Page 14 of What Love Can Do

“To rowdy drunkenness, Paul.” Quinn raised his fresh glass in a toast. “And girls who like sports.”

“Me, a public menace?” Lilly feigned being offended, hand at her chest. “I believe 49er fans hold the current record for most laws broken on game day, Mr. Brennan. I’m willing to bet you’ve seen the inside of a jail cell a handful of times for uproarious behavior.”

Paul squealed a hissy laugh and slapped his knee. “Aye, you’d be right about that, miss.”

Quinn seemed to watch her with deep admiration. Show you love sports in front of men. Hook, line, sinker…

“So, let me get this straight…you help run a bed-and-breakfast, you bake a fierce muffin, your family owns a vineyard and winery, and you like watching American football?”

“Just football, Quinn,” Lilly clarified. “See, ‘cause we’re in America.”

He put down his drink and threw his hands up. “You’re just too good to be true, Lilly Parker.”

“Careful there, lad,” Paul mumbled from his spot. “I’ve seen this happen before in your family. Thirty years ago, actually.”

Quinn smiled and lifted his chin in silent acknowledgement.

Lilly peered at Quinn over the rim of her glass. Before the beer, he was ridiculously gorgeous, and now after almost downing an entire pint, clearly right at home in the Irish pub, he was more beautiful than ever. For the next ten minutes, they joked and watched the game. She and Quinn continued to exchange flirtatious banter and hot glances.

At one point, she found herself resting her elbow on the bar, chin in her palm, just gazing at him. She suspected she had a sappy smile on her face. Wine she was used to, but beer was another animal altogether, and she was feeling a bit tipsy. “So I hardly know anything about you, Quinn.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Quinn said, his knee jittering up and down.

“That can’t be true. You’ve played a sport before. You were an extra in Magic Mike or something. Come on. Fess up.”

“Magic…what?” His eyebrows danced over pools of darkness.

“Nothing, just tell me about yourself, Quinn O’Neill.” Lilly took another long sip of her drink. She noticed that while he’d raised his glass for the toast, he hadn’t even taken a sip yet.

“Alright, let’s see. I graduated from Trinity in Dublin, played professional rugby for four years…” Lilly’s ears perked up. So that was where the solid physique came from. “Went to work for my dad and mam’s restaurant, and I’d been managing the place with my mam until she decided it was time to close shop and let us find our dreams. Now we’re in California, searching for gold, just like everybody else.”

Lilly didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell if he was happy with the way things had turned out or not, whether his coming here was his idea or sort of forced on him.

Quinn seemed to notice her concern for him. “No worries, it’s a long story. Let’s just say I might still play rugby, or I might go back to Dublin to open another restaurant. Sky’s the limit. My mam pushed us all out of the proverbial nest to find our own way when she realized we were living our father’s dream. So for the first time in my life…” He paused, staring into his Guinness. “I have no place to go.”

“God, Quinn, that’s so sad. I’m sorry.” She reached out and rested a hand on his forearm.

“Nah, don’t be. Could be worse. Could be raining.” He bit his lip, and Lilly couldn’t tell if he was kidding, serious, or what, but she felt a creeping giggliness rise into her throat.

She did her best to hold in her chuckle, but it escaped with a vengeance, which fed into Quinn’s short-burst laughter, and before she knew it, they were both snorting and leaning on each other for support. “I am so sorry,” Lilly said. “I’m laughing at your pain. Oh, my God, I’m such a bitch!”

“Now, now, you’re laughing with me, not at me. Right, Paul, we Irish don’t take things too seriously?” Quinn turned to Paul, and Lilly caught a magnificent view of his perfect profile—his straight nose, his angular cut jawline, the dark stubble growing there. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers along it.

“What’d you say, you bloody fecking bastard?” Paul grunted, and the three of them roared with counter-slapping laughter.

“See? We take everything in stride,” Quinn said.

Lilly was dying. She couldn’t breathe and she was still sober enough to realize that she was probably laughing so hard because she wasn’t completely sober. Was Quinn feeling the effects of his drink too? “Oh, my God…”

“What about you, Little Miss Muffin?” Quinn turned his attention on Lilly again. “Have you sat on any tuffins lately?” His eyes flared and roved over her a bit.

Lilly clucked her tongue. “First of all, it’s Miss Muffet, I’m pretty sure they taught me in Pre-K. And secondly, it’s tuffet and none of your business if I’ve sat on any of them.”

“Ouch. I see what you mean about Raiders fans being ornery.” Quinn cast a mock hurt face over at Paul.

“I tried to warn you, Quinn.”

Lilly dropped her head and shook with laughter. She loved this. Yes, they were a little brash and rude, but it was all in good fun, and she was doing a pretty good job of keeping up with them.

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