“I had a headache.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
Sinead ignored the challenge to her veracity, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. “I’m confused. Are we now acknowledging that the kiss happened? And if we are dating, what does that mean?”
“You think too much, you know that?”
Before Sinead could protest, Adam’s mouth was on hers, burning hot with equal parts need and desire. He pulled her to him as Sinead twined her arms around his neck, taking in his taste, reveling in the feel of being in a man’s arms after so long. She could easily devour him, but she held back. She did not want to look desperate, even though that’s how she felt: desperate for him. Oliver once accused her of living half a life. It was true. She wanted a full life. One with work and a husband and a child. She wanted it all.
There was reluctance in his eyes as he tore his mouth from hers. Sinead wondered if she should invite him to her place for coffee. No. Too forward. At least for her. She was out of practice. She’d screw things up.
Realizing she wasn’t going to ask him inside, Adam eventually asked her what her schedule was like.
I work seven days a week, she thought. I work and work to fill the hole inside me where a family should be. I work to prove I’m as good as any male attorney in this city. But pleasant warmth wrapped around her at his question. It meant he wanted to see her again.
Sinead hesitated. “It can be complicated. How about I call you?”
Adam didn’t look happy. “Okay.” He handed his satchel over to her.
“Thank you for trusting me with these,” Sinead murmured. “I mean it.”
“No prob.”
He called a cab for her, then kissed her again briefly as she slid into the backseat.
“Don’t work too hard,” he said.
“You, either.”
She watched him stroll off as the cab pulled away from the curb. They’d dined together. They’d kissed. He said it was kind of, sort of, a date. And still her mind felt muddled. She’d call Maggie and ask if she could stop by after work to talk. She needed her sister.
“Hi.”
Maggie looked pleased as she ushered Sinead inside. Sinead had phoned her the minute she’d gotten home from her “date” with Adam, asking if she could stop by. She was surprised when Maggie invited her over for dinner the next night, sounding excited as she explained it would just be the two of them: Brendan was taking Charlie over to his uncle Joe’s, allowing them some real, uninterrupted girl talk. Sinead was relieved; that was exactly what she needed.
Sinead ducked her head uncertainly as Maggie took her coat. “Brendan doesn’t feel like I’m driving him out, does he?”
“Don’t be crazy. This was his idea.”
“Good.”
Maggie motioned for Sinead to follow her through to the kitchen at the back of the old house. It was a small Victorian that Brendan was in the process of renovating himself.
“Sorry the place is such a wreck.”
“It’s not,” said Sinead, sitting at the kitchen table. “This kitchen is pretty big.”
“It is,” Maggie agreed. She opened the fridge. “I’ve got the fixings for a Greek salad. I’ve also got some hummus and baba ghanouj, too. That okay?”
“More than okay.”
“Good.” The minute Maggie began pulling the food out of the fridge, Sinead jumped up to help.
“Neenee, sit down,” Maggie admonished. “It’s just a few things.”
Sinead shrugged. “Okay.”
“Mom sure trained us well,” Maggie said dryly.
“You got that right.”
Sinead watched Maggie deftly cut up the salad. Nimble hands, the same hands she used as a massage therapist before she gave it up to stay home with Charlie. Sinead knew money was tight for her sister now that she was home full-time. Maybe it was time to offer some help. She knew Brendan was a proud man, but this wasn’t a gift from a stranger. It was family.
Maggie’s face lit up excitedly. “Remember that grape soda we used to drink as kids? Well, I found some. It’s a guilty pleasure. Want a glass?”
“Oh my God, I would love that!”
“Be prepared to get the sugar rush of your life,” she warned as she handed Sinead her glass.
Sinead took a sip. The soda was just as she remembered: sickeningly sweet. Oliver would love it.
“Well?”
“Disgusting as ever and yet, I’m so glad you found it.”
Maggie grinned. “Me, too.”
Maggie slipped into the kitchen chair opposite Sinead. Never shy about eating heartily, at least not in front of each other, they piled their plates up high before Maggie poured out some mineral water for them. She remembers I can’t drink wine, Sinead thought gratefully. Maggie’s expression was relaxed as she took her drink.
“I’m so glad you called. We haven’t had a good talk in ages. Not since Charlie’s been born.”
“I know.” Sinead felt guilty. They indulged in small talk for a while, but eventually, Sinead felt like she just couldn’t keep it in anymore. “I need to talk to you about this guy I met,” she blurted out. “You’re the only one whose input I really trust on this.”
“Wow. A guy. Finally.” Maggie looked eager. “Go for it.”
“Okay.”
Sinead took a deep, fortifying drink of water and plunged in, telling Maggie all about Adam. When she was done, she held her breath expectantly, waiting for Maggie’s pronouncement. Maggie just stared at her as if the answer was self-evident. “Go out with him.”
Sinead blinked. “Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“But he’s my client, Mags. It’s unethical. And if any of the senior partners in the firm found out, my career would be dead in the water.”
“He’s not going to be your client forever.”
“What if we become a couple and I lose the case? Don’t you think I’d lose him?”
