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15

R oan calls me the next day, but I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t answer the second or third time, either.

But what I don’t expect is that, instead of calling a fourth time, he suddenly appears, standing in the doorway of my office.

When I look up, my breath catches because he looks so good, especially when he has that serious look on his face. It makes everything inside me go crazy.

“Do you have a minute?” he asks, his expression unreadable.

Ted looks at him, then at me. There’s hurt in his gaze.

God, this is exhausting.

“I’m working,” I reply, but I already know I won’t win against his stubbornness. So, I get up, grab my handbag, and walk toward him. “Let’s go for a walk.”

He nods, stepping aside to let me go ahead of him. I take the quickest way out of the building, and lead him to a quiet part of campus where we can have some peace and quiet.

I stop and turn around. “So?” I ask. “Why are you here?”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You didn’t answer the phone when I called.”

Mimicking his posture, I cross my arms, too. “Yeah. Because I have to work.”

“Sure. But we both know that’s not why you aren’t answering. Besides, you lied to me yesterday.”

I take a step backward. “Um, no?”

“Yes, you did. You left the pub so quickly last night because you said you were meeting up with Nina. But Finn told me he saw you with Tara at Juicy’s.”

I resist the urge to wipe my palm over my face. I should have known better than to trust Roan’s enormous, gossipy family to keep something quiet. “Is this a prosecution?”

“Something like that,” his tone is joking, but his face remains serious. “I just want to know what’s going on. I hate that you felt the need to lie to me.”

I smother a sigh. I always thought that men were supposed to suck at communication, but I have to admit that Roan is much better at it than I am.

He raises an eyebrow. “Well? Speak up.”

I can’t keep my thoughts hidden anymore. “Kitty,” I blurt.

His eyebrows draw together. “What about Kitty?”

“She hates me.”

He shakes his head in exasperation. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, because she sees me as competition.”

He looks at me, clearly confused. “Kitty knows I can have more than one female friend.”

I laugh out loud. I want to shake the truth into his thick head. “Roan, you’re so fucking blind!”

“Why?”

“She’s in love with you. Like, seriously in love with you, in a more than friends sort of way. And she doesn’t want to share you with other women. And she obviously saw me as a threat last night.”

Roan looks at me for a moment in a way that I can’t interpret. Or maybe I don’t want to.

“Kitty is not in love with me,” he finally says in a slow, calm voice. “We’ve known each other forever.”

I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince. Me or himself.

I throw up my hands in frustration. “You’re so blind! Everyone knows it,” I insist.

He frowns. “And exactly who is everyone?”

“Well, Tara, for one.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is nonsense. I asked Kitty straight out if she was in love with me, and she denied it.”

“How did you ask her? Did you specifically ask if she was in love with you? You might be good at communication, Roan, but women are different.”

“Hmmm.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “But I still don’t understand what this has to do with us. Why did you think you had to lie to me and run away from the pub?”

“Because me being there hurt her,” I say gently. “You have to tell her that you and I are just friends, that she has nothing to fear from me.”

Roan’s gaze darkens. “She knows that.”

I shake my head. “No, she doesn’t know. You have to tell her,” I urge.

He sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“Because you know she’s in love with you,” I state.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. I don’t believe it, but I still avoid telling her about other women.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That says it all.”

His tone grows frustrated. “Forget Kitty, okay? She has nothing to do with us.”

“But she’s been your friend for a long time. I don’t want to hurt her.”

His eyes pierce into mine. “So, you’d rather hurt me instead?”

I’m captured in his gaze. “No.”

“You did last night. I like you, and I want to be friends with you. If you disappeared from my life now, it would hurt me. That’s just the way it is.”

There’s nothing I can say in the face of such raw honesty.

“I don’t want that,” I admit.

He looks relieved. “Good, so everything’s fine between us?”

I nod. “There’s nothing wrong between us. But you have to find a way forward with Kitty.”

