Love, Luck, and Little Green Men: A Contemporary Romance

by Diane Kelly

  When Riley slid into his place at the kitchen table, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Colcannon? Again?”

  Not a big fan of cabbage, that boy. Unfortunately for him, cabbage came cheap and was a dinner-time staple at our house.

  Ma pointed her fork at Riley. “Don’t you dare try to feed it to the dog.”

  “Don’t worry,” Riley said. “I love Blarney. I’d never force him to eat this stuff.”

  Brendan fought a grin. He’d never been a fan of colcannon either. He shot Riley a pointed look. “Mind your manners, son.”

  “Yes, sir,” Riley said. But when my mother had turned her attention to her plate, the two of them made faces at each other behind their napkins, sticking out their tongues and pretending to gag. I nudged Brendan’s foot under the table and gave him a stern look. My efforts earned me a roguish grin that turned my insides to goo.

  My father led us in the traditional Catholic mealtime prayer and we dug in. Over dinner, Brendan and Riley discussed the Mavericks’ performance in the previous night’s game against the Lakers. Since Brendan had been tied up with Ash Wednesday duties, he’d seen only the last quarter. Riley filled him in on the rest of the game, including the Laker girls’ performance, which had apparently included much poppin’, lockin’, and booty-shakin’.

  I pointed my fork at Riley. “You can leave those details out next time.”

  My mother inquired whether Brendan had heard from his sisters back in Ireland lately, and he filled her in on his family news, including his niece’s recent piano recital and his eight-year old nephew’s third-place award at the county-wide spelling bee. He’d managed to spell “inquisition” but had stumbled on “derogatory,” mistakenly replacing the “e” with a “u.”

  Despite the fact that he’d carried the burden of supporting his sisters when they were younger, Brendan always spoke fondly of them. Sometimes my heart broke for the boy he’d once been, the boy who’d been forced to shoulder a man’s responsibilities much too soon. His family life in Ireland had never been a happy one, and now, as a Catholic priest, he’d never have a family of his own. Being an honorary member of the Flaherty clan was the closest he’d ever come.

  As my mother and I cleared the plates, Dad looked across the table at Brendan, his face serious but grateful. “Thank you . . . for making sure . . . Erin is safe, Brendan.” Looked like my dad had only half of his bars tonight. Oh, well. It was better than none.

  “’T’was nothing.” Brendan shrugged. “Happy to do it.”

  “After this damn . . . stroke it takes me . . . forever to get up and dressed.”

  Like many stroke victims, my dad sometimes grew angry about his condition, his limitations. Things that had once been so easy—buttoning his shirt, tying his shoes—now required a near Herculean effort.

  Luckily, Ma knew just how to defuse his anger. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a saucy wink. “There are some things you still do very well, my dear.”

  “Ew!” Riley grabbed his stomach with both hands. “My colcannon’s coming back up.”

  Brendan and I laughed along with my dad as Riley ran from the room.

  While Riley changed into his basketball uniform and my mother helped my father get ready, Brendan helped me wash and dry the dishes. We had a standard routine. I washed. He dried and put the dishes away. Brendan fit so well, so easily into my family, it was a shame he wasn’t an official part of it. Riley loved him like a father and my parents adored him. But this was the most we could ever have. Occasional dinners, brief moments alone doing the dishes, our hands sometimes touching as I handed him a plate or a cast iron skillet.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Brendan said, next to me.

  I gave him a weary smile. “A lot on my mind.”

  “It will all be okay, Erin,” he said softly. “I promise you.”

  I glanced down at Blarney, sleeping in the corner of the kitchen. I wished I could share his confidence.

  Brendan flipped the dishtowel over his shoulder. “Did we get everything?”

  I put a hand into the sink, feeling around in the sudsy dishwater for any silverware we might have missed. Brendan slid his hand into the warm water, too, grabbing mine underneath the covering of bubbles. We stood there for a moment, holding hands in the water, not looking at each other, both of us staring out the window over the kitchen sink, pretending nothing was happening. It was getting harder and harder to pretend nothing was happening between us.

