Page 22 of What Love Can Do

Her mother blustered into the kitchen with arms full of grocery bags. “I just ran into Avery Benson at the market,” she said, setting paper bags down and giving Lilly a raised eyebrow with the power to make her feel guilty, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“And? Who’s pregnant?” Lilly tapped the tray of muffin batter on the counter to knock out the air bubbles.

“Every girl in town soon, if they’re not careful.” Mom took out can after can and stacked them on the counter.

Lilly shot her mother an annoyed glance. “What does that mean?”

“It means…that Avery told me who those O’Neill boys are.”

Lilly’s stomach sank into her feet.

“They’re the sons of Maggie Phillips.”

“Who’s Maggie Phillips?” Lilly asked even as she remembered Quinn saying his mother hailed from this area, then asking her about the Phillips winery. Last night, Paul had mentioned a Maggie and Grant as they were leaving. But Quinn had denied his mom going by any other name than O’Neill. Had he lied?

“Who’s Maggie Phillips? Come on, Lillian, youngest daughter of Richard Phillips, Sr.? Owner of Phillips Vineyard and Winery down the road? The daughter who left town for Ireland when she was barely twenty, and nobody’s seen her since? Have you been living under a rock?”

“I—I’ve never heard of her.” And she hadn’t. But she was more concerned with the fact that apparently Quinn had lied to her. Why?

“Lillian, you have to have heard me mention her from time to time. She married an Irish man she met down at Mulligan’s Tavern, a guy named Grant O’Neill. Those must be her boys staying with us.”

Lilly’s heart twisted. Okay. So it seemed Maggie and Grant were Quinn’s parents. But why was Quinn and Con being here a big deal, even if they were Maggie Phillips’s sons? She wasn’t sure what the problem was, but her mother, Avery Benson, and the older women in town had a way of making everything seem like a huge problem that needed discussing—probably the biggest reason Lilly felt she needed to take that internship and get the hell out of Forestville. “So what, Mom? His mother died, and he wanted to see where she was from.”

Mom looked at Lilly sideways. “Lots of folks were upset when Maggie up and left, Lillian, not just her parents and sisters, but her fiancé too—the one she left behind to get hitched with the Irish guy. Not me, though. I was perfectly happy with it.” Mom harrumphed in a way Lilly had learned over the years not to pursue unless she was ready to hear something she didn’t like.

“What does that mean? Why the scoff?” Lilly leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. Even though her mom hadn’t accused her of anything, didn’t even know she had spent the night with Quinn O’Neill, Lillian was already ready to defend him, if necessary. “Why should I care what their mother did thirty, however many years ago?”

“Because…” Mom placed the cans inside of the cabinet a little harder, more angrily than absolutely necessary. “The jilted fiancé of Maggie’s was your father—after he dumped me for her—before I took him back again.”

Nine

A familiar ringing sound blared nearby. Nightstand, Quinn thought, as he blindly reached out for his phone. Who the hell was calling him so early? “Filthy bowser…” he mumbled, feeling his way across the bed sheets until he finally grabbed his phone and brought it up to his face to check the time. “One o’clock? What the feck?”

He vaguely recognized the number flashing on the screen as belonging to Brady before the phone stopped ringing and the call clicked over to voicemail. His eyes roved across the gray walls in midday light to the crown molding along the ceiling to the window where a light rain fell outside. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure where he was. Knackered, was all he knew.

Must be the jet lag.

Then, he remembered: bed and breakfast…the States…a beautiful, sexy woman who’d blown his mind last night—among other things. “Lilly,” he said her name, trying it on for size.

It all came back to him… He’d fallen asleep next to her out on her private deck. Almost as hard as he’d come. When he’d woken, it was still pitch dark outside and he’d ignored the beauty of the stars above them to stare at the beauty beside him. He’d looked at her so long he’d been tempted to kiss her awake—specifically, by burying his face between her luscious thighs—but he’d held back. They had agreed to only one time while driving back from Mulligan’s, and he hadn’t wanted to make things difficult or awkward for her when she woke up, so he’d let himself out. Now, he seriously regretted it. He didn’t have her phone number, but if he did, he would’ve texted her saying what a great time he had last night, maybe try to tempt her to have another go, maybe even take a pic of himself in his boxers lying suggestively in bed, just to tease her.

What an amazing hideaway that third floor balcony and garden had been. But damn, it was Lilly who was truly amazing. Lilly had been laying low from the moment he’d met her. There she’d been, innocently making muffins, wholesome and pure and talking wine and American football at the pub, and meanwhile, she was a total ride—the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He should’ve guessed it after seeing her apron that tempted others to lick the bowl clean.

Aye, he’d have trouble forgetting her.

But he had to.

Last night had been it—one time together, no more. They had a pact to keep.

It took a few minutes, but he realized Con wasn’t with him. Must’ve gone home with that Dara bird after he spent the night giving her the glad eye. Good for him. He’d needed to get laid, if only to get his mind off Mam.

Quinn sat up, threw his legs over the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes. He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and got dressed and ready to head out. He’d probably run into Lilly in the dining room so he brushed his hair and made sure he looked well put together, but not too well to look like he’d done it for her.

A light knock came at his door. Padding over barefoot, he opened it, pleasantly surprised when he saw who was there, all gleaming and working-goddess-like. “Hullo, Lil.” How did she keep getting prettier every time he saw her? Today, her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail with a few wisps around her forehead. She wore her Lick the Bowl apron again, flour stains, and a pencil above her right ear. “You look good enough to eat.” He opened the door to let her in and brushed off splotches of flour from her sleeve.

“Quinn.” There was a drag in her voice. No smile for him this morning either. Bummer. “Can I come in?”

“That’s why I’m holding the door wide open.” He smiled. She seemed nervous, with the way she was wringing her hands and all, pushing her hair behind her ears. He shouldn’t be joking with her now. “Sorry, I mean, of course, you can come in. Are you alright?”

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