‘I’m taking him across to the diner for dessert. It’s Michael’s birthday today.’
‘Oh, shit,’ Mai swore quietly. ‘We completely forgot about that.’
Sweeney waved her hand. ‘It’s fine. Today has been full-on and neither FinnorMichael, for that matter, would want everyone making a fuss.’
‘Maybe but… birthdays, Christmases, Father’s Days.’ Mai shrugged. ‘They’re all hard, right? I don’t need to tell you that.’
She did not. ‘Yes. They’re all hard. But it hurts less over time.’ After twenty years of special days without her dad, Sweeney could speak authoritatively on how deep, grinding grief eventually eases to something more bearable.
Not gone, just different.
‘I’m pleased he has you,’ Mai murmured.
That twinge of guilt Sweeney had been feeling practically non-stop these past almost four weeks didn’t tweak like it usually did. Because she was pleased Fin had her today, too. Whether as a bestie or a fake fiancée, she was just pleased to be here.
Sweeney smiled and patted Mai’s arm. ‘I got him,’ she assured.
And hell if she didn’t like the sound of that.
Twenty-Four
Fin trailed behind Sweeney as she pushed the diner door open. Once they’d returned to the hotel room, she’d told him to shower and change because she was taking him out for dessert. Fin had protested because he wasn’t exactly hungry after the pizza and was too fried after the long day and the fact it was his father’s birthday had played on his mind all day. But Sweeney had coaxed and cajoled and so here they were.
‘Hey.’ The woman behind the counter—called Dolly, according to her nametag—grinned at Sweeney. ‘You came back.’
‘I sure did,’ Sweeney replied, returning the grin, before she turned to him and said, ‘Why don’t you grab a booth? I’ll be right over.’
Doing as he was told, Fin settled into a window booth and took in the scene outside. Sort of, anyway, staring but not really seeing, and only vaguely aware of the low murmured conversation happening at the till. He roused himself when Sweeney slid in opposite. She looked amazing in that sexy maxi dress she’d worn the night of their mothers’ birthday party, her hair twisted up into some fancy knot, her lips all glossy.
Fin felt decidedly underdressed in his jeans and t-shirt, his hair finger combed and still damp from the shower. ‘No menus?’
‘I ordered for us.’
She had a secret kinda smile on that shiny mouth and Fin gave himself a mental kick in the pants. She was making an effort here, so should he. ‘Hmm… bossy, I like it. Just as well I don’t have one of those fragile male egos.’
Sweeney laughed. ‘Even as a geeky teen who thought he was going to die a virgin, your ego was never fragile.’
Fin smiled at the truth of it. He guessed that’s what came from growing up in a loving household with amazing male role models who’d had a good sense of themselves and believed that real men knew that life was better in a solid, equitable partnership.
He had a lot to thank his father—and his grandfather—for.
‘It was a good day,’ Sweeney murmured.
‘It was.’ Fin nodded his agreement, pleased for a change in topic. ‘I think the fact that both teams got through to tomorrow’s rounds is more a comment on the general standard than any kind of amazing skill or prowess, but’—he grinned—‘I’ll take it.’
‘At least it’s a fair fight.’
He laughed. ‘True.’
‘Your dad would have been busting with pride today.’
Fin’s grin faded. ‘Yeah.’ He absently ran his palms along the clean Laminex surface of the table. ‘He would have.’
She slid her hand across and placed it over his nearest, giving it a squeeze, and their gazes held for several long beats before Fin squeezed back then disentangled their hands. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Every time I saw you today, you were snapping away. You must have taken hundreds of pictures.’
‘One thousand, three hundred and forty-three.’
Fin blinked. ‘Holy shit.’
