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“Mine either. I’d prefer to be in my bakery.”
“I’d prefer you to be in your bakery too,” Conor agreed, which made her smile.
Clearing my throat, I admitted, “I don’t like…”Anyone?“…most of the people in my age group.” There, that was more politically correct.
Aoife studied me. “What are you doing here?”
“She got herself kidnapped,” Conor mumbled, his head in the freezer before he retrieved a carton of ice cream. “And I think she liked it.”
“I didn’t get myself kidnapped!” My flush deepened to dangerous levels at Aoife’s raised brows. Agitated, I muttered, “It wasn’t… There was no kidnapping. I willingly went.”
“With a biker. Who you’re married to now. That’s right, no? I think I remembered that much correctly.”
I huffed. “You forgot the part about me being raped if I didn’t take the situation into my own hands!”
Aoife gasped. “Excuse me?!”
Conor dolloped a massive chunk of ice cream on top of his pie. It was more like a meteorite than a scoop. “That’s what you meant about your hymen?”
“You’re a virgin?!” Aoife squeaked. She spun around to look at Conor. “Conor, this is no time for food!”
“I haven’t eaten in two days,” he argued, holding the pie dish to his chest like it was a teddy bear. “You can’t deny me food. How am I supposed to solve this problem if I’m starving?”
Aoife plunked her hands on her hips. “You need to explain, Mary Catherine.”
“You know my name?”
Her tone was cold as she informed me, “I know your mother.”
Oh, shit.
Suddenly, her standoffishness made sense.
It had nothing to do with the bitches my age who called her fat because they were jealous of her wedding ring and everything to do with my cunt of a mother.
“Whatever she’s said to you, I’m really, really, really sorry,” I said in a rush. “Trust me when I say that I’ve been on the end of her vitriol too many times over the years. I know how her words sting.”
Mother cut cleaner than a freshly sharpened butcher’s knife.
Aoife bowed her head at me, the move graceful. “I appreciate that.” Then, she granted me the ultimate sign of forgiveness in a hostess’ arsenal. “Would you like some tea? Coffee? A slice of Conor’s pie?”
“Not my pie!”
Despite my anguish, I hid a smile. “I couldn’t eat anything. But maybe some water?”
Aoife shoved Conor away from the refrigerator and collected two bottles of water. Then, as if she owned the place, she moved over to a cupboard, gathered two glasses, and settled them on the breakfast bar where she perched herself on a stool.
As she patted the seat at her side in a gentle offering, I murmured, “I’m too nervous to sit.”
Nodding her understanding, she waved a hand at my drink in silent invitation. I snatched the bottle and gulped the water down.
Having drunk almost three-quarters of it, I apologized, “Sorry. I didn’t stop on the journey down.”
Aoife cast Conor a glance, but the question was directed at me. “You were at the compound?”
“Yes. I wanted to speak with Auntie Lena.”
“And I told her she’s loopier than a rollercoaster at the moment.”
