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“Then he will be,” I reassure. Our parents never make promises they can’t keep. My siblings and I hit the lottery when we were born to them. Growing up, our house was full of unconditional love and support. As the oldest, I had our parents to myself for the first seven years, but I was never jealous when my siblings came along. Mom and Dad ensured we supported each other whether we wanted to or not, so we’re still close as adults. Maeve and Rogan may argue, but it’s for sport more than anything.
Rogan removes the steaming lasagna from the oven, setting the pan down on the stove. He reaches for the garlic bread before placing the cookie sheet beside the pan. “This looks amazing if I do say so myself. I may have outdone Mom’s lasagna. I’ll take a pic and ask Dad.” He pulls out his camera and sends off a text.
“Pfft, like he’s going to choose yours,” Maeve says.
“Why wouldn’t he? It’s a thing of beauty.”
“He’s not going to piss off the woman he’s been married to for thirty-five years over a pan of lasagna,” I answer.
“I don’t know your parents, but I agree with Niall. If he’s smart, and I’m assuming he is since he’s a professor, he knows not to upset the woman who sleeps next to him each night,” Lucy says.
“Right. Mom dotes on him. He’s not giving that up to make you feel good about your lasagna,” I say.
Maeve sets a stack of plates on the island, along with silverware and napkins. “Lucy, help yourself to whatever you want and sit wherever you’d like at the table.”
“I don't need to go first,” she says.
“Maeve is right. Guests always go first,” I say.
She shrugs. “Okay then.” She takes a plate, adding a chunk of lasagna and a slice of garlic bread.
Maeve follows behind Lucy, getting her own dinner. She’s learned over the years that if she doesn’t take what she wants before Rogan or me, there might not be much left for her.
“I made the salad,” Maeve says as Lucy adds some to her plate.
When they’re both sitting at the table, I fill my plate with an ungodly amount of food and join them, choosing the open seat next to Lucy. My knee bumps hers as I sit. I glance at her apologetically. “Sorry, this table isn’t made for someone my size.”
“No worries. I’ll kick you later,” she says, and I laugh. Her eyes widen, as if she didn’t know I could laugh. That’s a fair reaction, considering I’ve been reserved around her.
Rogan drops into the only open chair with the subtlety of a tornado, gaining everyone’s attention. “What? This table is kid-sized.”
“I had a similar problem,” I say.
“Everything is delicious,” Lucy compliments.
“Thank you. I spent hours in front of the stove.” Rogan mops his brow with his forearm.
Maeve snorts. “No, you didn’t. Lucy, don’t listen to anything he says.”
“Yeah, I’m learning I need to take his replies with a grain of salt.” Lucy adjusts the napkin in her lap. “I may not havesiblings, but I have cousins. One of them is a jokester like Rogan, which is why I only see him once a year.”
I laugh, and her head swings toward me. She studies my smiling face as if looking at me for the first time.
Rogan feigns outrage. “Come on. I’m the fun one. Who doesn’t like the guy who’s the life of the party?”
“I’m teasing you. The cousin I mentioned lives in Europe, so that’s the reason I don’t see him much. But out of all my family members, he’s my favorite.”
“See? Fun people are always appreciated. This world needs more men like me,” Rogan states.
Maeves rolls her eyes. “Yeah, more irresponsible men is what’s needed.”
“I’m not irresponsible. I do what I’m supposed to but on my own timeline. Except when it comes to football. I take that seriously.”
“Enjoy your carefree ways while you’re young,” Lucy says.
“You sound like you’re ancient,” Rogan says.
She raises her napkin, blotting at the corner of her mouth. “Your methods are fine for now, but when you’re slugging away for a steady paycheck, you’ll have to toe the line. You won’t always have the luxury of working at your own pace or how you want. But your fun-loving attitude might be a blessing when you’re pushing through a tough time.”