  Something was happening between us, right? I mean, we’d hugged before, shared occasional touches over the years. But things had grown more intense lately, our physical interactions more frequent, more personal, more intimate. I refused to think more about it. If I thought about it, I’d have to deal with it, maybe put an end to it. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to stand there holding Brendan’s hand under the water forever, until our skin turned pruney and fell off our bones.

  When Riley bounded back into the kitchen in his green and gold basketball uniform, Brendan dropped my hand and dried his on the dish towel. I continued to stare out the window, focusing on Riley’s tree house at the back of the yard, blinking back the sad tears forming in my eyes. Something seemed to move in the window of the tree house, but when I blinked my eyes clear I saw nothing other than the breeze blowing the tree limbs. Probably the movement had been nothing more than a squirrel or a bird.

  That little green troll had me paranoid.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SCORE

  My mom, dad, Brendan, and I sat at the bottom of the bleachers, cheering on Riley and his teammates. Tonight was the final game of the junior high season. Despite Riley scoring dozens of points in each game, his team had won only two games all season. Not much talent on the team besides my son. He didn’t let it go to his head, though, always giving a high-five to his fellow players on the rare occasions when one of them scored.

  Riley was in especially good form tonight, scoring all of the eighteen points his team earned in the first quarter. Riley never intentionally hogged the ball, but his teammates knew their best chance of success was to put the ball in Riley’s hands and they routinely passed the ball to him.

  Layup.

  Swoosh.

  Slam dunk.

  And a roar from the home team crowd.

  The process seemed to repeat itself over and over.

  Once the other team caught on, the opposing players began triple-teaming Riley, preventing him from successfully shooting or passing the ball through their sea of waving arms. At halftime, when the team’s coach had finished their huddle, Riley trotted over to Brendan. Riley’s face appeared tight, frustrated. Brendan had played rugby for years back in Ireland and seemed to know just the thing to thing to say to keep Riley’s spirits up.

  The two stepped over to the wall and hunched head-to-head for their private pep talk. I had no idea what Brendan might be saying to Riley, but whatever it was, it worked. The irritation on Riley’s face eased and he smiled again. The two bumped fists and broke.

  The sight of the two of them together, sharing a private moment like a father and son, ignited that ache in my heart again. I was glad Riley had a father figure in his life, a man he could open up to, a man who guided and encouraged him on both a practical and a spiritual level. I only wished the relationship could be official, that Riley could have a complete family unit. Had I been wrong to turn down Matthew’s marriage proposal all those years ago? Had I been selfish to want more for myself? Had I put my own desires above my son’s needs? Was it a mother’s destiny to feel guilty her entire life, wondering if she’d done enough for her children? Was I asking myself too many unanswerable questions?

  The only one of those questions I could answer definitively was the last, and the unequivocal answer was, “Hell, yes! Shut up already!”

  While Riley headed back onto the court, Brendan slid back into his spot next to me, his thigh touching mine. The warmth of him, even though our clothing, sent a heat radiating through the rest
of my body, igniting a different kind of ache in me now. I kept my eyes glued on the court, afraid if I looked at Brendan he’d see the unfettered desire in my eyes, afraid I’d drag him under the bleachers and engage in some one-on-one with him right then and there, put some points on our scoreboard.

  Back on the court, Riley outsmarted the other team. They’d blocked him from the front and sides, so he passed the ball behind him to his teammates who ran down the court and scored before the other team realized Riley no longer had the ball. Thanks to Brendan’s coaching on the sidelines, Riley’s efforts were no longer thwarted and the other players had a chance to move the ball, too.

  When the game was over, Riley’s team had won—by a mere four points, but nontheless a win. Riley was named the team’s most valuable player for the year and awarded a tall trophy and a basketball signed by each of his teammates. Brendan and I leapt to our feet when Riley’s name was announced.

