Page 392 of Manhattan Bossholes

Still, I was beginning to understand why Declan had lashed out so viciously and the line I was asking him to cross.

I spotted Declan’s friend Thomas across the fire and waved. He was with his wife, Bridget, who I’d met when she’d stopped by to pick up her daughter after Catie’s playdate.

Thomas waved back enthusiastically and led Bridget around the fire toward us. “Olivia! I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Molly invited me,” I said.

“Cheers to that,” he said, and we all clinked glasses.

“Want to hear something funny?” Molly asked. “Olivia asked Declan to come.”

Thomas sprayed a mouthful of beer directly into Oisin’s face.

“You what?” Thomas said. The way he worded it, it was like I’d asked Declan to sell his companies and torch all of his money.

Bridget handed Oisin a paper napkin.

“I didn’t know,” I said, beginning to feel worried. I thought this thing between me and Declan was just a normal fight. But what if my coming here had broken his trust in some fundamental way that was never going to heal?

The conversation moved on, thankfully. Then the musicians shifted into a catchy song everyone but I knew, and the couples abandoned me to dance around the bonfire.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Without my friends to distract me, I noticed the evening air had turned chilly. As I watched all the couples dance in the golden, flickering light of the bonfire, I felt a wistful ache. I wanted someone to dance with. I wanted to belong.

You have someone to dance with, I reminded myself. You just stormed off to the one place he can’t follow you.

This was ridiculous, I realized. Yes, the festival was fun. Yes, I’d wanted to come. But I wanted to spend the rest of my night with Declan more.

Hopefully, I hadn’t ruined things too badly between us.

I caught Molly’s attention and signaled that I was heading out, then started weaving my way toward the garden’s exit.

I set my empty glass on a table, then bumped into a man, who automatically reached out to steady me. It took a moment for me to recognize Seamus O’Rourke.

“Olivia!” he said cheerfully. “You came! Fantastic!” The drink in his hand had turned his cheeks pink and his natural charm into outright exuberance.

I smiled and tried to step around him.

He didn’t get the cue. “Is Catie with you?” he asked, looking around hopefully.

“No,” I said.

“Ah. Because of Declan,” he said, sounding a bit disappointed. Then he perked up. “Do you know if Sinead’s coming back to visit this summer?”

I shrugged noncommittally, fairly sure Sinead wouldn’t want me spreading her business around. “Do you know Sinead well?” I asked.

He looked away. “I used to,” he said quietly. He smiled ruefully. “Ran into her, the last time she was in town. She said…well.” He laughed wryly. “Some women have a way of making you rethink your life choices, don’t they?”

“Sure,” I said, not quite following.

“Oh!” Seamus said, spotting a woman about twenty feet away who looked vaguely like him. “Excuse me. I need to go talk to my sister. She lives in London these days to avoid our dad, so I hardly ever get to see her.” He squeezed my shoulder affectionately and rejoined the stream of the crowd.

I watched Seamus greet his sister with a massive hug, lifting her off the ground. I smiled. I knew Declan had his problems with Seamus—well, specifically with Seamus’s dad, but it seemed to have soured him on the whole family—but a man who loved his family that much couldn’t be all bad.

I was about to resume my path to the garden exit when I heard a gasp, and then murmurs. Everyone was craning their necks and standing on their toes to see something.

“What is it?” I asked the old woman next to me.

“A damn miracle,” she said, eyes wide as she looked into the distance. “It’s James and Marie’s boy.”