Page 9 of Daring Destiny

“She’s their big-time realtor.” I gesture toward them with my thumb. “Dunno what she wants. Anyone from Garfield who’s reached out in the past few years always has an ulterior motive. Somehow they seem to forget they treated me like shit and I’m not interested.”

Before my brothers and sister-in-law can reply to my bitter statement, Ma shouts from the dining room, “It’s time to eat; can you move your arses to the dining room please?”

Herding the growing McGloughlin clan to the dinner table is no small feat. Once we’re eating, it’s a controlled chaos of animated voices and laughter. Tonight, as we pass plates of my ma’s roast ham, scalloped potatoes, and beans with bacon, it’s quiet except for the clatter of silverware and chairs scraping against the floor.

Soon, though, we’re shoveling food into our mouths. Padraig cracks jokes with Seamus. Liam rolls his eyes like the broody rockstar he is. Cillian’s already on his second plate. Connor and Ronni try to feed their kids and themselves without getting food all over their clothes. Ma attempts to keep all of us in line while Da, who’s still recovering from his stroke, watches with a quiet smile.

It’s loud and it’s messy, but it’s where I feel most comfortable. I’m able to be unabashedly myself with my family and they still love me for it.

Despite the deep-rooted problems my da’s alcoholism and gambling addiction caused many years ago, we’re gradually healing and moving forward. Sure, I harbor a bit of old resentment—which is probably the reason I’m so driven—but these meals together are sacred. My family keeps me grounded.

After dinner we visit for a while but eventually Cillian and I depart at the same time. As I retrieve my car keys from my pocket, Cillian claps my back. “So, you’re going to text Astrid back, aren’t you?”

“Uh…dunno,” I admit. “I’m curious, of course. My mind is going in a million directions. I’d like to…”

“You should.” Cillian nods vigorously. “It’s not every day the hottest woman from school pops back into your life.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You’ve got shit under control now. It could be interesting.”

I shake my head, knowing he won’t let up until I agree. “Fine. I’ll shoot her a text.”

“You fucking better.” He points at me and peels off into the night.

Ten minutes later, I’m in bed staring at my phone.

Tapping into it. Deleting. Tapping into it. Deleting.

Finally, I stop overthinking something so stupid and hit “send” to get the whole thing over with.

Me:Hey Astrid. My schedule is nuts but I’m free Wednesday and Friday for lunch if you’re available.

I stare at the screen for easily five minutes and finally three pulsing dots appear. My heart thunders in my chest.

Astrid:Wednesday is perfect. It’s a date. I’ll ping you Tuesday for details.

Holy fucking shit.

How am I going to pull this off?

three

Astrid

Three Days Later

Thisshouldbe…interesting.

Weird. But interesting. I still can’t believe I got roped into planning this stupid event.

Ordinarily, Wednesday is my sacred day. My weekend. The one day I’m able to drop the polished, professional version of myself, and I’m not about to make an exception. Not for a guy from high school.

Not even if the guy’s Seattle’s next “Jeff Bezos,” the person every tech magazine compares Brennan to. Truth is, I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with the entitled, rich tech executives I sell houses to.

Today’s lunch is one stop in my day of errands so I’m dressed down in black leggings, a loose, flowing tank top, and wedge sandals. Far cry from the tailored suits and six-inch heels I usually wear for showings. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail and I’ve dabbed on enough makeup to feel human. The Metropolitan Grill isn’t normally a spot for a casual lunch, but Brennan suggested it and I wasn’t about to say no.

The dim lighting and dark-wood panels create an old-school, sophisticated atmosphere. It’s the kind of place where people with real power and wealth seal deals over a lunchtime steak. When I started my career, the Met was intimidating. I didn’t ever feel like I fit in. Now, I’m used to it. In fact, I’ll probably run into at least one client when I’m here.

The hostess leads me to the two-seater booth. As we approach, Brennan stands up. The chivalrous gesture surprises me. It’s a bit old-fashioned, but sweetly considerate. From what I’ve read, he claims to be painfully shy so I wouldn’t have thought he’d be overtly polite.

Then again, he’s the one who invited me to lunch without knowing my angle, so who knows. Looks like his mama raised him right, so thumbs up.

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