Timmo had a driver and security for the weekend, and she watched as his black car pulled into the driveway. The candles were lit and the champagne was chilled. Earlier in the day, she had felt a little guilty leaving her family for . . . for what? Was Timothy Lynch her boyfriend? Her lover? Something more? Time would tell. But for now, he was both a distraction and a destination. There were the long calls at the end of his day. The flirty texts. The anticipation of their next meeting. But there was also planning their first getaway somewhere after his reign as mayor was over. The suggestion of spending August together at his place on Long Island. She scanned real estate listings imagining her own little place in New York. They were enjoying both the grand and the intimate moments together.

She opened the door. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

And she really meant it.

He allowed security to check the house before sending them off for the night.

“Where is your team staying?” Alexa asked.

“I have no idea. For three more days, I’m the mayor of New York. And I’m going to let my executive assistant make all the arrangements. Next week, I’ll be an old out-of-work Irishman, taking cabs and scraping by.”

“I doubt that.”

“As do I,” he said, then took her in his arms and kissed her. Deep, exciting, but familiar in the best way. “You smell good, like the sea.”

“I swam today. A quick plunge. But I didn’t rinse my hair. Knowing how much you like the salt air.” She kissed him again, tasted the whiskey he must have had on the plane. “Maybe you’ll come with me in the morning down to the beach.”

“If you’ll stay with me tonight.”

She thought of the overnight bag she had already stashed in the primary bedroom. Of course she would stay with him tonight. “Yes. That’s my plan.”

*  *  *

Later, when the champagne was gone and the dishes done, the couple relaxed on the couch, a fire roaring in the fireplace and some sort of light jazz coming through the speaker system. Timmo’s eyes closed, but he wasn’t quite asleep. He was on New York time, and even a night owl like himself felt the effects of the three hours’ difference. She thought about giving him a shake and then dragging him to the bedroom. But when his breath got heavy, she knew he was past his peak performance hours. She laughed as she thought about aging and romance. Timing was everything.

“Timmo.” She shook him gently. “Let’s go to bed. You’ll need your sleep for tomorrow morning.”

He stirred. “That I will.” And then he asked for the second time that night, “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

“Yes. That’s my plan.”

Chapter 33
The Mothers’ Tea

The Mother of the Bride