with a knowing look. “Oh? Why is that?”
“Maggie, what do you want from me?” He couldn’t seem to prevent the helpless, bewildered note in his voice.
Her expression faltered at the direct question. “Honestly?”
He nodded.
“I’m not entirely sure,” she replied, as if she found the uncertainty as disconcerting as he did.
“Then you’re playing a risky game,” he warned.
“I know,” she agreed, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. I keep finding myself drawn here. There’s something about this place, about you...” Her voice faltered and she shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”
Gazes locked, they both fell silent. Finally Maggie sighed and looked away.
“Can I ask you something?” she said eventually, still not meeting his gaze.
“Sure.”
“Father Francis told me something. He said that you don’t believe in love.”
“Father Francis has a big mouth, but he’s right. I don’t,” Ryan said grimly.
“Why?”
Rather than answering, he said, “I gather you do believe in it. Why?”
“Because I see it every single day. I see it between my parents. I’ve felt their love since the day I was born. I see it with my brothers and their wives, with Colleen and her husband. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other or for their families.”
Ryan listened, trying to put his skepticism aside. He tried to imagine being surrounded by such examples. He couldn’t. His own experience had been the exact opposite. There’d been a time when he’d thought his parents loved him and his brothers, but then they’d vanished without a trace. He’d been forced to question whether their love had ever been real.
“Have you experienced it yourself?” he asked.
“No, but I know it exists because I can feel it just by walking into a room with my family. It’s in their laughter, in the way they look at each other, in the way they touch each other. How can you dismiss that when it’s right in front of you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s in front of you. I’ve never seen it.”
Because he didn’t want to get into a long, drawn-out argument over the existence of love, he deliberately stood up. “I’d better finish running those errands now.”
Maggie looked as if she might argue, but then she put down her cup and picked up her coat. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem.” He jammed his hands in his pockets as he followed her to the door.
She opened the door, then hesitated. This time her gaze clashed with his in an obvious dare. “I’ll keep coming back, you know.”
An odd sense of relief stole through Ryan at her words—part warning, part promise.
“Unless you tell me to stay away,” she challenged, her gaze steady.
“Whatever,” he murmured as if the decision were of no consequence.
Her lips curved up. “I’ll take that as an invitation.”
Before he realized her intention, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek.
“See you,” she said cheerfully, then disappeared down the block before he could gather his thoughts.
Ryan stared into the shadows of dusk, hoping for one last glimpse, but she was gone.
“That was a touching scene,” Rory said, stepping out of the shadows.
“Have you been reduced to spying to get your kicks?” Ryan asked irritably.
“Hardly. I just stopped by to see if you’d like a blind date for tonight. My date has a friend. I’ve met her. She doesn’t hold a candle to your Maggie, but I imagine she could provide a much-needed distraction.”
“I don’t think so,” Ryan said. He doubted if both Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones rolled into one could distract him tonight.
Rory grinned at him. “Which says it all, if you ask my opinion.”
“Which I did not,” Ryan said.
“Well, I’m offering it, anyway. A woman like Maggie comes along once in a man’s life, if he’s lucky. Don’t be an idiot and let her get away.”
“I don’t even know her,” Ryan argued. “Neither do you. So let’s not make too much of this.”
“Are you saying the woman doesn’t tie you in knots?”
Ryan frowned at the question. “Whether she does or she doesn’t is no concern of yours.”
“In other words, yes,” Rory interpreted. “So, get to know her. Find out if there’s anything more to these feelings. What’s the harm?”
Harm? Ryan thought. He could get what was left of his heart broken, that was the harm. Maggie’s words came back to him then.
It’s called living.
Ryan tried to balance the promise of those words against the reality of the heartbreak he’d suffered years ago and vowed never to risk again. Bottom line? There was nothing wrong with his life just the way it was. It was safe. Comfortable. There were no significant bumps, no nasty surprises.
“See you,” he said to Rory. “I’ve got things to do.”
Rory’s expression brightened. “You going after her?”
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Better things to do.”
“What could be better than an evening with a beautiful woman?”
“A couple of games of racquetball and an ice-cold beer,” Ryan retorted.
Rory laughed. “That’s called sublimation, my friend.”
“Call it whatever you want to. It’s my idea of a great way to spend a few hours.”
“That’s only because you haven’t been on a real date with a woman who might actually matter to you in all the time I’ve known you,” Rory said.
Ryan couldn’t deny the accusation. “You live your life. Let me live mine.”
“That’s the problem, Ryan, me lad. What you’re doing’s not living, not by any man’s definition.”
Nor by Maggie’s, Ryan was forced to admit. But neither her opinion nor Rory’s mattered. His was the only one
