gone to college, she’d kept very busy. Forgetting what could never be. Or trying to.
Maybe, though, in the corner of her mind, she had always dreamed that Danny would come back. To stay.
With annoyance, she realized that the very thought made her wistful.
Okay, she cared for Danny, she always would. In a far, far corner of her mind! As far as a distant galaxy. She was a realist. She’d seen people through the years—not too seriously, because of her work. And she was seeing someone now, someone bright, compelling and with shared interests, someone who’d entered her life at the right time, in the right way….
So Danny was coming to Boston. Good for him. He would like…
For a moment, her mind went blank.
Michael! She was dating a man named Michael McLean. Of Irish descent, as well, but of normal Irish descent. They had a really great relationship. Michael loved a good movie and didn’t whine about a bad one. He was an avid sports fan but liked a day at a museum just as well and was up for a Broadway show—or Off Broadway, for that matter.
He was nearly perfect. He worked hard for her company, too. He was always on the go, seeing people, checking on logistics and permits. In fact, he was off somewhere right now. She wasn’t even sure where. Well, of course, she knew…she just couldn’t think of it right now. Talking to her mother had that effect on her.
It didn’t matter where he was. Michael always had his cell phone on him, and he always returned messages, whether they were personal or business related. It was part of his being so wonderful.
And still, just thinking about Danny…
Impatiently, she picked up a pencil and tapped it on her desk. She had other things to think about. Like business. She reached for the phone again and buzzed her partner, Josh.
It would be good to see Danny again.
She was startled by the wave of heat that seemed to wash through her with the thought. Like a longing to hop into bed this very second. She could close her eyes and see him. See him naked.
Stop it! she chastised herself.
“What’s up?”
“What?”
“You called me,” Josh said. “What’s up?”
“Can we go somewhere for lunch?”
Mentally, she put clothes on Danny.
Then she sternly forced him to the far corner of her mind.
She realized that Josh had hesitated, and as if she were in front of him, she could see his shaggy brows tightening into a frown. Danny retreated to memory. Her partner was very real, always a part of her life, steady, and just a downright, decent good guy. Josh Whalen was tall and lean, almost skinny. Good-looking. They had met in film school at NYU, almost had an affair, realized instead that they could remain friends for a lifetime but never lovers, and became partners instead.
Danny had been in her life then, coming and going. Josh would have been only an attempt to convince herself that she wouldn’t have to wait forever for a man to love, but she’d realized that before she’d done anything they would both regret.
Once again, she firmly pushed Danny back where he belonged.
Josh was better than any man she had ever dated. They shared a vision—and a work ethic. They’d both slaved in numerous restaurants to raise the capital they had needed to get their small production company going; he had also worked in construction and dug ditches. They had both been willing to give a hundred percent.
“You don’t want me just to come to your office?” Josh asked.
“No. I want to take you to a nice restaurant, buy you a few glasses of good wine….”
His groan interrupted her. “You want to change the schedule.”
“I—”
“Make it a sports bar, and buy me a beer.”
“Where?”
He named his favorite little hole-in-the-wall, just a few blocks from their offices in the Village. He had an interview with a potential new cameraman, she was supposed to have coffee with a potential guest, but they decided to meet right after their appointments.
As it happened, their potential guest missed her connection and called in to find out if Moira would be available in the afternoon. Relieved, Moira cheerfully agreed.
She went out walking. And walked and walked until it was nearly time to meet Josh.
Moira reached Sam’s Sports Spectacular—a true hole-in-the-wall but a great neighborhood place—before her partner. She seldom drank anything at all during the day and was cautious even at night, but this afternoon, she ordered a draft. She was nursing it at the farthest table from the bar when Josh came in. He was a handsome, appealing guy in a tall, lanky, artistic way. He looked like a director or, she mused with a flash of humor, a refugee from some grunge band. His eyes were dark and beautiful, his hair reddish brown and very curly, and despite his wife’s objection, he wore a full beard and mustache.
“Where’s my beer?” he asked, sliding into a chair by the table.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “How many years have you known me?”
“Almost ten. Since we were eighteen. But—”
“What do I always drink?”
“Miller Lite. But—”
“There you have it.”
“I’m a bit off today.”
“You are a bit off.” He raised his hand, and their waiter saw him. He gave his order, and the young man nodded in acknowledgment and started for the bar.
“Why are you off today?” Josh asked, leaning forward.
“My mother called.”
He grimaced. “My mother calls almost every day. That’s no excuse.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“I do.” He grinned and feigned a slight accent. “She’s a lovely lady, she is.”
“Um. My dad’s ill.”
“Oh.” Josh was quickly serious. “I’m sorry.”
“I—” She hesitated. That wasn’t really it. “I think he’s going to be okay, although it appears he may need another surgery.”
“So you want to go home for Saint Patrick’s day.”
“I know we were supposed to be shooting at the theme parks in central Florida, and I know how hard you worked to straighten out all the paperwork and rights and—”
“Things