“You’re deliberately putting up roadblocks. Keep it simple : if you like him, date him. Go with the flow.”
Sinead put down her fork. “I hate that expression! I don’t go with the flow; I control the flow.”
Maggie popped an olive in her mouth. “How’s that new blood pressure medication working out for you, Neenee?”
Sinead scowled. “Shut up, Maggie.”
She took a sip of her water. “All right. I’ll see what happens. Look, don’t say a word about this to anyone, especially Quinn. He’s such a blabbermouth.”
“My lips are sealed,” Maggie promised. “Now let’s get down to the good stuff . . .”
Dinner finished, Maggie set up the coffee while Sinead cut up the Irish soda bread their mother used as an excuse to drop by Maggie’s house at least once a week.
“Mags?”
“Mmm?”
“I know your being a full-time mom has taken a big bite out of your income,” Sinead said carefully. “Let me help.”
Maggie looked over her shoulder, smiling sadly. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it would sit well with Brendan.”
“We could say it’s a loan, then.”
For a moment Maggie looked like she was seriously considering it, but she soon snapped out of it. “He’ll never go for it.”
“But it’s family. That’s what families do: they help each other out.”
Maggie kissed Sinead on the top of the head as she rejoined her at the table. “We’ll see. I’ll work on him.” Her expression turned tentative. “You know, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Sinead hid her anxiety. “Sure.”
“Why have you been so distant lately?” Maggie asked, looking wounded. “Is it that you don’t like Charlie?”
“I love Charlie.” Sinead took a deep breath, her chest actually hurting. “I’m envious of you. Can’t you see that? I want to bond with him, but I feel like I don’t know how. I don’t think he likes me.”
Maggie laughed lightly. “He doesn’t
like anyone right now. Just relax. These things take time.”
“I hope you’re right. I want to be a real aunt to him, you know?”
“That means a lot to me.” Maggie took a hearty bite of the Irish soda bread. “Promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’ll give this guy Adam a fair shot.”
Sinead clucked her tongue. “Yes. Fine. But I’m the older sister here. Technically, you should be doing what I tell you, not the other way around.”
“So tell me what to do, then,” Maggie taunted.
“Cut me a big fat piece of soda bread and put tons of butter on it, slave.”
“Now that’s my sister.”
Thoughts of Sinead were screwing with Adam’s concentration. Not her fault, but still, he hated that he wasn’t as present on the ice as he should have been during the game against Detroit. The Blades had won, but Adam didn’t share their sense of victory.
It had been difficult for him to give Sinead the albums filled with fan letters. He’d never shown them to anyone before. Despite being proud of them, he worried that their existence made him look egotistical. As for his visiting sick kids and contributing money to hospitals, both went in the same category as financing the skating rink in Claresholm: his conditions had always been that his actions not be revealed to the public at large. He loathed publicity of this sort; in fact, he loathed publicity, period, especially the press he was getting with the assault charge hanging over his head. Every hit he made on the ice was scrutinized and dissected. It didn’t inhibit him, but it was still annoying. He was going to stop reading the sports pages and watching ESPN, except for PTI.
At any rate, his ploy of asking Sinead for a drink under the guise of business had worked. But against his wishes, his mind kept dragging him back to the memory of kissing her. The kiss had been intense; it had been a long time since he’d felt such a connection to a woman. Yet he had some reservations about what would happen next. Just as he took his job seriously, so, too, he took his personal relationships with women seriously. He didn’t want to find himself in a sticky situation.
He’d just come out of the shower and gotten dressed when Michael Dante motioned for him for follow him out into the hall.
“How you feelin’?” Michael asked.
Adam was mystified. “Fine. Why?”
“Your play seemed a little off tonight.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” Adam felt bad that he’d let his team down.
“The only thing you need to be sorry about is if you’re starting to tone it down because the commissioner is on your ass.”
“No way,” Adam assured him.
“Good. Everything else okay?”
“Fine.”
“You got a girlfriend yet?”
“Not yet, but soon. Maybe.”
Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “Look, all of us have off games every once in a while—even Ty did, though Christ knows he’d never admit it. I know it’s hard with this case hanging over your head. But you gotta stay as sharp as you can out there. Show the league they’re never gonna get rid of old-time hockey, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be played. Refuse to back down, and it’ll inspire not only our guys, but all of Canada even more. You’re already a hero to them and in the Great White North; stand your ground, and they’ll follow you into hell.”
Adam nodded. “Gotcha.”
“Good. And good luck with your maybe girlfriend.”
13
Sinead stood at her kitchen stove doing something she hadn’t done in a long time: cook.
As promised, she had called Adam, even though just picking up her cell made her stomach flip. He seemed glad to hear from her. To cover her butterflies, she’d started with business, telling him she’d finished scanning his fan letters. “Would you like to pick them up at the office?” she’d asked casually, deciding that if he said yes, it meant that he’d reconsidered their “date,” and they were back to “it never happened” status.
“Let’s meet outside the office,” he’d suggested. That’s when Sinead had insanely, impulsively, invited him over for dinner. Adam agreed.
