Kill. Me. Now.

“Goodbye, Vickie.” Zoey made a shooing motion with her hands. There was a beat of silence after she returned to her friends.

“Interesting lady,” Mason said.

“Weirder than ever,” Evie sighed.

“Pain in my ass,” Zoey muttered.

Vickie and her cohorts waved before leaving, a conspiratorial grin on every face. Zoey headed into the kitchen, shaking her head. “Those old ladies are going to be the death of me, I swear.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

MIKE SAT AT the bar at the Purple Shamrock and scowled into his beer. He knew he was scowling because his cousin Bridget had just called him out on it. And she wasn’t giving up. Quitting was not the McKinnon way, even if she was an O’Hearn now.

“Hey, Mary!” She called out from behind the bar. “Come over here and tell me what’s wrong with your brother.”

Mary walked over from where she’d been folding green linen napkins and leaned in to stare at his face. His twin’s face was showing an exaggerated amount of interest, but it wasn’t all a put-on. He saw the flash of concern in her eyes.

“Oi...he’s a sad one today, isn’t he?” Mary spoke with a fake Irish brogue. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the lad was lovesick, but that can’t be it. He hasn’t been on a date in forever.”

Mike straightened. “I took Bonnie Wilkins to dinner just last week! It was right here. You both saw us.”

Mary waved him off, dropping her accent. “Puh-leeze. I’m talking about an actual date, with furtive glances and hand-holding and a kiss to end the evening. These matchups the book club has you going on are more like find-a-friend dinners.”

“Well, maybe they just haven’t found the right friend for me yet.”

Bridget scoffed. “They’ve set you up with every unattached woman in town. You have to actually be open to romance before you can find it.”

“Maybe I’m really fussy. Or maybe I’m not interested in romance.”

Mary rested her chin in her hand. “Then why are you staring into that glass of whiskey in the middle of the afternoon like you were hoping it held all the answers to some great problem?”

“I’m not!”

It probably didn’t look great. His final appointment for the day had canceled, so he’d come to the bar a few hours ahead of his weekly Friday night bar shift. And that bottle of Irish whiskey had been calling his name.

Mary reached out and pinched his cheek, which she knew he hated. “Twin-sense, remember? I know when you’re wallowing, and brother, you are wallowing big-time.” She slid onto the barstool next to him. “What’s up?”