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Colm sat at the bar next to Pop Pop, the two of them enjoying—well, currently tolerating—the karaoke performances. Right now, there was a married couple onstage butchering “Love Shack.”
“You giving us a song tonight, lad?” Pop Pop asked. “Always enjoyed listening to you sing.”
Colm nodded. “Yeah. Kelli and I already signed up. We’re doing a duet.”
Padraig, who was standing across the counter from them, filling a pitcher from the tap, paused. “You and Kelli? My Kelli?”
Colm wasn’t sure why it tweaked his nerves to hear Padraig refer to Kelli as his. They’d all grown up together, all been friends since practically the cradle, so was the possessive adjective really necessary?
He pushed that annoyance aside. Padraig’s comment would have been perfectly valid two weeks ago.
However, something had changed between him and Kelli since she’d revealed her plan to become a mother to him.
Last Friday, he’d felt pretty damn low, depressed and confused by Brooke’s sudden silent treatment. Kelli—of all people—had managed to cheer him up and actually make him feel better. They’d watched a couple Will Ferrell movies, pigged out on popcorn, and at the end of the night, he’d hugged her goodbye when she left. The gesture had felt surprisingly…normal. Natural.
Right.
Shit.
He wasn’t sure what was going on, but she’d returned Sunday to watch the football games, just like she always did. The two of them had sat next to each other, cheering for the Ravens with the rest of his family, but every time her leg accidentally brushed his, he sort of…felt something.
Something he didn’t dare put a name to.
And unbeknownst to Padraig—to everyone—the two of them had started having dinner together this week.
Three dinners in a row—twice at restaurants, and then last night at her place—where they’d talked about everything under the sun.
He and Kelli spoke the same language—sarcasm—and he’d finally admitted his mother hadn’t been wrong when she said he and Kelli were similar souls. They’d found they had a lot of things in common, so conversation between them flowed easily, equal measures insightful and funny as shit.
So now, when Padraig stood here and called her “his Kelli,” it bothered Colm. More than he cared to admit. Because she was his friend too.
“What song are you going to sing for us?” Pop Pop asked.
Colm grinned because he knew his grandfather was going to love his answer. “Jackson.”
Just as he expected, Pop Pop’s eyes widened. “You know I’m a sucker for a Johnny and June song, lad.”
“Kelli picked it out. And I’m sure it was for you.”
He, Padraig, and Kelli had all been members of chorus in high school, even participating in the school musicals, so it wasn’t like the two of them hadn’t sung together before. They just hadn’t sung together in a long time…or without a big group of people around them.
“Speak of the devil,” Pop Pop said as Kelli walked up to them. She gave his grandfather a quick kiss on the cheek.
“How’s my boyfriend?” she asked. She and Pop Pop had been pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend for years.
“Colm tells me you’re singing one of my favorites tonight. You know how I love your voice, dear lass.”
Kelli was a hell of a singer, with a powerful, soulful mezzo-soprano voice. Pop Pop swore she’d missed her calling, that she could have been as famous as Aunt Teagan if she’d put her mind to it. Kelli always blushed and dismissed the compliment as just that—kind words from a beloved old man.
“You have to say that,” she teased. “I’m your girlfriend.”
Pop Pop chuckled. “You remind me so much of my sweet Sunday.”
Colm had never heard him say that, but given Kelli’s response, it appeared the comment wasn’t a new one.
“You and Paddy are both clearly blind. No one except the two of you ever calls me sweet.”
“You’re sweet, Kell,” Colm said, the words falling out before he could think better of them.