Now here she was, wrapped in a rarely worn apron, chopping vegetables with a large gleaming knife she didn’t think she’d ever used before. She probably should have asked Adam what he liked to eat, but she’d forgotten, so she opted for simple: rosemary roast potatoes, roast chicken, and a salad. She’d picked up a coffee cake at Zabar’s, making a mental note to send Adam home with it when the night was through; otherwise, she’d eat her way through it in a few days. Coffee cake was her weakness. Actually, baked goods of any form were her weakness. That was why she usually didn’t let herself have them. Rigid, she chided herself. You’re so rigid. Just go with the flow. She laughed out loud. As if.
Like some giddy teenager preparing for her first date, Sinead had spent hours agonizing over what to wear. She couldn’t wear anything sexy even if she wanted to: pathetically, she didn’t own a single item of sexy clothing. In the end, she opted for the new pair of jeans she’d bought at Bloomingdale’s, and a scoop neck, yellow silk cotton jersey with elbow sleeves that Lennie Buckley had made for her a few months ago. Simple and casual.
She checked her watch: five minutes until Adam was due. Nerves had driven her to set the table an hour early. Though she couldn’t drink wine, she’d picked up a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc just in case Adam wanted some.
Sinead nearly jumped out of her skin when the buzzer sounded and the doorman announced that there was an Adam Perry here to see her. “You can send him up,” she said, her heart beginning to pound like a bass drum as she quickly untied her apron, folded it neatly, and put it on the counter. Go with the flow. Go with the flow. Go with the flow.
Adam knocked so quietly that had she not been expecting him, she might have missed it. Sinead braced herself and then opened the door. Just the sight of him made her heart jump a notch, making smiling unavoidable.
“Hi.”
Adam smiled back. “Hi.”
There was an awkward moment before he leaned over to kiss her cheek. Sinead caught his scent: woodsy. She detected cedar, maybe some sweet lime. His hair was still damp from the shower. She longed to run her fingers through it, but for now, she’d have to leave that to her imagination.
Adam held out a bouquet of pink-edged daisies. “These are for you.”
“Thank you.” She tried to remember the last time anyone bought her flowers. God knows Chip never did, at least not in the later years of their marriage, as if he didn’t have to woo her anymore. It had pained her, especially since her father still surprised her mother with flowers after forty years of marriage.
Adam whistled through his teeth, impressed with her apartment. “Wow. This is some place you’ve got here.”
“Thank you,” Sinead repeated, feeling mildly self-conscious. She did have a wonderfully large apartment on the Upper East Side. She’d worked hard to be able to buy it, but sometimes, her income embarrassed her, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because deep down, she felt that it was proof that what her family said to her was right: all she’d done her whole adult life was work.
“Where do you live?” she asked Adam.
“East Twenty-eighth and Third Avenue. Pretty nondescript, but it’s a fairly quiet street. Not a lot of nightlife around.”
“Is that important to you?”
“Yeah. I like to wind down after games and just hang out. I’m not really a party type of guy.”
“I guessed that.” Sinead gestured toward the kitchen. “Um, I hope you like chicken and roast potatoes.”
“Sounds great. That was actually a big favorite in my house when I was growing up.”
Sinead grinned. “Me, too.” She remembered the flowers in her hand. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch, and I’ll put these in water. Would you like anything to drink? I’ve got some Sauvignon Blanc.”
“I’d love a glass.”
> “Be right back.”
Sinead returned to the kitchen, rolling some of the nervousness she was feeling out of her shoulders. God, he was handsome. He had to know it. She’d tried hard not to stare at his mouth while he was talking; that beautiful, sensuous mouth that had kissed her so expertly. She put the flowers in a vase and uncorked the chilled wine, pouring him a glass as well as some water for herself. She brought the drinks out into the living room, then went back to get the flowers, placing them in the center of the coffee table. She sat down next to Adam—close, but not too close.
Adam lifted his wineglass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Sinead looked at her coffee table, bare except for the flowers and their two glasses, and cringed. “God, I forgot to get us some crackers and cheese. Sorry.”
Adam looked baffled. “Why are you apologizing?”
Sinead felt her face flame. “It’s just that I wanted things to be perfect.” And it’s three minutes in, and I’ve already failed.
“Anyone ever tell you that you need to relax?”
Sinead lifted her eyebrows. “Look who’s talking.”
Adam reeled back slightly, surprised. “What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Intense.”
“Ms. Intense. Anthony said we should have an ‘intense off.’ ”
Sinead was amused. “Oh, did he now?” She gave a small frown. “The only thing I hate about the word intense is that it implies being humorless, you know? Or no fun.”
“I know. But it’s obvious I have a sense of humor.”
“Is it?”
“I’m a Three Stooges fan, remember?”
Sinead groaned. “God, I wish you’d never told me that.” She was visited by a memory. “My brothers used to watch them all the time. Then they’d try to poke each other’s eyes out. My mother was not pleased.”
Adam laughed delightedly. “My brother and I used to do that, too.”
“It must be a guy thing.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to watch a few old episodes with me?” Adam asked sardonically.
“I’ll pass.”
Adam sighed. “Your loss.”
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