Page 80 of Wistful Whispers
For once, the outcome might matter more than I want to admit.
He’s driving my car, one hand on the wheel, the other resting over the center console, fingers lightly brushing mine. It’s casual. Effortless. Like we’ve done this a hundred times. Every tiny graze of his skin against mine ratchets my heart up another beat.
I don’t want him to see me nervous. Not tonight.
“You okay?” He glances at me as we pull onto a quiet, tree-lined street in Capitol Hill.
I nod, loosening my grip on the armrest and attempt humor. “Yep. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Oh. Right. I’m meeting the entire McGloughlin clan for the first time. No big deal.”
“It’s Sunday dinner.” His lips twitch into a grin. “Ma will cook enough to feed a rugby team and Da will yammer on about construction and the Troubles.”
The house appears like a warm, golden beacon. A classic Craftsman—broad front porch, gabled roof, and enough charm to feel like something out of a Nancy Meyers movie..
I smooth my jeans and glance down at my oversized sweater. I’ve gone casual, per Seamus’s suggestion. I feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den in sneakers instead of my ordinary power suit.
“You’re not nervous.” He parks in front of the house. “Right?”
I arch a brow. “I’m a nearly forty-year-old woman who’s never been introduced to a boyfriend’s family before. So, you know, totally chill.”
“You’re thirty-eight.” He kills the engine and leans across the console, brushing his lips over mine. “They’re going to love you.”
“You say it like a foregone conclusion.” I swat at him playfully.
He pecks my cheek. “It is.”
As we approach the front door, it swings open before we can knock. Connor, tall with a mane of curly auburn hair and amber eyes grins at us. He’s so much bigger in person than he appears in music videos and on stage. He’s like a Celtic god—his shoulders fill the doorway and even though his menacing face breaks into a wide grin, I can tell he’s every inch the older rockstar brother who once ran this entire family like a battlefield medic.
“You must be Marcella.” He offers a hand.
I manage to keep my composure. “I am. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He motions to the living room. “Come in. Everyone’s been dying to meet the first woman Seamus has ever introduced to any of us.”
Seamus snorts. “No one knew I was bringing her until a few days ago.”
“Ach.” Connor shakes his head. “Go with it, wee Seamus.”
Inside, the house is chaos—in the best possible way. The scent of something delicious wraps around me the second I cross the threshold. It reminds me of my dad’s restaurant. There’s also laughter echoing down the hallway. The sound of shrieks and thud of little feet racing from room to room.
We barely set foot in the house before Seamus is mobbed by two tiny whirlwinds—Torin and Tristan. Nearly five years old and full of unrelenting energy. Seamus drops to his knees like it’s instinct, wrestling them both into giggles, one tucked under each arm as they shriek and pretend to fight back.
My heart trips. Watching him with his nephews—playful, joyful, completely present—wakes something in me I thought I’d buried. A whisper of want. The ache of a dream I’d already let go and need to keep at bay because by the time Seamus is established as a neurosurgeon, I’ll be too far past possible.
Of course, assuming he and I will still be together.
I don’t have an opportunity to dwell. A woman with perfect glossy hair and effortless confidence only born of fame steps into the foyer. I recognize her instantly. My favorite actress, Ronni Miller. Connor’s wife. The star of a teen show I was obsessed with,Hawaiian High. Also the lead of a long-running sitcom,She’s All That. Now she produces and guest stars on my current favorite show,The Boyfriend Experiment.
To say I’m a fan is an understatement.
“Hi, I’m Ronni,” she introduces herself like she’s not a cultural icon. “You must be the badass attorney who got justice for Miranda.”
I blink. “I—yes. Marcella.”
She steps forward and hugs me with no pretense. “Thank you for standing up for her. Seamus told us you were a force.”
I glance over at him. He’s still tangled with the boys, laughing like it’s his version of heaven.
“Thank you. I need to let you know, I’m kinda obsessed withThe Boyfriend Experiment,” I admit like it’s a confession.
