Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,39

watched that hair grow for seven years,” I said. “I can’t really picture him without it.”

“I know, but he’s making the best choice.”

“Keep me posted?”

“Promise,” he said. He hesitated and then asked, “Listen, not to be a badger, but does anyone over there know you’re going on a date?”

“And we’re back to that,” I said.

“I just think it’s always good to have a backup plan, in case the date goes badly,” he said. “I always have my friends check on me about an hour or two into a date to make sure I don’t need an emergency excuse to leave because my hookup turned into a raging psychopath.”

“You are a horrible person.”

“I prefer realistic. It’s a war out there, and you need a wingman,” he said. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Tell you what, I’ll call you in exactly two hours to give you an out if you need one.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “He really is an old friend. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m calling,” he said. “And you’d better answer, or I’ll call the local police. Finn’s Hollow, right?”

“Are you always this bossy?” I asked. “Because I have to say, it’s not working for me.”

“I prefer pushy and overbearing,” he said. “And no, I’m never like this, but I need your help on the Severin campaign, so it’s in my best interest to make certain you don’t get left for dead in a bog in the wilds of Ireland.”

“Ah, now it’s all coming into focus,” I said. “You need me.”

“I don’t need you,” he said. “I need your help in understanding your incredibly long-winded campaign proposal. There’s a difference.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now go take yourself out on your hot date, but you’d better answer your phone,” he said. “Trust me, if the guy tries to get you to join a druid cult or something, you’ll want to hear from me.”

“Good night, Jason,” I said. I held up my finger, indicating I was about to hang up.

“Bye—”

I pressed END CALL. Druid cult? I laughed. Then I thought about his BattleBots idea. No, we were not doing that. I’d have to call Aidan and have him squash that idea. I had meticulously planned out the next three years of fundraising opportunities for the employees of Severin Robotics, and they did not include battling robots. Honestly, it was like Knightley was a grown man trapped inside a middle schooler’s body.

I stepped back from the mirror and checked my appearance one more time. Hair was properly curled, mascara was on and not smudged, lipstick was on point. Sweater was warm and hugged my curves, and my jeans and boots were casual but flattering. I pulled on my thick wool coat and grabbed my shoulder bag, tucking my phone inside as I went.

I locked the cottage door behind me, feeling a dizzying combo of excited and nervous but mostly the former. It was the same fluttery feeling I’d had when Colin recognized me. That was what I was looking for, what I wanted to remember: that feeling of being wholly alive.

Was that how my dad felt when he looked at Sheri? If so, I could understand why he’d been drawn in. The law of attraction. It was impossible to resist. Feeling as if I might understand my father’s hasty marriage—just a little, not a lot, because really, a proposal after two weeks was still bonkers—I headed to the pub.

I arrived at six o’clock on the dot because that was my nature. I always got antsy if I was late. I hoped Colin was on time, as I didn’t want to look too eager. I couldn’t remember if he was a timely sort of guy or not, but I dreaded the idea of sitting in the pub, waiting for him, wondering if he would show up. I needn’t have worried. As I walked in the door, he swooped down on me with a giant bear hug.

“You’re here!” he cried. “Brilliant. I’d half convinced myself that I’d imagined you.”

I laughed as the cold air pushed me into the warm pub full of chatter and laughter, the rich smell of a peat fire, and something delicious frying in the back kitchen.

“Come on—I’ve got a snug for us in the back,” he said. He took my hand and led me through the tables.

It was obvious that most of the patrons were tourists, with a sprinkling of locals thrown in to keep the place authentic.

“Oy, Colin,” Michael called from behind the bar. “I see