How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(25)

“It’s ’cause you’ve got shaky hands,” I said, teasing. “Those taxi drivers can spot weakness a mile off.”

“Oh, it’s a cutthroat business hailing taxis in NYC,” Conor agreed. “They can sniff out blood in the water like nobody’s business.”

Yvonne chuckled. “Right. Maybe there’s a class I can go to.”

“Of course, there is. There’s a class for everything here,” I said.

“The land of miracles,” Dylan added with a wink. It was something I said to him the other week, and it made me smile that he remembered.

“Exactly,” I said as he opened the door to the taxi and ushered me in. Conor did the same for Yvonne on the other side, and I might’ve been mistaken, but I thought her cheeks reddened ever so slightly.

It was a tight squeeze, with my leg resting right next to Dylan’s during the ride. His attention wandered to where our knees met; he focused on the contact for a second before directing his attention out the window.

I had butterflies the entire journey.

Our destination turned out to be a cheesy but completely fabulous Irish-themed pub. There were pictures of shamrocks and leprechauns above the door, and all the woodwork was painted bright emerald green.

“We thought you might appreciate some kitsch,” Conor said, grinning as we walked inside. Surprisingly, the place was packed, and there was a trad band on stage playing a set.

“Oh, wow. It’s so bad it’s almost good.”

“It might be garish, but they do the best pub grub in the city. Conor and I come here all the time when we get homesick,” said Dylan.

“I can smell the bacon and cabbage already,” Yvonne added. “Come on, let’s grab a table.”

We found a free booth in the back, far enough away from the live music that we could carry out a decent conversation. I sat down first, and Dylan slid in next to me, leaving Yvonne and Conor to share the seat on the other side. I picked up the menu and perused the options.

“So, how are you liking the city?” Yvonne asked, making conversation. I knew I was letting the side down, but Dylan wouldn’t stop looking at me, and I felt self-conscious. What was he thinking?

“I love it,” Conor replied. “I’m actually thinking of buying an apartment here and making it my base. I still need to travel between the stores a couple times a year, but Dylan NY has by far been our most successful opening. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to open another branch next year.”

“Two perfume shops in one city?” Yvonne said, wide-eyed. “I’m impressed. Oh, and I forgot to say, I saw your full-page advertisement in The Times yesterday. It was very eye-catching.”

“Thanks,” Conor said. “But the concept was Dylan’s.”

“What was the picture?” I asked, curious. I hadn’t seen the advertisement.

“It’s our campaign for the new line,” Conor replied. “Here, let me show you.” He pulled out his phone, swiping until he found what he was looking for, then handed it to me. I stared at the picture. It showed a model with her back turned to the camera. All you could see was her bare shoulders and long blonde hair, and scattered through the strands were lilies, roses and wildflowers.

For the briefest second I thought, she looks like me.

But that was probably just my ego playing tricks.

It had to be a coincidence.

I handed the phone to Conor, glancing at Dylan when I said, “It’s stunning.”

His expression was guarded as he studied me for a reaction. I kept my face blank and was relieved when a waitress came and took our food orders.

The mood lightened after that. The four of us ate, drank, shared jokes, and talked about the old days. It was comforting, sort of like visiting with family even though we weren’t. And I didn’t fail to notice the way Conor looked at Yvonne.

And my aunt was as oblivious as ever.

“This is fun. Are you having fun?” she asked as we paid a visit to the ladies’. Her blue eyes shone with a merry gleam, a result of two pints of beer. She was such a lightweight.

I, on the other hand, was pacing myself. I didn’t trust what I’d do to Dylan if I got too tipsy.

“I’m having lots of fun. So is Conor,” I replied and stepped inside a stall.

“He’s really grown up,” she commented from the stall next to mine. “Like, I barely recognised him.”

“Yep. And he’s still got eyes for you.”

She scoffed. “Oh, hush. He does not. I’m old enough to be his mother.”

“If you got pregnant at eight. It’s not that big of an age gap, Yvonne. Besides, I’m fairly sure you’re not even old enough to be a cougar.”

“Yes, well, I still think you’re wrong. That boy is thirty years old, gorgeous, and probably earns six figures a year. Whereas I’m thirty-nine, earn a moderate wage, and well past my prime. I’m pretty sure he could do better.”

“First of all, Conor is about as much of a boy as you are a girl. And second of all, don’t you dare. You’re gorgeous and smart and kind. If he can do better, I’ll eat my hat.”

“You’re not wearing a hat.”

“You’re tipsy. Shut up.”

We both emerged from our stalls and went to wash our hands. I caught Yvonne staring at me thoughtfully through the mirror and frowned. A moment ago, she’d been giddy, now she looked a little sad.