“It’s easy to talk to each other,” he says.
“That’s because you have to. I’m your etiquette coach.”
“What about all our texts? And the years before that?” His eyes are tender, but his brows lift in surprise at how hard I’m trying to deflect the changes between us.
“Right now, I’m in a certain role and I can’t—” I can’t risk losing my job, my best friend, or my heart.
“I know that your favorite kind of cake is carrot, you have an affinity for official days—official doughnut day, official sweet romance day, official bumble bee day, official French language day...I could go on.”
“I’ve always wanted to go back to Paris,” I blurt.
There’s no way I want to update or change our friendship status, but when he finds out I omitted what Mrs. O’Meally said, it’ll mess up everything. It’s probably better not to allow our feelings to develop. Yet, Declan is hard to resist. I tell myself that maybe, instead of ruining our friendship, it’ll enhance and nurture it like a flower on a vine.
A vine with thorns, my inner troll pipes up.
Declan’s lips twitch with a smile like he senses my thoughts. “And now I can add Paris to the long list of places we should visit. Let’s not forget you were a field hockey star and you’re a wiz when it comes to grammar and punctuation. Oh, and you can solve a Rubik’s cube in about sixty seconds.”
“And what do I know about you?”
“Almost everything. I’m an open book.” He gestures with his hands, opening and closing them.
I spin my finger around us. “This is new to me.” The items on my swoon list loom large in my mind. “Let’s see. Things I know about Declan Printz. You’re a bad-boy. You get a tattoo every time the team wins. You smell like...” My breath takes on that swoony sigh Etta Jo pointed out.
“You know that I’m also an amazing football player, ruggedly handsome, big muscles—” He flexes, then raises and lowers his eyebrows.
My exhale comes out shaky. “But everyone knows that.”
“Fair enough. But you know more about me than any other single person.”
“Even Brandi?”
“Who’s Brandi?” he asks before leaning forward and giving instructions to the driver, then doesn’t say anything else for the next few minutes as the car motors several miles north.
After a long pause of pregnant silence, we pull into the driveway of a luxury townhome.
Declan finally speaks, “Welcome to Howth Harbor and the house I’ve never set foot in. I have plenty of room for you to stay, including a guest space that Aunt Maureen was supposed to occupy, but she preferred her flat in the city proper. In the meantime, I’m going to prove that you know more about me than anyone else.” He starts to get out of the car.
I grab his arm. “Wait—I have something to tell you.” I struggle to keep my voice even.
He lowers back in and tilts his head in my direction.
“I have a confession.”
“That you’re actually a vampire? That you love pickles and peanut butter? That you swapped out your college roommate’s designer water for tap water? Two truths and one lie for me, baby. I am not a vampire.”
The corners of my lips tug upward. Declan can consider his mission to make me smile a success. Nonetheless, I take a deep breath and hold his gaze.
His smile falls when he realizes that I’m not joking.
“The first night when you asked me to listen to the voicemail, I didn’t tell you the whole story. I think it was about your friend Keefe—the person your Aunt Maureen mentioned.”
“What did the message say?” His voice is tight.
The content of the voicemail has played in my mind every day since I heard it. “It was a woman. She sounded upset. WhatI’d told you about her saying that you should call, no matter what time of day or night, and that it was important, were both true. But she also said thathemight not make it. That even though it’s been years, you should come. Her voice cracked and she was crying, so I couldn’t quite make out the name or whohewas, but now I realize that it was probably Keefe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“It seemed too personal. From the past. Something we don’t talk about, even though we do know a lot about each other. It was for you to hear. Not me. I tried to get you to listen to it yourself. I should’ve told you the truth. I’m sorry. I realize now that was selfish of me. I wasn’t thinking about you and how it would’ve been important for you to go to his bedside. Mostly, I didn’t want to open the door to my past,” I blather with apology in my voice.
