“Are you joining them for the dreaded meet-the-parents dinner?” Orla asks me now, jerking her chin toward the table. We laugh when we see Kitty is now placing a candelabra in the center, lighting each candle with careful concentration.
I open my mouth to answer, but Shane beats me to it. “Of course she is.” He looks at me a beat, then goes back to counting money in the register.
Orla salutes me with the cup of tea. “The man has spoken.”
I won’t pretend I don’t like Shane including me, as if it were a foregone conclusion. That’s how it feels, all of a sudden. Like we’re two people trying to squeeze out every last moment together and we’re beyond lying about it. To ourselves or other people. We don’t have any choice but to spend time together because if we tried, we’d just be miserable, wishing for the other person’s presence. I know how irresponsible this is. I know. And yet.
You’ll start distancing yourself tomorrow. Tomorrow is soon enough.
Orla gets up to take Shane’s place behind the bar. A moment later, I feel Shane’s hand on my shoulder, handily interrupting the chanting taking place in my head. He leans in and kisses the skin underneath my ear, then places another soft one on my mouth.
“I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too,” I admit, giving into the temptation to rub my palm against his stubbled chin. “I went to Starbucks this afternoon and ordered tea. You’ve ruined me. I can never show my face in Chicago again.”
“My work here is done.” He leans into my hand. “What else did you get up to today?”
“Oh, you know. Things.” I start to fidget. “I might have…bought you something.”
“Me?” One corner of his mouth quirks up. Has he always been this freaking good-looking? His smile is making my brain do jazz hands. “What is it?”
“Really, I didn’t go out with the intention of buying you a gift.” Oh, God. What is wrong with me? I’m not fit to communicate with members of the general public. “I just saw it and thought, ‘Hey, that guy Shane might like this.’”
“Ah, Willa. You know how to make a man feel special.”
Before I lose my nerve, I pick up the bag that has been sitting at my feet. “It’s nothing. It’s the worst gift ever. Here.”
Shane shakes his head at me as he reaches into the bag. When he pulls out the leopard-print steering-wheel cover, with the words Drive it Like You Stole it printed in giant, red block letters, I want to dump my Shirley Temple over my head.
“I bought it for the red car,” I rush to explain. “I thought…I just hope you drive it more often.” When his gaze locks on me, I force myself not to look away. “You should drive it all the time. You should be proud of it. So, there.”
“So there,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
I nod once, searching for a way to change the subject. “What’s the game plan for dinner? Are we playing good cop, bad cop on Brian? Or—”
His mouth cuts off my ramble. At first, it’s just a tool to quiet me down, but then he sinks into it, tasting me with a slow lick of his tongue. He lifts his hands to cup the sides of my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “Spend the night in my room tonight.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
…
Halfway through dinner, Kitty has consumed one, count ’em, one, glass of wine and with each sip, has grown increasingly dramatic. Broad gestures and sweeping statements. It’s actually a relief because it takes the focus off red-faced Brian and nervous-giggling Faith. Slowly but surely, everyone at the table relaxes and we start to enjoy Kitty’s antics. Even if Shane cut her off after one glass.
The bar has grown steadily busier as we eat burgers, amazing burgers, actually. I’m kicking myself for waiting so long to try the food at the Claymore. Behind the bar, Orla is keeping up with the crowd, turning up the music and lowering the lights to encourage people to dance. Once again, I marvel at how comfortable I am here. The way the sounds, the hum of conversation settles around you, making you a part of it. With Shane sitting beside me on the wooden bench, I feel…safe. Happy.
“Brian, my dear lad. Stolen Faith’s heart, have you?” Kitty sips from her empty wineglass, frowns down at it, then sips again. “I’ll have to call over to your mum. We’ve much to discuss, she and I.”
“Ma, that’s not nec—”
“Does she watch crime shows? I’m trying to find things we have in common, you see. I want to walk in and hit her with something interesting. Straightaway, she should say, ‘That woman is interesting. I’m glad my son has taken up with her daughter.’”
Brian scratches the back of his neck. “She likes to cook. Or at least I think she does. She may just do it so Patrick and I don’t starve to death.”
At the mention of Patrick, Shane’s hand finds my thigh under the table, settling there possessively. I narrow my eyes, but he only gives me a level look. “Are you looking for your own place?” he asks Brian.
“Looking for a job first.” He flushes a little. “Our gigs at O’Kelly’s don’t pay much.”
“What about here?” Shane asks after a moment, surprising me. “Can you tend bar?”
“I’ve never done it,” he admits. “But I’m something of an expert at pouring a drink. Only, it’s usually for myself.”
Faith pats her hair nervously, imploring Shane with her eyes. “You could show him. Couldn’t you, Shane?”
I rest my hand on top of his, hoping he agrees for Faith’s sake. His fingers lace with mine automatically, and he tugs me closer on the bench.
“Sure. We’ll work something out.”
Faith breathes a laugh. “Grand.”
“Grand,” Brian echoes, looking like he’s just struck gold.
At this point, I am barely restraining the urge to launch myself at Shane and kiss him until he passes out from lack of oxygen. He is being so agreeable, such a good brother, even though I suspect he wants to lock Faith in her room and throw the key into the Liffey. He might not be welcoming Brian to the family with a big, back-slapping hug, but he’s making an effort. From Shane, an effort seems more meaningful than any false gesture of camaraderie.
“At one time, people called me the best dancer in Dublin.” Kitty breaks the silence with that statement, daring us all with a look to contradict her. She gestures to a group of dancing students with her empty glass. “They wouldn’t have known what hit them back then. One boy even called me superior. I could tell he meant it, too. Sometimes you can just tell.”
She goes back to staring wistfully at the group of dancers, her feet tapping on the floor, as she hums along to the unfamiliar pop song. I don’t know where I get the courage, maybe it’s the three Shirley Temples buzzing through my system, but I lean across the table and tap her arm. “Kitty, do you want to dance?”
“More than anything.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Let’s see those moves.”
Kitty seems to lose her courage with each step in the direction of the dance floor. After her speech, I’d kind of been counting on her to get this little dance party started, being that I don’t usually dance in public. As in, you couldn’t pay me. When she looks like she might bolt back to our table, I take her hands impulsively…and start doing the twist. She stares at me wide-eyed a moment, then begins to loosen up little by little. Her face transforms with an intense look of concentration, teeth biting her bottom lip so hard I think she’s going to draw blood. One of the younger men dancing behind us gives her a thumbs-up and she giggles, sounding so much like Faith, I feel an uncomfortable welling in my chest.