Roan steps toward me and embraces me. Hesitantly, I hug him back. “Okay. But talk to me next time, okay? If I know what the problem is, I can find solutions, but if you just ignore me, I can’t.”

“Okay.”

His powerful arms tighten around me. “Promise?”

It’s so incredibly easy to lose myself in his embrace. “I promise.”

It’s amazing how quickly time can pass when you don’t want it to and how slowly it ticks away when you’re looking forward to something.

Since I don’t even know whether I’m looking forward to the Walsh’s family dinner or not, I end up feeling like I’m trapped in a time loop, where some moments are swept away, and others drag on like a reluctant mule.

But then it’s Sunday.

And I don’t know what to wear.

Sunday lunch definitely sounds like a chic affair. On the other hand, I can’t imagine the O’Brien boys in anything other than jeans and a T-shirt.

Maybe a floral sundress?

I go to the closet and search through my clothes. Absolutely none of them are acceptable.

Then, my gaze falls on a jumpsuit that I haven’t worn in years. Hmm, maybe that’s a possibility.

It’s simple, made of airy muslin fabric, but also elegant enough to be ready for anything. I style my hair in light waves and find a pair of ballet flats that perfectly compliment the color of the jumpsuit.

As I look at myself in the mirror, I have to say that I make quite a nice impression. Casual, but with that decisive touch of elegance to hold my own at Sunday lunch.

Now I just have to calm my nerves about meeting Roan’s parents. He’s already met mine, and I thought that might take some of the pressure off, but the last time I met a guy’s parents was back in college, and I can’t stop my hands from sweating.

I try to tell myself that it’s not so bad in a friendship if someone’s parents don’t like you, but honestly, I’m afraid it matters even more. Love makes you overlook things, but friendship might not extend so far.

But there’s nothing I can do now, so I get in my car and drive to the address Roan gave me. I’d hoped to go with him so I wouldn’t have to show up alone, but the boys all arranged to meet up at the house earlier that morning to help their dad clean out the basement.

Which, of course, also means that all the Walsh boys are there when I arrive.

My heart is pounding as I park in front of the pretty little blue house. It’s one of those typical Bay Area houses, narrow and tall, squashed right up against its neighbors. They tend to be surprisingly spacious on the inside, but the backyards are usually smaller than a postage stamp.

I take a deep breath before I get out of the car. Take another deep breath after I get out of the car. Another deep breath as I stand on the sidewalk. Another as I walk to the small staircase. Another as I stand on the first step. On the second. On the third. Then I’m standing at the door, wondering whether I should knock.

The door is torn open.

“I’m not sure if anyone has ever taken longer to get from the car to the door than you,” says Roan, grinning at me.

Cocky, playful Roan is my favorite. Crap.

“Sorry,” I say. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Why on Earth are you nervous?” he asks, confused.

“Because I’m meeting your parents.”

“Oh my God, Roan! What did you tell that poor girl about us?”

A woman pushes her way into the doorway, glaring at her son before hugging me. She’s soft and cozy, and her arms feel like safety and security. I could let her hug me forever.

“You don’t need to be nervous. If anyone needs to be nervous, it’s him,” she explains, casting another glare at her son before returning her smile to me. “I’m Helen Walsh. And I apologize for this mannerless urchin I’ve obviously raised.”

“I didn’t do anything, Mom!” Roan protests.

“So why does she look terrified?” She clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “Sometimes you’d think the boys had been raised by wolves.”

Roan grins at me while his mom resolutely grabs my hand and pulls me into the house.

“You can call me Helen.” She gives me a quick peck on the cheek and then smiles warmly. “So, you’re Jenna. Of course you are. It’s really, really nice to meet you. Roan never stops talking about you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he comments dryly, following us into the house.

“Does he say good things, I hope?” I ask, only half-joking, my heart pounding in my chest, dying to know what Roan has said about me to his beloved mother.