  My mother helped my dad to his feet, too, and though he couldn’t clap since he needed to keep his right hand on his cane, his beam of pride said it all. He turned to the man sitting next to him and struggled to get the words out. “That’s my . . . grandson.”

  The man smiled. “You must be so proud.”

  “That I . . . am.”

  Riley returned to the bleachers with his trophy and ball, the photographer from the school newspaper on his heels. The boy asked if he could take a shot of Riley with his parents, and Riley immediately stepped between me and Brendan, putting an arm around each of our shoulders. Riley didn’t bother to clarify with the photographer that Brendan wasn’t actually his father, not even his step-father. Titles seemed trivial, irrelevant at a time like this. It was the things someone did for you, the role they played in your life that was most important. Right?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 19TH

  THE SHOW MUST GO ON

  In the soft dawn light of Saturday morning, Brendan was at the shop waiting for me in his slippers and pajamas, his hair tousled in a way that was both cute and sexy at the same time. “My alarm didn’t go off,” he explained as I eyed his hair.

  I fought a grin as I glanced down at the print on his flannel lounge pants. “Sheep? Really?”

  His voice became solemn. “Not sheep, Erin. Lambs of God.”

  The grin won the fight and spread across my face. “Nice try.”

  “I’ve got a pair with duckies, too.”

  Duckies. Heck, I bet he even looked sexy in duckies. And I bet I didn’t look sexy at all in this old pink jogging suit.

  I told Brendan he needn’t come by at closing. “Tammy’s dropping by later.” I didn’t tell him she was coming to help me work on my routine for the wet T-shirt contest. If I’d had any doubts about dancing in the contest, they’d been wiped out this earlier this morning when Blarney had staggered into the kitchen, weaving as if he were drunk, bumping into the chairs and knocking over the trash can. Fortunately, Riley and my parents had still been asleep so I’d been the only one to witness the episode. Clearly the tumor was growing, the steroids having only a nominal affect.

  Worry lines creased Brendan’s brow. “I’d feel more comfortable if I was here at closing time, too.”

  His chivalry was sweet, but I had no place other than my shop to practice my routine for the wet T-shirt contest. I couldn’t very well practice at home, and the multi-purpose room at the rec center had been reserved today by a local Red Hat Society.

  “I’ve imposed on you too much, Brendan.”

  His face softened. “You could never impose too much, Erin.”

  Normally I loved having Brendan around, but not today. “Tammy and I made plans to go out later.” An outright lie, but one that might get him to back off. “We haven’t had any girl time lately.”

  “Where are you two going?”

  I shook a finger at him. “Nuh-uh-uh. What happens at girls’ night out stays at girls’ night out.”

  He chuckled. “No problem. I’ll help you close up then I’ll take Blarney home for you. Maybe Riley and I can have some guy time, take in a movie.”

  “He’d like that. He’s been wanting to see that new zombie flick.”

  Brendan issued a groan. “Another zombie flick? Jakers, we must’ve sat through a dozen already this year.”

  And I knew Brendan would sit through a dozen more if it would make Riley happy.

  “Thanks, Bren. I’ll make it up to you with some blueberry muffins.”

  “Blueberry muffins? You think I can be bought off that easily?”

  “I know you can be bought off that easily.”

  “Darn.” And there was that roguish, chipped-tooth smile that made my heart quiver.

  ***

  Unlike the bleak weather we’d had lately, today turned out bright and sunny, Mother Nature teasing north Texas with a sneak preview of spring. Brendan returned to my shop a half hour before my 2:00 closing time. The flannel PJ’s were gone, and now he wore his hiking boots with jeans and a nubby navy pullover sweater, sleeves, as always, pushed up to the elbows. He took out my trash and set the hands on my sorry-we-missed-you clock to 7:30, indicating the time the shop would open again on Monday morning.

  Tammy tapped on the glass as I was counting the money in the till. Brendan let her in the door. Tammy was dressed adorably in trendy designer jeans, a ruffled lavender top, and sassy high-heeled lace-up boots, her blonde hair pulled up in a French twist and secured with a silver clip, the ensemble accessorized with dangly silver chandelier earrings and a half dozen silver bangle bracelets. She might stand low to the ground, but her clothing was high fashion.

