The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

“Tea.”
    “You Yanks drink so much of it, you don’t know it doesn’t taste near as good as it smells.”
    “Blasphemy. There’s a deli two blocks from where I live. Now, they make coffee that brings tears of gratitude to a man’s eye.”
    “You miss that.” Since it did smell seductive, she got down a mug for herself. “The delis, the hustle-bustle.” She opened the refrigerator and got out her little carton of cream. “What else do you miss about New York?”
    The toast popped. “Bagels.”
    “Bagels?” She got out butter and jam as well, then just stood holding them and staring at him. “A man of your resources, and what you miss about New York is coffee and bagels?”
    “Right at this moment, I’d pay a hundred dollars for a fresh bagel. No offense to your Irish soda bread. But, really.”
    “Well, that’s a wonder.”
    He started to make some joke, but the glorious scent that filled the kitchen had his mind clicking in. It was, he decided, too good an opening to pass up.
    “New York’s got more to offer than coffee and bagels—though they shouldn’t be lightly dismissed.” He put the toast on the plate she offered him. “Restaurants, theater, art—and for the materialistic, anything and everything that can be bought. You’d love it.”
    “Because I’m materialistic?”
    “Because if you know what you want, it’s next to impossible not to find it there. Thanks.” He accepted the mug with deep and sincere gratitude. “It’s one of the places you’d go if you signed with Celtic.”
    And so, she thought, the door closes on intimacy and opens to business. There was no point in regretting it. “And why would I go to New York?”
    “The same reason you’d go to Dublin, London, Chicago, L.A., Sydney, wherever. Concerts, media, exposure.”
    She added cream and sugar to her own brew. “It’s a lot to promise when you don’t know how I’ll record, or perform, or stand up to the kind of life that would make.”
    “I do know. It’s my business to know.”
    “You’ve a lot of businesses, Trevor, and I’ll wager you’re good at each and every one. But it’s this particular one that concerns me. I take your word on this and make this change, I change everything. It’s a lot for me to risk because you like the sound of my voice.”
    She held up a hand before he could speak. “You’d risk as well, I understand that. You’d be making an investment in me. But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You make investments, and if one doesn’t pay off, another does, so it’s no great loss. A disappointment, an annoyance, but not your life.”
    “Point taken,” he said after a moment. “Get dressed.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Get dressed. I think I have a way to settle your mind on part of this.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Make it fast, will you?”
    “You’ve your nerve, don’t you? Ordering me about this way, and at six in the morning at that.”
    He started to ask what the hell the time had to do with it, then wisely concluded that arguing would only force her to dig in her heels. “Sorry. Would you come with me? It won’t take long, and it does go to your point. Your very valid point.”
    “Clever, aren’t you? Well, I’ll go because I’m up and about anyway. But keep in mind I’m not on your payroll, and I don’t jump when you snap.”
    She turned and stalked back to the bedroom. Satisfied, Trevor finished his breakfast.
     
     
    For the second time that morning, Trevor roused someone out of sleep. In this case, the results weren’t as cozy.
    “Bloody fucking hell” was Nigel’s response. “If your lady’s kicked you out of bed at this godforsaken hour, take the sofa. I’m not budging, and I’m not sharing.”
    “I don’t want to get in the bed, I want you to get out of it. Darcy’s downstairs.”
    One of the eyes Nigel had firmly shut popped open. “Does that mean you’re sharing?”
    “Remind me to punch you later. Right now, get up, get dressed, and make yourself presentable.”
    “No one’s presentable at . . . Jesus, six-thirty in the morning!”
    “I’m pressed for time, Nigel.” Trevor turned and started out. “Five minutes.”
    “At least put the bloody coffee on,” Nigel shouted.
    “I’m not making it this time,” Darcy said firmly the minute Trevor came down the steps. She had her arms folded over her breasts and a steely look in her eye. She’d already made it known, in no uncertain terms, that she hadn’t