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long enough for her to notice. Oh.
You wore the skirt. It looks amazing.
Suddenly everyone is looking at me.
My palms start to tingle. Before I can lose
my breath, I excuse myself. “I could use”—
blood jackhammers my brain—“some air.”
I START TOWARD THE FRONT DOOR
But someone catches my arm.
Come on out here, he says.
The backyard is real pretty.
It’s one of Liam’s cousins. Beau?
Michael? Whichever, he is a couple
of years older than me and wears
Irish good looks in long, straight
black walnut hair, white linen skin,
and eyes the color of violets.
I catch my breath, shadow him out
into a miniature botanical garden,
with ponds and statuary and trees
in full autumn dress. It’s stunning.
Very Zen. My heartbeat slows in
appreciation of the almost solitude.
Almost, but for what’s-his-name.
You okay now? His voice is satin.
You looked right about ready to bolt.
“I’m good, thanks. I, uh … sorry.
Can’t remember your name.
Too many thrown at me at once.”
He grins, showing perfect pearl
teeth. Micah. This is a big family,
