“How’s the burger?” Conor interrupted, sliding into the booth, bumping Louisa’s hip to make room. He put one arm over her shoulders across the top of the booth. With the other hand, he stole a fry from her plate and popped it into his mouth.

“It’s good. Aren’t you going to eat?” Louisa asked.

“I’ll get something later.” He kept an eye on the bar. “No big games tonight. Things will slow down by seven.” Conor turned to his sister. “How’s Scott?” he asked Jayne.

“Better.” She smiled. “He’s out of ICU, but he’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few more days. Reed wants to bring him home for a couple of weeks to recuperate, but Scott is arguing already. He said he’s already behind in his classes.”

“Arguing is a good sign,” Conor said.

A scraping sound drew Louisa’s attention to the corner of the room. Three young men gathered. Two held guitars. The third perched on the stool behind the drum set. Feedback squealed.

Conor leaned across the table toward his sister. “Who told them they could play tonight?”

Jayne blushed. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“I thought we had a Friday-or-Saturday-night-only policy,” he said, raising his voice over another ear-piercing screech.

“We do, but they asked really nicely.” Jayne grinned.

“You’re a softie.” Conor shook his head and smiled at Louisa. “They’re local boys, trying to catch a break. We let them play once a week.” He shot his sister a lifted brow.

She raised an unconcerned shoulder. “They’re nice kids.”

He glanced at the bar, where customers were backing up in front of the older bartender. Giving Louisa a quick peck on the mouth, he slid out of the booth. “Break’s over for me.”

The band started playing. The music was decent, but the sheer volume curtailed any further conversation with Jayne. Louisa sat back, ate her burger, and enjoyed the atmosphere. Jayne went back to waiting tables. A set later, the crowd had thinned.

Conor took another break, joining Louisa in the booth to eat a meatball sandwich. He’d barely finished when the guitarist spoke into the microphone.

“Hey, Conor! How about getting up here and doing a song with us?”

Conor waved them off. “Not tonight, guys.”

“Oh, come on. One song.”

“I have a lady here,” Conor protested.

The guy laughed. “Like picking up a guitar ever lessened a guy’s chances of scoring with the ladies.”

Conor glanced at Louisa. “Do you mind?”

She sipped her soda. “Not at all. I’m intrigued.”

Sighing, Conor wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. Someone handed him an acoustic guitar, and he stepped up behind the mic, more comfortable than Louisa expected. He was a quiet, unassuming man, not the type she’d associated with public performances.