“There now.” I put my hands to her shoulders and maneuver us to a nearby table. “There’s nothing in the world that can’t be mended,” I add, sounding like my granny as I press her down into a chair.
“How about trust? Or a person’s soul?”
Fuck me, that was a bit dramatic. “Here.” I quickly swipe up my whiskey from the bar and push the glass into her hands. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
She puts the glass to her lips, and—news flash—it does not make her feel better. It doesn’t make me feel better either as she begins to cough and splutter, tears rolling freely down her face now.
“Oh, my God. That is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.” She stares at the glass in her hand with something like horror. “What the hell is it?”
“Irish whiskey.” Who on this earth has never had a drop of the good stuff?
“Tastes like ass.”
“It does not taste like ass. And I would know. I’ve tasted a lot of—”
“Ass?”
“Whiskey,” I retort with a frown. “I’ve tasted enough whiskey to know what you have there is premium.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” I’m not normally so easily offended on behalf of my people.Halfof my people. Whatever. I move to the bar and shove a fifty down in exchange for the shot and my pint before turning back to a pitiful sight.
“Ah, darlin’. Don’t cry.” I put my glass on the table as my stomach sinks.
“I’m not crying. It’s the whiskey.”
“That was fast. You’ve usually got to drink at least half a bottle before the tears start.”
“I’m supposed to be at a wedding.” Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.
Pushing aside the coincidence, I down a good portion of my beer. She’s not the only one in need of a drink, and that news doesn’t exactly help. But because I’m not a complete dick, I crouch down in front of her and take her hands in mine. “Supposed to be?”
“My ex is getting married,” she whispers. “Willbe married by now.”
“Ah.”
“I’m not crying,” she says, oblivious to the obvious as her shoulders begin to tremble again. “Not over him. I never cry. Unless—oh, my God. Maybe this is what happens when you have ten years of tears stored inside you. Why is this happening now? I’d rather store them as cankles than have this happen now!”
“Come on. There now.” Jesus God, I sound like my sister soothing her little one. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she retorts, shaking her head, her words all blubbery and wet. “Months of planning, for it to come to this.”
Whoever said crying girls are attractive needs their head examined.
“Hush now,” I say a little harsher, changing tack yet still borrowing my sister’s parental tone. The one she uses when little Clodagh is overwrought. “No good can come from getting yourself in this state.”
“What the fuck would you know?” she says, snatching away her hands.
“What do I know?” Not much, apparently. Because as my brain tries to formulate an answer, my mouth takes the opportunity to become an independent contractor. “Only that I’m exactly the kind of man to get you out of this.”
Chapter 3
Matt
Maybe there is something about crying girls after all.
“Wait.” She tilts her head, her pretty eyes so blue and so glossy. “What?”