“Wonderful things only,” she answers with a bright smile. “You completely turned the poor boy’s head.”

“Mom!” Roan calls out sharply. I hide my grin, enjoying his discomfort just a little.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” She grins, giving me a conspiratorial look. “I have strict instructions not to embarrass him, but I was in labor for eighteen hours with that one. I’ll do whatever I want.”

I laugh.

I love her already.

We arrive in the open-concept living and dining room, where I see Cian and Eoin lounging on the sofas like a pair of long-legged puppies, along with a man who must be their father.

The boys greet me with hugs, then I shake their father’s hand. Brian Walsh looks me up and down, unable to hide the mischievous glint in his eye.

I immediately see where Roan gets his personality.

“Hello, Jenna. You look lovely. No wonder he won’t stop talking about you.”

I blush, looking at Roan, who shakes his head at his father. “I knew it was a bad idea to bring her. None of you can behave.”

“We can ,” replies Helen, laughing, “but we’re just having way too much fun watching you sweat.”

Roan looks at me, rolling his eyes. “I apologize for my family.”

From the sofa in the living room, Cian throws a pillow at his head. “It’s the other way around.”

Roan starts toward his brother, clearly ready to pounce, but his mom puts up a hand. “No fighting inside!”

I giggle. “Were they a handful growing up?” I ask her.

She rolls her eyes skyward. “You have no idea. They never stopped wrestling and roughhousing. I couldn’t stop them, but at least I could make sure they didn’t trash the whole house.”

“And even that didn’t stop them from crashing through the garden fence once,” adds Mr. Walsh.

I widen my eyes. “Wow. Little hooligans.”

Helen laughs. “Exactly. They are impossible. And now, they’re grown up, and absolutely nothing has changed. All of them need women to settle them down.”

All three boys loudly protest at this, and I get the sense this is a common discussion at the Walsh home.

“We don’t need women!” says Cian indignantly.

“You can’t even get one woman,” Eoin jokes.

Cian glares at him. “More than you.”

“Ah yes, I forgot about the enormous harem you’re hiding in your bedroom,” Eoin returns in a dry tone.

At this, Cian laughs and winks at me. “Hear that? You could be my main woman.”

Roan leans over and punches him in the shoulder. “Fuck you, dude.”

“I’m only joking, you idiot!” Cian rubs his shoulder but winks at me again.

“Roan! Language!” Helen chastises her son.

“He started it!” Roan protests.

Helen shakes her head and points at them with one finger. “Both of you. Go set the table. Now.”

Without a word but pouting like reluctant schoolboys, they obey.

“Jenna, would you like a drink?” Mr. Walsh asks me.

“I’d love one, Mr. Walsh. What are you having?” I say, unable to hide my amused grin as Roan and Cian begin setting the table, still shooting daggers at each other with their eyes.

“Call me Brian, please. Otherwise, I’ll think my father is here.” He laughs. “So, how about a glass of wine?”

“I’m not going to say no.”

“I know what you mean,” he jokes. “Too much time with these boys can make anyone need a drink.” He goes to the cupboard and pulls down a wine glass, filling it from a bottle of cabernet on the sideboard.

“We talked about this. We want to make me look good,” Roan explains. “So she thinks well of me.”

“I’m already doing that,” I say. Only then does it dawn on me that Roan might also be a bit nervous because I’m here. With his family.

“Remember that, regardless of what my family does.” He grins at me cheekily.

“Well, I’m not going to promise that,” I reply.

Laughing, he puts the plates on the table while Cian adds the cutlery. “Don’t let him tell you anything,” he says. “He’s the worst of us all.”

“Huh? Why’s that? Have you met yourself?” asks Roan and crosses his arms.

B. I. C. E. P. S. God, I won’t survive this day.

“You’re being so funny again, little brother,” Cian mocks him and crosses his arms too.

I. Will. Not. Survive. These. Boys. Ever.

Good that Eoin isn’t also…

“What’s going on here?” He stands in the room with crossed arms.

