Part 43 (1/2)
”My brother hasn't given me opportunity to have more than a word with you up to now.” Shawn's eyes twinkled. ”Keeping you to himself as he is.”
”You're always in the kitchen when I come into the pub.”
”Where they keep me chained. But we can make up for it now.”
He was flirting right back with her, she realized, just as harmlessly. It didn't make her nervous. It didn't give her those odd and lovely liquid pulls that flirting with Aidan did. It just made her comfortable.
”Then I'll start by saying you have a lovely house.”
”We're happy with it.” He led her to a chair, and when she sat, made himself comfortable on the arm of it. ”Darcy and I rattle about well enough.”
”It's made for more people. A big family, lots of children.”
”It's held that more often than it hasn't. Our father was one of ten.”
”Ten? Good G.o.d!”
”We've uncles and aunts and cousins scattered all over and back again-Gallaghers and Fitzgeralds. You being one of them,” he added with a grin. ”I remember as a boy having packs of them coming in and out of the house from time to time, so I was always sharing me bed with some lad who was my cousin from Wicklow or Boston or Devons.h.i.+re.”
”Do they still come back?”
”Now and then. You did, cousin Jude.” He liked the way she smiled at that, sweet and a little shy. ”But it's Darcy and me in the house most times now. And will be until the first of the three of us decides to marry and start a family. The house'll go to the one who does.”
”Won't the other two mind?”
”No. That's the Gallagher way.”
”And you'll know you'll always be welcome here, that it'll still be home.”
”That's right.” He said it quietly because he read tones and nuances well, and could see she was yearning for a home of her own. ”Do you have a house in Chicago?”
”No. It's a condo like a glorified flat,” she added, then suddenly restless, rose. Flat, she thought again, was precisely how it seemed to her now. ”This is a wonderful spot. You can watch the sea.”
She started to walk to a window, then stopped by a battered old piano. The keys were yellowed, and several of them chipped, and over the scarred wood sheet music was scattered. ”Who plays?”
”All of us.” Shawn came up beside her, put his long fingers over the keys and played a quick series of chords.
Battered the instrument might have been, but its notes rang sweet and true. ”Do you play as well?”
”A little. Not very well.” She blew out a breath, reminding herself not to be such a moron. ”Yes.”
”Which is it?”
”Yes, I play.”
”Well, then, let's hear it.” He gave her a nudge, hip against hip, that surprised her into sitting down on the bench.
”I haven't played in months,” she began, but he was already riffling through the sheet music, setting a piece in front of her before joining her on the bench.
”Try this one.”