“She’s crazy about you, Paddy. Remember, you were the first guy she asked out back before Christmas. And like a dumbass, you turned her down and said you couldn’t be more than just friends.”
He frowned. “That was a mistake.”
“Of course it was. But the fact is, you were her first choice. And after a couple of awkward dates with strangers, she’s going to figure out you’re also her only choice.”
“So I shouldn’t go back to her place tonight?”
“Absolutely not. You’re thinking with your dick right now. Give your other head a chance to catch up. Because Emmy’s not the only one who needs some time and space to come to grips with what’s finally happening. Let the dust settle on the kiss.”
Kelli was right. He was acting on impulse, still turned on from that kiss. “Okay. You’re right.”
“Music to my ears. Wish I’d had the phone on speaker so Colm could’ve heard you say that.”
Padraig chuckled.
“Besides,” Kelli continued, “you’re going to be wicked slammed this week, working to get the pub ready for Friday. Even if you wanted to get things rolling with Emmy, this wouldn’t be the time to do it. Give her a week to think about that hot kiss—please tell me it was a hot kiss,” she begged.
“It was hot. Scorching.” Even now, his lips burned from the memory of it.
“Awesome. So she’ll be remembering that while living through what’s certain to be another lackluster date. On Friday, she can take her place at the end of the counter and the two of you can fall madly in love, get married, and make lots of babies who will be best-friend cousins to my twins.”
Padraig chuckled. “Got it all planned, do you?”
“I have spoken. It is so.”
“Love you, Kell,” he said. Then he heard Colm curse in the background, loudly asking, “What in the hell are you feeding these kids?”
“Jesus H., Colm. You graduated top of your class in law school, for God’s sake. Take a deep breath and change the shitty diaper. It’s not rocket science,” Kelli yelled back. “Still coming over for dinner and to watch hockey tomorrow, Paddy?”
“Yep.”
“See you then.”
Before she clicked end, he could hear Colm declaring, “This smell is ungodly. I’m gonna puke.”
Padraig laughed as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, Kelli’s words giving him hope.
And something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Something to look forward to.
Friday.
5
It was Friday night, and Emmy looked at her reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time in an hour, chastising herself for doing so. Regardless, she couldn’t make herself stop doing it because every time she looked, she found fault with something else, be it her earrings, shade of lipstick, or that one piece of hair on the right side that just wouldn’t lay right.
She forced herself out of the bathroom, muttering to herself, “It’s just a date. Just a date.”
A date with Joe Moretti.
She’d been shocked when he’d called her this morning to ask if she wanted to attend the soft opening of Pat’s Pub with him tonight.
She’d said yes before her brain kicked in and she realized exactly what she was agreeing to.
For one thing, according to his sister, Layla, Joe was the ultimate bad boy and the only one of her brothers she swore she’d never set a friend up with. Simply because he was king of the charming heartbreakers.
Emmy’s dating skills still had training wheels, so going out with Joe felt like the equivalent of tossing her bicycle into the grass, hopping aboard a Harley, and hitting the open highway.
And if that wasn’t enough, the other—and main—reason was Padraig was going to be at the pub tonight. She was still reeling from that “practice” good-night kiss of his last Sunday. So much so, she’d screwed up the date with Brian, the guy from Lucas’s work, on Wednesday night.
Well, screwed up was probably the wrong description. She’d shown up at the bar and tried to make some sort of connection with the man. He was actually really nice, but she’d spent the entire date comparing everything he said and did to Padraig and found him lacking right down the line. He’d ordered a Corona, proclaiming it his favorite beer, then he’d admitted to never reading Harry Potter or seeing one of the movies, and finally he threw her for a loop when he said he wasn’t a fan of cats. And it wasn’t because of allergies, because that she could at least understand and forgive. When she asked about dogs, he clarified, saying he wasn’t a pet person.
Who the hell wasn’t a pet person?
So, the happy-hour date had ended just as quickly and awkwardly as the coffee date. And to add insult to injury, Padraig texted her that night to see how things had gone. It had been hard to admit she’d failed yet again.
The worst part was, she couldn’t read the tone in his response when he’d asked about the good-night kiss, and she told him the date had ended with a handshake at the exit of the bar.
All he’d said was “good.”
What the hell did that mean?
Whether he realized it or not, Padraig was giving her some seriously mixed-up signals, and it was screwing with her head…and her heart.
At least going with Joe to the soft opening of the pub tonight should make Padraig happy. He’d told her to start bringing her dates to the pub so he could keep an eye on her. She was hoping the fact she was with one of the Moretti brothers would be a point in her favor, since every member of the Collins family had done nothing but sing their praises the last two months.
She hadn’t seen the final results of their efforts on the pub, but Sunnie had called yesterday and declared it was all perfect and the Morettis were nothing short of genius.
Emmy was pulled from her thoughts by a knock at the door.
She took a deep breath to steady herself.
“Well,” she murmured. “Here goes nothing.”
She pulled it open and smiled when Joe Moretti said, “Hello there, gorgeous.”
Emmy took the hand he proffered, suddenly certain that tonight’s date was going to be a good one.
Finally.
Padraig grinned when his grandfather bellied up to the bar in his usual spot.
“I’d like a pint of Guinness, my boy,” Pop Pop said with a huge smile on his face.
Padraig reached for one of the shiny, new pint glasses, emblazoned with the Pat’s Pub logo, and filled it from the tap. “Your first beer in the new and improved pub,” he said, sliding the glass across the counter.
Pop Pop lifted it in a silent toast and then took a long swig. “Ahhhh. Best beer I’ve ever had.”
Padraig grabbed a second glass, filling it with just a few sips of their Irish champagne, then tapped his pint against Pop Pop’s. “We’re back,” he said softly.
Pop Pop grinned. “I never doubted it for a minute.” Then he glanced down the bar at Emmy’s empty seat. “Where’s our girl?”
Padraig liked the way Pop Pop referred to Emmy as theirs. His beloved grandfather had claimed Emmy as his own since the day she first walked into the pub, referring to her as “my girl” initially. Somewhere over the past six months or so, Padraig noticed the pronoun had turned from “my” to “our.”