My mind still consumed with what would happen at the end of the evening (as well as uselessly contemplating the pros and cons of my outfit, something I should have done two hours ago), it came as a surprise when I heard Cillian cry, “Amy!”

I was studying my toes in my amazing shoes moving across the carpet, so at my name, my head shot up, and at what I saw, my whole body jolted.

Seated at a table were Cillian in a white dress shirt, Aisling in a pretty pink dress, and Mickey in his own white dress shirt under a well-cut, navy blue sports jacket.

They were perusing menus.

Oh God.

Why?

Why me?

Cillian circled his hand to me as Aisling turned and looked over her shoulder, the timid smile on her face dying the instant she saw Bradley.

That troubled me but I had no time for it because Mickey looked our way.

When he did, his eyes dropped the length of me and shot up, cut to Bradley briefly, then back to me, his face turning to stone.

Seeing that, how my daughter could think he was into me, I had no idea. He obviously disliked me and I knew this because he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Do you know them?” Bradley murmured, pulling me closer to him.

“They’re my neighbors,” I answered.

“Put the menus at our table, please. We’ll be there shortly,” Bradley ordered the hostess.

She nodded and swept away.

Bradley pulled me to the Donovan table.

“Hey!” Cillian cried when we got close and then announced upon our arrival, “It’s my birthday.”

Shit.

I didn’t know.

I controlled the accusatory look I wanted to throw Mickey’s way and instead smiled big at Cillian.

“First, happy birthday,” I said. “And second, please assure me that you accept late gifts.”

His smile got bigger. “Totally.”

“Also, assure me that you provide late wish lists,” I went on.

He beamed. “Totally.”

“Good,” I said, still smiling at him. “I expect that list to be in my mailbox by noon tomorrow.”

“You got it!” Cillian cried.

Bradley squeezed my hand and I quickly looked up at him, realizing I was being rude.

“Sorry,” I murmured then looked to the table. “Let me make the introductions. Bradley, this is the Donovan family. Aisling, Mickey and Cillian, the birthday boy. Donovan family, this is Bradley Tinsdale.”

Mickey stood and offered a hand wordlessly.

Bradley took it.

They both looked into each other’s eyes and held their grip two shades too long.

I fought squirming.

“Nice to meet you,” Bradley said to the table when he and Mickey finally disconnected.

Mickey seated himself, his eyes coming to me, and when they did, it felt like they were skewering me.

He was angry, plain to see.

But I couldn’t imagine how that could be.

“What?” I mouthed silently, gaze on Mickey.