I took my time getting ready back in my room—slim black dress, smooth, straight hair, and my favorite special-occasion lipstick—and grabbed a quick breakfast at Norma’s before heading to the office. I needed an extra layer of confidence today and this outfit always did the trick. Manhattan was chilly, and I tugged at my coat—red, to match the lipstick—bundling it a bit higher against my throat.

I’d decided to walk this morning, opting for a different route than I’d used before, having googled a landmark I knew my mom would love to see in a photo. I remembered an old copy of Love Story on her bedside table, while growing up, and that the cover was inspired by a version of the sculpture located on Sixth Avenue.

It was easy to find. Groups of tourists crowded around it, re-creating iconic poses while they took each other’s photo. It was simple: red capital letters with blue accents, the L and O set on top of the V and E, and I pulled out my phone, hoping to snap a quick photo to send to her.

“Well, hello there, Miss Miller,” I heard, in an accent so familiar it sent goose bumps up and down my arms.

“Max!” I said, and dear God the men in this family were gorgeous. It was obvious Max and Niall were brothers, even if Max’s hair was a bit lighter and he had more green than brown in his eyes. They had the same straight nose, the same sharp jaw, and the same dimpled grin; Max’s just made far more appearances. And wow, were they both tall.

I hoped he’d assume the blush that warmed my cheeks was because he’d just caught me taking a photo of myself on the streets of New York, and not because I’d just realized how insanely gifted his family’s gene pool was. Then I noticed Will—sweet Jesus, Will looked like sin in a suit—standing just behind him on the phone where he offered me a small wave.

“Where’s baby brother this morning?” Max asked.

“Something last minute came up. I’m meeting him at the office later.”

Max winked and tugged a leather glove on over his left hand. A thick wedding band gleamed in the morning light. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into joining us for coffee, then?” he asked.

Will finished his call and stepped up beside him, smiling and nodding in agreement. I had no idea how the women in their lives got anything done.

I’d already had a cup but how could I pass this up? “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent. William?”

“Hmm?”

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, offering his arm to me.

I took it in sort of a daze, even more so when Max took my other arm. What in the world had I just agreed to?

At a small café just up the block, I followed them both to a table near the back of the room, crowded with tourists and businesspeople grabbing breakfast before work. Our drinks were brought out almost immediately, and I couldn’t help wonder what Niall would think of my having coffee with his brother.

“I saw a picture of Annabel,” I said. “She’s absolutely stunning. Congratulations.”

Max, who had been unwinding a scarf from his neck, beamed at me. “Niall showed you my little miss?”

I nodded. “She looks so much like you.”

Will frowned as he tore open a sugar packet. “No way, not this guy,” he said. “Sara’s a knockout and that little girl is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s going to have her uncle Will standing at the door with a shotgun, ready to blow the balls off any boy who even looks at her wrong.”

“Ta, William. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Her mother, Sara, is stunning. If my little Beloved is even half as vivacious and charming . . . I am well and royally fucked.”

“Oh, you are,” Will said, holding up his drink.

“Do you have any children?” I asked Will.

Max snorted into his water glass.

“Uh, no,” Will said, his smile softening. “None for us, yet.”

“Not for a lack of practice though, mate,” Max said.

“This is true,” Will said, looking appropriately thrilled.

Pouring cream into his coffee, Max turned his smile on me. From what I could tell, Max was always smiling—especially when he was teasing someone—and he had a rare kind of charm that made me want to spill all of my secrets, talk about everything . . . because something told me he was dying to hear.

“So, how’s Niall treating you?” he asked.

“Great,” I said, stirring my drink. I kept my eyes on my cup, watching foam disappear into caramel-colored liquid, hoping I could pull off casual and completely unaffected. I had nothing to say. Nope, no dirt to spill here. “He’s great—I mean, it’s great—he’s treating me great.”