“It does, yes.” Jude beamed, not noticing that she was already picking up the rhythm of Irish speech. “I only wish I could cook.”

“You do fine.”

“It’s never going to be one of my strengths. Thank God for Shawn.” She walked to the refrigerator, hoping to keep it casual. “He sent some soup home with Aidan last night. Potato and lovage. Since you didn’t go to the pub for lunch with your father, I’ll heat some up for both of us.”

She started to refuse, but her stomach was threatening to rumble, so she gave in. “Thanks for that.”

“I made the bread.” Jude poured soup into a pan and set it on to warm. “So I won’t guarantee it.”

Brenna eyed the loaf with approval when Jude took it out of the bread drawer. “Brown soda bread, is it? I favor that. It looks lovely.”

“I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Why do you bother, when you’ve only to have Shawn send some over for you?”

“I like it. The process of it. Mixing and kneading and rising.” Jude set the slices she’d cut on a plate. “It’s good thinking time, too.”

“My mother always says so. But for me, I’d rather take a nice lie-me-down to do my thinking. You go to all that trouble to cook something, and . . .” Brenna snatched a slice from the plate, bit in. “Gone,” she said with a grin.

“Watching it go is one of the cook’s pleasures.” Jude went to the stove, gave her heating soup a stir. “You’ve had a fight with Shawn, and not one of your usual squabbles.”

“I don’t know that it was really a fight, but I can’t say it was usual. It’ll pass, Jude. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

“I love you. Both of you.”

“I know you do. It’s a bit of nothing, I promise.”

Saying no more, Jude got out bowls and spoons. How much, she wondered, did one friend interfere in the business of another? Where was the line? Then sighing, she decided there simply wasn’t one. “You have feelings for him.”

Brenna’s nerves jittered at the quiet tone. “Well, sure, and I have feelings for the man. We’ve been in and out of each other’s pockets all our lives. Which is only one of the many reasons he irritates me so I want to bash him with a hammer more often than not.”

She smiled when she said it, but Jude’s face remained sober. “You have feelings for him,” Jude repeated, “that have nothing to do with childhood or friendship and everything to do with being a woman attracted to a man.”

“I . . .” Brenna felt the color rush hot to her cheeks— the curse of a redhead. “Well, that’s not . . .” Lies trembled on her tongue and simply refused to fall. “Oh, hell.” She rubbed her uninjured hand over her face, then stopped abruptly, fingers spread around eyes that went suddenly wide and appalled. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it shows?”