“I don’t remember asking for tonight off,” Shawn said vaguely.

“Aye, and you don’t remember to tie your bootlaces half the time.” Seriously annoyed, Aidan jerked a thumb at the door. “Out with you, you troublemaker.”

Shoving up his sleeves and squaring his shoulders, Aidan went out to deal with his treacherous sister.

She had everything under control, and quite the job of work it had been. It had to be special, and as close to perfect as she could manage. Shawn Gallagher would see he wasn’t the only one who could fuss and fiddle and set a nice scene.

She’d been to the market and got all the makings. While Shawn had been busy cooking at the pub, she’d been doing the same at the cottage. Maybe she didn’t have his flair with such things, but she wasn’t altogether helpless.

She’d chilled the wine and had even ferreted out a tin pail she’d scrubbed to use as an ice bucket. The champagne glasses she’d borrowed from Jude. Flutes, she’d called them, Brenna thought. And elegant they were.

She’d set a nice table, if she said so herself. A pair of pretty plates and cloth napkins, the flowers she scavenged from her mother’s garden and the one at the cottage.

Candles, she thought as she lighted them. Surely everything was in place for an atmosphere of romance and celebration.

Oh, she couldn’t wait to see his face when she told him about his music. It had been a test of will and restraint not to shout out the news to everyone she’d passed that day. But it was for Shawn first.

After they’d celebrated the thrill of it, and his future, lifted a glass or two, she’d tell him the rest. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—fumble with the words. Hadn’t she practiced them in her head all of the day?

“I love you,” she said now, out loud to the empty room. “I think I always have, I know now I always will. Will you marry me?”

There. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her heart, as it was galloping like a wild horse. It wasn’t so hard, really. Maybe her tongue felt a little thick and clumsy, but she’d said it straight out without stuttering.

And if he balked or refused, she’d just have to kill him.

As her ears were pricked for it, she heard the sound of his car as he turned into the street. All right, Brenna. She closed her eyes, steadied herself. Here we go.

Damned if he’d asked for an evening off. Still stewing about it, Shawn shoved open his garden gate. He should know, shouldn’t he? And if he had, wouldn’t he have made plans for it? He knew what was going on in his own life, for Christ’s sake.

Not that he couldn’t adjust. He’d ring Brenna and see if she was agreeable to having an evening together. He’d throw a meal together, or it was early enough that they could go out to the hotel restaurant.