The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

been the key that opened him up so he’d see what had been waiting inside him for her. She’d never be an easy woman. God knew she’d poke and she’d prod at him until he was ready to throttle her. She would pick fights and would always find the way to put his own temper on the boil.
    But Jesus, she could make him laugh. And she knew half of what was in his mind before he’d gotten the words out. There was treasure in that. She knew his every flaw, and didn’t hold any of them against him overmuch.
    She didn’t think much of his music, and that stung more than a little. But he chose to think it just a lack of understanding. Just as he had no interest or knowledge of what mysteries were under the bonnet of his car.
    Whatever the weight of the scale, for or against, didn’t matter. His heart was already hers. All he had to do was make her realize she wanted to keep it.
    He fancied up the pastries, adding bits of dough in little designs, the way he’d seen in a picture somewhere. After brushing the lot of them with egg wash, he popped them into the oven.
    When Darcy came in he was whistling over the Gallagher’s Irish stew he had simmering in his big pot.
    “My larder’s bare as the top of Rory O’Hara’s head. I need a sandwich before shift starts.”
    “I’ll make it.” Shawn cut her off before she could grab from the refrigerator. “You’ll just leave a mess for me to clean up otherwise.”
    “I’ll have some of that roast beef if there’s any left.”
    “There’s enough.”
    “Well, then, don’t be stingy.” She sat, propping her legs on the chair beside her, as much to admire her new shoes as to rest her feet before the long shift ahead. When she noted the bowls he’d yet to wash, she sniffed the air. “Is that apple tarts you have in the oven?”
    “It might be. And I might see there’s one left for you, if you don’t badger me.”
    Experimentally, she ran a finger around the inside of the bowl that had held the filling and licked. “I seem to recall that Brenna favors apple tarts particularly.”
    Shawn sliced the sandwich neatly in two, knowing Darcy would complain otherwise. “I recall that as well.” His expression bland, he slid the sandwich in front of her.
    “Are you—” Darcy cut herself off, picked up the first half of her lunch. “No, I don’t want to know. My best friend and my brother,” she said over the first bite. “I never thought to have to work to keep that image out of my head.”
    “Well, keep working at it.” Curious, he sat across from her. “You’re friends with Jude, and it never seemed to bother you that she and Aidan—”
    “I was new friends with Jude.” Darcy stared at him over her sandwich with eyes that were blue and sulky. “It’s a different matter entirely. It has to be your face,” she decided. “Because she knows you through and through, so it’s certainly not your riveting personality. She’s just dazzled by the look of you, as there’s no denying you’ve a strong and handsome face.”
    “You’re only saying that because we look so much alike.”
    Her teeth flashed before she bit in again. “That’s true enough. But we can’t help being beautiful, can we, darling?”
    “We can only do our best to bear the terrible weight of it. Then offer it up.” He said it ponderously and made her snicker.
    “Well, it’s a burden I enjoy carrying. And if a man doesn’t want to look any further than my face, I’ve nothing to complain over. It’s enough that I know I’ve a mind behind it.”
    “Is the Dubliner you’ve been seeing treating you like a pet, then?”
    She moved a shoulder, annoyed with herself for being dissatisfied with a relationship that held so much potential. “He enjoys my company and takes me nice places in fine style.” And because it was Shawn, she could hiss out a breath. “Where he spends half the time bragging about himself and his work and expecting me to be impressed beyond speech. And the thing of it is, he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is, and owes most of his accomplishments, such as they are, to family connections rather than his own hard work or skill.”
    “You’re tired of him.”
    She opened her mouth, closed it again, then shrugged. “I am, yes. What’s wrong with me?”
    “If I tell you, you’ll be after throwing that plate at me.”
    “I won’t.” As a sign of truce, she pushed it aside. “This time.”
    “All right, then, I’ll tell you what’s the matter. You