Wild Chance (Wilder Irish #13) - Mari Carr Page 0,21
holding her as she cried—for him? For Mia?
He hadn’t thought about that night in months. And he’d never told anyone about it. The memory didn’t gut him like it did during that first year after she passed, when it was the only thing he saw every night when he closed his eyes.
“She was lucky to have you,” Emmy said once she’d managed to pull herself together.
“I was the lucky one.”
Emmy smiled at that. “I think I might have to revise my previous statement. You and my dad are the most romantic men I’ve ever known.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve never given a woman a rock,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to lighten the heaviness that had fallen between them.
“Maybe you will one day. And she’ll fall head over heels in love with you because what woman can resist a rock,” she teased. Then she glanced down at herself. “I probably should have changed out of this outfit. At least I didn’t get any pepperoni grease on my shirt.”
He reached out with this free hand and flipped one side of her long blonde hair over her shoulder, feeling the need to touch it again. It was soft, silky, beautiful. Like her. “Remember to leave your hair down for the date.”
She smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I will. No more button-up job interview outfits for me.”
“I’m not sure I helped you much with the small-talk issue, considering I did most of the talking. Our practice session went off the rails. Completely.”
“That’s okay. I’ll google first date topics tomorrow.”
“When are you going to tell me your pen name, Em?” he asked, suddenly curious.
Her response—as always—was quick and succinct. “Never.”
“Chicken shit,” he teased.
“Why are you asking me that right now?”
He shrugged. “I’m curious how you can write romance when you claim to be a dating disaster.”
“I just told you that my parents had a loving relationship. I mean, it was the real deal. And I’m also an avid reader.”
He tilted his head. “What does reading have to do with it?”
She rolled her eyes. “Spoken like someone who thinks flipping through Sports Illustrated counts as reading.”
He chuckled. “Wait. That’s not reading? Because I promise you, I pore over that swimsuit issue.”
“How am I friends with you?” she asked laughing. “All I’m saying is you don’t actually have to date to fall in love. I have fallen madly in love with some of the hottest fictional heroes out there.”
“Like?” he prompted, amused by this whole concept.
“I’ve had torrid affairs with Jamie Fraser, Ian Taggart, and Eric Ericsson.
Padraig laughed. “Should I be jealous?”
“Absolutely,” she answered without hesitation. He noticed the second she paused and tilted her head curiously.
Why would he be jealous?
He could almost read the question in her eyes.
And she’d be right to feel confused.
If they were just friends, why would he be jealous?
“We’re doing a soft reopening of the pub on Friday,” he said, grasping for anything that might distract her from his faux pas. If that’s what it was.
Her eyes widened. “And I’m just hearing about it? Wait. What does ‘soft opening’ mean?”
“Friends and family only. Gives us a chance to test out all the new stuff. The equipment in the kitchen, the beer taps, the bathrooms. Invite only.”
She gave him a look. “Okay. I’m waitttting…” she singsonged.
He laughed. “You’re invited. That should go without saying. My dad, Ewan, Pop Pop, Riley, Yvonne, and at least six other relatives all checked with me to make sure I’d told you to come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She leaned in and hugged him, her excitement contagious.
“Good.” Unlike the last two times he’d hugged her, he kept this embrace short, friendly. It felt as if he was straddling a line right now, friendship on one side and…something else on the other.
The fact that he couldn’t name the something else seemed to indicate he still wasn’t ready. Right?
He’d just spent the entire evening talking about Mia, and he would have expected that sharing those memories would push him solidly back on the “just friends” side.
But it hadn’t. It actually felt as if it had drawn him closer to…something else.
Shit.
Nothing was happening between them tonight. Not until he got his damn head screwed on straight.
Emmy, oblivious to the internal war raging inside him, stood and picked up the empty pizza box and paper plates. He grabbed his empty beer bottles and her wineglass and followed her to the kitchen. They tidied up for a few minutes, then she walked with him to the door.
The night