“There, you see. I don’t have to explain to you, so it goes easier.”
“What you’re thinking won’t come within a league of easy, but it might work. We’ll see what we can put together. Just us two for now, and the rest soon enough.”
They went to the workshop together, with Branna trying not to feel guilty over the relief that it was just the two of them, at least for now.
* * *
“I EMBARRASSED YOU,” IONA SAID WHILE THEY MADE THE SHORT DRIVE TO BOYLE’S.
“What? No. I’m not embarrassed.”
“A little. I probably should’ve said something about staying with you tonight when there weren’t other people around. I never think about things like that. And it occurred to me too late to consider you might not have wanted company.”
“You’ve stopped being company.”
What did it say about her that she found the careless comment romantic? Oh well.
“Then it occurred to me you’d have had no problem saying no, and you’d pick me up in the morning.”
“Do I look thickheaded to you?”
“Not a bit.”
“I’d have to be not to want to spend the night with you, wouldn’t I?”
More romance, she thought, Boyle McGrath–style. “But I shouldn’t have announced it like the minutes of the next meeting. If we took minutes.”
“It’s a private thing.”
“I get that, and it would be. Or I’d try harder there. But it seems to me, the way things are, privacy’s not really on the table. That’s harder for you than it is for me.”
“It may be, but you’re right. There are more immediate things to worry about.”
He pulled in right behind Fin, jiggled his keys as he got out.
“Good night then,” Fin called out, “and enjoy tomorrow.”
“I’ll have my mobile if there’s a need.”
Iona bumped against Boyle as they climbed the stairs to his rooms. “It is harder on you. But Fin’s got to be used to you bringing a date back with you now and then, and you with him doing the same.”
“I don’t bring women here. As a rule,” he said after a moment.
“Oh.” Privacy, she thought, and more. “If you go to their place, you can leave when you want.”
“There’s that.” He stepped inside.
“You need to tell me when you want me to go. I’d rather be told than tolerated.”
“I don’t tolerate much.” He tossed his keys in a bowl. “I’m not tolerating you.”
It made her smile. “Good. Don’t. It’s miserable to be tolerated.”
He set her little bag on a chair. “If I didn’t want you here, you’d be somewhere else. Do you want something to drink?”
“I thought I wasn’t company anymore.”
“You’re right.”