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It didn’t even matter that Aoife was blushing as she looked at us and muttered, “You can explain why you were crying to Jake, Conor.”
“Crying?” he repeated, bewildered.
“Yes. There were noises,” she mumbled. “You know? Noises.”
“We were that loud?” he retorted, eyes wide.
“No. He wanted to visit his Unka Kid. Thank God you locked the door.”
“Jesus.” His eyes turned distant. “My bedroom door at home doesn’t have a lock on it.”
Aoife snorted. “That’s the first thing you make sure you get when you have kids.”
It had never been an issue for me until today, and I’d only just remembered to get up and lock our door before I’d stripped off, but I nodded. “Thanks for the advice, Aoife.”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome, but you’re still explaining why you were crying.”
I accepted the dish she offered me and took a deep bite of my second croissant of the day, not needing any jam on it because it was that damn good.
“Where is he?” Conor questioned, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“In the family room with Finn and Katina.”
“I guess I should be glad the others are with Ma?”
“Yes, you should be. Expect some proud looks from your brother. I think he’s been worried about you.”
Conor started to drift out of the kitchen, muttering under his breath about snooping brothers before he froze, twisted around, and asked me, “You’ll be okay?”
I smiled at him. “Yes. And I don’t think you can judge anyone about snooping…”
He scowled. “Whose side are you on?”
My smile turned into a smirk. “The side of justice.”
Aoife chuckled and we shared a grin as Conor stomped off, this time mumbling about only God knew what.
Returning to my croissant, I answered, “Coffee, please. Milky, if possible,” when Aoife asked me if I’d like something to drink.
She set a latte in front of me after messing with a fancy espresso machine that would have been comfortable in a bougie restaurant and not a home kitchen.
As if she knew what I was thinking, she said, “Finn’s developed a taste for swanky coffee, but he can’t use the machine so I had to learn how.”
“Why can’t he use it?”
She snorted. “I have no idea. I’d think he was faking, but whenever he makes me coffee, it tastes vile. In the interests of not destroying my taste buds, I took over, and now I’m addicted.” She wafted a hand at the coffee. “Try it.”
“I’m not really an aficionado,” I excused, but I took a sip of the brew and my brows lifted. “That tastes great.” Well, better than the other disgusting dregs I drank on the regular, at any rate.
“I know. It’s the machine, not me. Miracle worker.” She tipped her head to the side as she reached for her own coffee. “Cin is next door with your… friends.”
I nodded. “I figured as much. Thank you for letting us crash into your lives.”
Aoife’s chuckle wasn’t bitter, more resigned. “Nothing irregular has happened this week.”
“Meaning it’s crazy every week?”
“You guessed it.”
