed. “You haven’t seen it, but when she gets Cill, she fucks ’im up. He gets wound up, acts out, comes to me. Takes a day or two, but I give him what he needs, he settles in. He goes to her for her week, she unravels that, so when I get him back, he’s gone again. Vicious cycle. So tonight, the longer it took for her to show, he knew, they knew.”

“They knew what?” I asked carefully when he said no more.

“That she goes on benders.”

I swallowed a gasp as Mickey kept talking.

“When we were together, I covered her ass. Told myself the kids didn’t get it. That was a lie. They see everything. Worse, they feel it. Didn’t happen a lot but it happened too fuckin’ much for me. After the one I decided would be her last, she came home, I had her bags packed. Told her to kick the booze or get the fuck out. She told me she didn’t have a problem even though she was so hungover, she looked about eighty. I told her if she didn’t get her disappearing from our family home without warning for three days so she could get hammered was a problem, she needed to get her shit and get out. Then she grabbed her shit and walked right out.”

I got closer and whispered, “Mickey.”

“After I got shot of her, she pulled it together, never did it when she had the kids. Never left our kids to fend for themselves. Never missed a special meal. But we were at the restaurant twenty minutes before you got there, Amy, she was supposed to meet us there, and she hadn’t showed. Fifteen minutes after you left, after the fourth text I couldn’t hide sending the bitch to find out where the fuck she was, Cill started losing it. Then he lost it and threw a tantrum. Took him outside to calm him down, got him to do that, but he wanted to leave. We left, went to get fuckin’ burgers for my boy’s birthday, ’cause that was all he was up for. Got home, started to do cake and presents, the bitch called. She called Ash’s phone. Cill knew it was her, grabbed it before my girl could save him that shit, and he got a birthday call from a mother who was totally shitfaced.”

I felt tears fill my eyes.

Oh, Cillian.

“Honey,” I whispered, getting even closer, my hand now pressing.

“He was good with her, my boy’s good with his mom, but he got off the phone, went wild. Threw the cake Ash made for him against the wall and slammed into his room. We had words, he’s still not calmed down, but I’m givin’ him time. I gotta get back to him because I gotta shape him up and sort out Rhiannon’s mess. Again.”

“Okay, then go,” I invited.

“We gotta talk.”

That didn’t sound promising.

But right then, not one thing was about me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him.

“Best kiss I ever had,” he told me.

I drew in a sharp breath, those five words thrilling down my throat, to my belly, straight to the tips of my toes.

“Want more,” he went on. “You with me?”

I nodded and just stopped myself from doing it humiliatingly enthusiastically.

“Good,” he stated curtly. “We talked. I sort out my boy, we’ll talk more.”

“Okay, Mickey.”

He bent abruptly and touched his mouth to mine.

His lips were firm at the same time soft and he wore no cologne, but he smelled heavenly.

He lifted his head but he did it also lifting his hand, and finally, he touched me.

He did this cupping my jaw and sweeping his thumb along my cheek.

He said nothing, just touched me sweetly and stared into my eyes.

I said nothing back, just stood close and let him.

Then he said, “Call you, baby.”

“Okay, Mickey,” I repeated.

His lips tipped up in a preoccupied grin that was still amazing before he let me go, turned to the door and disappeared through it.