LITMIR.BIZ

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wasn’t stupid with his money, but he loved cars and had a special garage built at his place for his collection. He’d decided to take the Shelby fastback. He’d had it restored up in Seattle the year before, and he loved the summertime when he could drive it often.

      It was a sexy car. And yes, he was showing off. A little.

      Damien was out front when they arrived at his and Mary’s house, just down the road from the main house their parents lived in. His brother’s face lit when he caught sight of Mary. “Hey, there, Curly. Have you been keeping Paddy out of trouble?” Damien kissed his wife soundly.

      “Impossible to keep the Hurley boys out of trouble. Only your mother has the fortitude for that. But he’s got a date, and I’ve got stuff for him.”

      Damien slung an arm around his wife’s shoulders as he took Paddy in. “Don’t give him those potatoes. Well, you can’t, anyway, because I ate them about ten minutes ago.”

      “Damien! Those were for dinner.”

      He laughed and Paddy rolled his eyes at his bottomless pit of a brother.

      “I was hungry. How can I resist? They didn’t even have a sticky note on them saying not to eat them like the other stuff does.”

      “You ignore those, too. I figured if I put the potatoes behind the beets you’d never see them.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Come on in. Let’s see what’s left after Hurricane Damien has gone through my kitchen like a plague of locusts.” Mary poked Damien’s side. “Where do you even put it all? How fair is that, anyway?”

      Paddy did what he was told, sitting at the bar while she put together a tote of food for him. Her colored-cotton totes were famous in his family. She had several, each with colored stripes indicating which of them got what bounty. His was blue, and she handed him three, one of which was insulated.

      “Balsamic strawberries. They’ll be awesome for dessert. Wild strawberries, even. There’s a pint of vanilla ice cream in case she wants some to go with the strawberries. The balsamic is good on that, too.”

      He used to question her weird food combos. After three years of her cooking, he no longer doubted that whatever she gave him would taste good.

      She rattled off a bunch of directions for how to deal with this or that, and he just nodded and kissed her cheek when she finished up. “Thank you.”

      Damien finally roused. He’d been watching his wife through hooded eyes and Paddy tried not to think about whatever nasty stuff was going on in his brother’s head. “Wait, date? Oh! This is the librarian?”

      “You knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Mary looked to her husband.

      “Believe me, most of what I don’t share you’d be scandalized by, anyway.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Come to breakfast tomorrow and tell us how it went. I may need to check some books out, anyway. I haven’t been down there in some time.”

      “Don’t meddle, Curly.” Damien pulled on one of the long dark curls that were the source of her nickname.

      “Pfft. It’s not meddling when it’s family.”

      Paddy grabbed the totes. “It totally is. She’s skittish. If you poke around, just be discreet. I like this woman.”

      Mary smiled up at him, patting his arm. “I can handle it. Now go. Have a good time and use a condom!”

      He found himself blushing and felt better when Damien cracked up.

      * * *

      NATALIE GAVE HERSELF one last look in the mirror in the staff bathroom. The earrings made her smile. Like a little bit of Tuesday was going on the date with her.

      Date. With Paddy Hurley. She was so stupid.

      And yet there she was, freshening her lipstick and finger-combing her hair. “Time to go,” she told herself in the mirror before she waved goodbye to her coworkers and headed out to the sidewalk.

      Where she heard the purr of an engine and knew it was him before the deep green classic car pulled into view.

      He pulled up and shook his head so hard when she moved to open her door that she drew back as he got out.

      “Wait!” He came around.

      “Is it broken?”

      Paddy snorted. “No. But my manners aren’t, either. First things first.” He took a long look up and down, and she was glad she’d worn the heels. “You look pretty. I want to say more, but I don’t know if I should.”

      “Well, now you have me nervous.”

      He kissed her then. Nothing really untoward, a quick peck smack-dab on the lips. But those traitorous lips tingled and his scent was in her by that point. He wore cologne, which seemed odd, but it was nice. Sexy and masculine without being overwhelming.

      He hadn’t had a beard all those years before. She liked the slight scratch of it.

      Paddy opened the door and indicated she get in. She managed to do so without showing her underpants or looking too ungraceful.

      He got in just a second or two later and pulled away from the curb.

      “You have great legs and cute toes.”

      He said this as his attention was on the road, so he didn’t catch her blush.

      “Um. Thanks.” God, did he have a foot fetish or something weird? She thought back on their time and flushed, a sweat breaking out. Okay, so that was unwise because he was really supergood at sexy stuff. But he hadn’t seemed unnaturally interested in her feet.

      “Where are we headed?”

      “My boat. I figured we could have dinner out on the deck. It’s such a nice night and it’ll be light until so late. I’ll take us away from the marina. I know a nice little stretch just east of here. Deserted, so we’ll be able to see the sunset and I’ll have you all to myself. But not in an it rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again way.”

      She burst out laughing. “Did you just quote Silence of the Lambs at me? Serial killer dialogue meant to reassure me?”

      He cursed under his breath, and she reached out to pat his arm to reassure him. “I know it was a joke. Really. I’m more concerned you have a foot fetish than with you being a serial killer.”

      “Foot fetish?”

      “The toes comment? I mean, look, if it floats someone’s boat, more power to them. But I can’t even get a pedicure because people touching my feet weirds me out.”

      “Note to self, don’t try to paint Nat’s toenails.” He turned with a grin on his face. “We’re both being way more nervous than we need to be.”

      “Yeah. Probably.”

      “I like cute toes when they’re painted and looking great in nice high heels. I don’t want to lick them or anything. Yours would probably be worth it. But I can control my baser urges.”

      He parked at the marina, which was less than five minutes from the library, and walked her down the row, heading to a rather impressive boat.

      “So, what’s that? Fifty-footer? Nice.”

      “Someone knows her way around boats. I like to go fishing with my brothers and our friends. In the summer, if we’re here and not out on tour, we can watch fireworks from the water. Have dinner out here. It’s a good thing to have. You’re okay with boats, right? No seasickness or anything?”

      “I love being out on the water. My grandparents had a boat. Sometimes, as I was growing up, we’d go out on it. They lived on Lake Washington.”

      “Oh, Seattle locals?”

      “Medina.” Her grandparents had lived in a mansion with a sloping lawn to the lake where their

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