“I’ll try harder next time,” I answer, and he winks before moving toward the sink.
Maeve enters a second later with a child balanced on her hip and a casserole dish in her free hand, and the room fills with noise that isn’t strategic or guarded. The baby reaches toward Cillian immediately, and he takes him without hesitation, settling the child against his shoulder with easy familiarity.
“Traitor,” Maeve says lightly to the baby. “You only like him because he spoils you.”
“I don’t spoil him,” Cillian replies.
“You bought him a boat.”
“It’s educational.”
Maeve rolls her eyes. “It’s motorized.”
I watch him bounce the child gently while arguing about toys, and something in my chest shifts in a way I don’t appreciate.
This is the devil of the docks. This man who shuts down piers and reroutes empires stands in his mother’s kitchen debating the merits of a toy boat.
We take our seats, and Siobhán insists I sit near her and hands me a bowl of potatoes before I can object, and Declan pours wine without asking whether I prefer red or white.
“You’ll eat,” Siobhán says firmly when I try to take a modest portion. “You’re too thin.”
I blink, caught off guard by the familiarity of it. “She says that to everyone,” Maeve assures me.
“It’s true,” Siobhán insists.
Cillian watches me from across the table, one brow lifting slightly as if to ask whether I’m overwhelmed.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, and he nods once.
Conversation starts easily. Declan complains about a shipment delay at the repair yard without naming specifics, Maeve rolls her eyes and talks about a student who tried to cheat on a spelling test, and Siobhán asks me where I grew up with genuine interest rather than interrogation.
“South side,” I answer. “Near the coast.”
“Good schools there,” she says approvingly.
“Yes.”
“And your parents?” she asks.
There’s a half second where I feel the edge of something sharp.
“They’re… busy,” I say carefully.
Cillian’s gaze flicks to me, then away, and the conversation shifts without pressure.
Plates pass back and forth, bread tears, wine refills, and for a moment I almost forget the purpose behind being here. I laugh at something Declan says and reach for the butter at the same time Cillian does, and our fingers brush again under the table in a way that feels entirely too intimate for a room full of family.
Siobhán watches us both with a small, knowing smile.
“So,” she says lightly, setting her fork down. “How did you two meet?”
I lift my glass slowly, buying myself a second to decide which version of the truth to serve. Cillian doesn’t let the question hang long.
“She works with me,” he says smoothly, reaching for the bread basket as if that’s the only explanation required. “Logistics oversight.”
Siobhán nods once, satisfied enough for now. “Good. He needs someone who keeps him organized.”
“I’m very organized,” Cillian replies dryly.