This is a fucking cosmic joke. Next time I choose a new best friend, I’ll make sure he’s ugly. And his family too. Actually, he won’t have a family at all. Better safe than sorry.

But that would be mean too. I better take back that last thought.

“God, I always forget how much louder it is here when your children are around,” Helen says to her husband.

“Huh, Mom, we’re your children too,” says Eoin.

“My children are good boys,” she replies laughing.

Cian says dryly, “Then we’re definitely not yours.”

“Have a seat. Jenna, you sit here.”

She disappears into the kitchen for a moment while everyone takes their seats and returns a moment later with a roasting pan that smells so tempting that my mouth literally starts watering, like in a cartoon.

“Mom, that smells great,” says Roan.

Cian punches him in the side. “Suck-up.”

Roan rubs the spot. “But it’s true.”

Cian grins. “You’re right. Mom, that smells really great.”

“Now, who’s the suck-up,” Roan mutters, handing me the bowl of potatoes.

I hesitate. No one else has served themselves yet, and I feel awkward going first.

When she sees my reservation, Helen smiles and shakes her head. “Go ahead and serve yourself first, dear. If you wait, there won’t be anything left after these four gluttons have started.”

“I’m still growing,” says Eoin defensively, eying the roast beef greedily.

“Yeah. Sideways,” Cian jokes, earning a jab in the ribs from his brother.

I serve myself—roast beef, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, and fresh bread. But before I can begin, I just watch in disbelief.

Helen was right. The boys can eat mountains. What I had initially thought was food for twelve people is rapidly being demolished before my eyes.

Nobody talks during the meal. How could they? After all, you don’t talk with your mouth full. Only after fifteen minutes, during which I clean my own plate of all the delicious home-cooked food, does Brian lean back in his chair.

“That was another excellent meal. Thank you, Helen.” He smiles at his wife.

“There’s still dessert.”

The boys look delighted.

“Honestly, how can you still be thinking about dessert after all that?” I ask in amazement.

Helen laughs. “I’ve been asking myself that since Cian was born. He had such a voracious appetite that he cried for the first two days after he was born, because I didn’t have enough milk. I had to supplement with formula until I established a supply.”

“Wow, Mom, don’t talk about breastfeeding,” Cian moans.

“Why not? It’s the most natural thing in the world. And obviously, my milk turns little babies into healthy giants.”

“Nonsense, it was my genes,” Brian claims.

She gives her husband a teasing look. “I’m not sure about that, dear. The Walshs are rather small and narrow. Have you ever looked at the O’Briens? They’re all big men. Even Orla. Those are good genes.”

Eoin holds up his hand to his mom. “O’Brien’s rock!”

Brian rolls his eyes. “I’m practically an O’Brien, too, or at least a Brian.”

There’s a collective groan that suggests this joke has been told before.

“That joke doesn’t get any better the more you repeat it,” says Roan.

“I’m not allowed to have any fun around here,” mock-grumbles Brian as he starts clearing the plates.

The three boys get up and begin to help their father. I stand up, too, but Helen motions me down.

“No, no, dear. Let the boys do it.”

“But I’m the guest. I should help,” I say as I sit back down.

“You’re not a guest. You’re already an honorary O’Brien,” she insists with a warm smile.

“Wow, how did I get this honor?” I ask, delighted.

“Roan says you’re family to him, so you’re family to us.” Helen reaches out and pats me on the hand. “I’ve always wanted a daughter, but none of the barbarians I’ve raised have brought any girls around.”

“But what about Kitty?” I ask, confused, glancing at Roan, who is out of earshot, joking with his brothers as they get dessert plates.

She looks at me for a long moment. “Kitty’s just a friend. Don’t worry about her.”

Before I can ask her anything more about this odd situation, the boys come back with dessert, a bread pudding that looks fantastic.

I’m going to gain at least ten pounds, and I don’t even care.