  Tammy ducked and shadow boxed with Brendan. “Yo, Daddio.”

  “Yo, yourself,” he said. He allowed her to land a light punch to his stomach, grabbing it with his hand and staggering backward in a fake fall. Nobody could ever accuse the two of them of excessive maturity. Still, I was glad my best friend and my . . . priest got along so well.

  I’d called Tammy earlier and told her about my conversation with Brendan, so she knew to pretend we’d be going out later. She pulled one of the chairs over, climbed onto it, and hopped up onto her usual place on the countertop in front of the TV.

  “So, what’s up for girls’ night?” Brendan asked, looking from me to Tammy. “Manicures? Shopping? Margaritas?”

  “That’s the girls’ night trifecta,” Tammy replied.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Shame on you, Brendan. Our girls’ night activities were supposed to be a secret.”

  He shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you won’t be out chasing men.”

  Tammy looked from me to Brendan, her eyes narrowing and as a sly smile spreading across her face. She raised a single blonde brow. “And what if we were? Erin and I are both single. It would be only natural for us to go on the prowl for man flesh.”

  A blush crept up Brendan’s cheeks and his jaw flexed as if he were biting back words better left unspoken. When he failed to respond, Tammy turned to me and raised the other brow as if to say, See? Told you he’s got the hots for you.

  I wished her brows would shut up.

  After I finished counting the money, I zipped the day’s take in the bank bag and locked up the shop. Brendan loaded Blarney into his truck. I fought the urge to give Brendan a hug, leery of any further physical contact, especially in front of Tammy. Things were becoming too complicated. “Thanks for taking Blarney home. Enjoy the zombies.”

  “I will.” Brendan put his arms out in front of him and walked around his truck in zombie fashion, emitting a primitive, guttural sound. What a goofball. A sweet, sexy goofball.

  Tammy and I climbed into my car and headed down the street. I watched in my rearview mirror to make sure Brendan drove off. Once I saw his pickup head the other way, I made the block and returned to my shop, parking in the same spot I’d vacated only minutes before.

  Tammy rolled her eyes. “All this sneaking around makes me feel like I’m twelve.”

  “If only. Remem
ber how easy it was to be twelve?”

  Tammy nodded. “Yeah. I hadn’t started my period yet and my mother still made my bed for me. Those were the good old days.”

  ***

  Back inside my shop, Tammy returned to her perch on the counter while I went into the storeroom and slipped out of my track suit and into my fishnet hose, red hot pants, and sparkly stilettos. I even slipped off my bra to see how it felt to go au natural under the white T-shirt I’d snagged from Riley’s clean laundry. The tee was much too long, of course, hanging down past the hem of my shorts.

  I walked out of the storeroom and stood in front of the counter. “What do you think?”

  Tammy’s gaze traveled from my slutty shoes up to my face. “The shoes and fishnets are perfect,” she said, sliding down from the counter and stepping toward me. “But the T-shirt needs work.” She reached out and grabbed the hem of the T-shirt, twisting it into a knot tied just below my ribcage. She pushed me toward the full-length oval mirror in the corner.

  The knot drew the T-shirt into pleats that puffed out at my chest, giving the illusion I had much larger cleavage than I really had.

  “I still say you missed your calling as a pimp.” I took another look in the mirror. With the T-shirt pulled up in the knot, my red hot pants were now visible, along with my flat abs. Being too worried to eat does have some benefits.

  Tammy stepped up behind me and our gazes met in the mirror. “You know what would make you look even sexier and younger? A belly button ring.”

  “Ow.” At the thought of putting a hole in my belly I reflexively doubled over, hand on my stomach. “I am not piercing my belling button.”

  “No, no, no.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t actually have to get it pierced. They make belly button rings now that slide on, kind of like clip-on earrings. See?”