“So tell her,” Padraig said.
Colm nodded, then glanced at Emmy. She was a romance writer, though she’d never told any of them her pen name. Not even Padraig, who was chomping at the bit to read one of her books.
“She asked for time to think, but she doesn’t have all the facts. So…I should go back tonight, right?”
“What do you think?” Emmy asked.
“I’m going back.”
She laughed softly. “Good call. I think it’s safe to say you’ve hit the point in this romance where the hero tells the heroine he loves her, and they live happily ever after.”
“Oh damn. Yeah. This is an important turning point. So set me up with a plot. Are you a fan of a big gesture?”
Emmy rolled her eyes. “No. I’m a fan of the words. Just go, you big fool.”
Colm stood, walking to the end of the bar to give her a hug. “Thanks for the advice.”
He didn’t miss the tiniest glimmer in Padraig’s eyes—jealousy?—as he did so.
“Good luck,” Padraig called out as Colm headed back out the door he’d only entered twenty minutes earlier.
* * *
Kelli had returned to the couch two seconds after Colm left, wishing she could channel her previous zombie state. That was an easier state of mind than her present one.
Too many things were bombarding her.
She hadn’t realized how much her dad’s departure had bothered until her argument with Colm. She’d been pissed off ever since learning he’d been in Baltimore recently and he hadn’t visited, hadn’t called to see if she wanted to do something with him. She would have met him for a lousy ten-minute chat over a cup of coffee…if he’d asked.
But he hadn’t. And as much as it bugged her to admit it, that hurt.
Kelli leaned her head back. She really thought she’d gotten to a point where her parents couldn’t hurt her anymore. Annoy her? Yes. Embarrass her? Absolutely. But hurt her? No.
She was suddenly awash in feelings she had no clue how to deal with—and it occurred to her that what she really wanted was to talk to Colm about it.
Colm. Who wanted a relationship with her. A long-term, let’s-make-babies relationship.
No one had ever wanted that with her.
Like, no one.
Ever.
She’d dated so many here-one-day-gone-the-next guys, she hadn’t even known how to respond to Colm’s suggestion. Because it had taken her slightly off guard and surprised her. Even when it shouldn’t have.
“God, I’m the world’s biggest idiot,” she muttered.
Mojo, who’d been curled up in a ball in her lap, glanced up as she spoke, then promptly went right back to sleep.
Colm said she knew him…and he was right. She did.
Which meant she knew he was perfect for her.
Colm Collins, her lifelong frenemy, was the man of her dreams. And instead of telling him that, she’d been a complete tool and told him she needed time.
Time for what?
She picked up Mojo, placing her on the cushion next to her and standing up, looking around the living room for her shoes. She was going over to the pub and she was going to—