“We’ll talk it through when you get back. Shannon, have you called me from across the entire country, drunk on—what are you drunk on?”

“Champagne. Rogan’s finest French champagne.”

“Figures. Drunk on champagne,” he repeated, “to tell me for the first time that you love me?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. You have a wonderful voice.” She kept her heavy eyes closed. “I could listen to it forever. I bought you a present.”

“That’s nice. Tell me again.”

“I bought you a present.” At his frustrated snarl, she opened her eyes and laughed. “Oh, I get it. I’m not stupid. Suma cum laude, you know. I love you, Murphy, and it really messes things up all around, but I love you. Good night.”

“Shannon—”

But she was aiming for the phone, with one eye closed. Through more luck than skill, she managed to jiggle the receiver in place. Then she leaned back, yawned once, and went to sleep.

Chapter
Twenty

“And the next morning, not a stagger, not a wince.” While she sipped tea in Brianna’s kitchen, Maggie shot Shannon an admiring glance. “I couldn’t have been more proud.”

“You have an odd sense of pride.” But Shannon felt an odd flare of it herself. Through luck or God’s pity, she’d escaped the punishment of a hangover after her romance with Dom Pérignon.

Twenty-four hours after the affair had ended, she was safely back in Clare and enjoying the questionable distinction of having a hard head.

“You shouldn’t have let her overdo.” Brianna began to swirl a rich and smooth marshmallow frosting over chocolate cake.

“She’s a woman grown,” Maggie objected.

“And the youngest.”

“Oh, really.” Shannon rolled her eyes at Brianna’s back. “I hardly think that’s an issue. You and I were born in the same year, so . . .” She trailed off as the full impact of what she’d said struck. Her brows knit, and she stared down at a spot on the table. Well, she thought. This is awkward.

“Busy year for Da,” Maggie said after a long silence.

Shocked, Shannon looked up quickly and met Maggie’s bland eyes. The sound of her own muffled snort of laughter surprised her nearly as much as Maggie’s lightning grin. Brianna continued to frost her cake.

“An entire bottle, Maggie,” Brianna went on in a quiet, lecturing tone. “You should have had more care.”

“Well, I looked after her, didn’t I? After she’d passed out in the library—”

“I didn’t pass out,” Shannon corrected primly. “I was resting.”

“Unconscious.” Maggie reached over to pick up her niece when Kayla began to fuss in her carrier. “And poor Murphy ringing back like a man possessed. Who talked him out of hopping in his lorry and driving all the way to Dublin if it wasn’t me?” she asked Kayla. “And didn’t I take her upstairs and see that she ate a bowl of soup before she slept the rest of it off?”