She wagged her eyebrows. “And you’ll be giving him massages.”

“Josey—”

“Sexy massages.”

“No.” I couldn’t contain my laughter. “I most certainly will not be giving him sexy massages.”

“You’re no fun.” She pouted. “What’s the point of giving up your dreams to become a physiotherapist if you can’t give rugby players sexy massages?”

I lifted an eyebrow at her. “You know why I dropped out of the computational biology program.”

“Yes. Because the physiotherapy major classes were more flexible and could be completed online,” she said, her words dripping with disapproval.

“Are you ever going to get over this?”

“It’s not fair that you had to change your major,” she grumped, crossing her arms.

“You sound ridiculous.” I laughed again, shaking my head at her. “It’s been years, let it go.”

“I can’t. That program was so competitive, and you loved it. You’re brilliant, one of the smartest people I know, and you’d be in the doctorate program by now if it weren’t for . . .” Her gaze skipped away, her cheeks tinted pink.

I was glad she didn’t finish the sentence. I’d made peace with that time in my life, how my situation had altered with the shift of my priorities. I loved her for being disappointed on my behalf, but she didn’t need to be.

I’d been so angry at first, so frustrated that my life choices had been taken away from me, whereas the oblivious father continued on in his world, free of any restrictions whatsoever. But time, and especially time with Patrick, changed that. I wasn’t angry anymore. I felt happy. Content.

. . . and horny.

My phone chose that moment to ring and I jumped, setting my tea down on the table. “Sorry, this might be Sean.”

“He has Patrick today?”

I nodded, pulling out my cell and explaining, “Yes. Just like last week, but this time Lucy is with him. He and Patrick have been spending Sunday afternoons together so I can run errands.”

“And catch up with old friends.” Josey winked at me. “If it’s him, tell him I say hi.”

I shook my head at her—she’d always had a crush on my cousin—and glanced at my phone screen. Seeing who it was, I released an involuntary, “Ugh,” and sent the call to voicemail.

“Don’t tell me,” her pretty mouth curved into a knowing smile, “that was Trevor, right?”

I nodded, then shook my head. “I already told him I wasn’t interested in a second date.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed to the first date.”

“I know that now.”

Trevor had been my boyfriend from way, way, way back in the day. The relationship had been one of convenience. Our parents approved and so, why not? I’d gone against my better judgment and agreed to one date with him three weeks ago, just after I’d moved back to Ireland. He hadn’t stopped calling me since.

“I can’t believe he put a whoopee cushion on your seat. I mean, who does that?”

I laughed tiredly at the memory. Going out with Trevor had been like going out with a thirteen-year-old. He’d taken me to a food court for dinner and then to Pixar’s latest release at the cinema attached to the shopping center. He’d put a whoopee cushion on my seat in the theater, laughing hysterically when I sat and the mock-fart noise erupted.

With the exception of the whoopee cushion, the night would have been fine and dandy as a fifth or sixth date, but I rarely had an opportunity to go out and do adult things, have adult conversations. I didn’t need or want a fancy, expensive restaurant. But it would have been nice to do something less ordinary, like see a play or a comedian, or go on a hike and have a picnic.

I’d tried dating in the States, though it was nearly impossible with a baby, and then a toddler. In every case, I’d found men to be underwhelming. Underwhelming and emotionally exhausting. Like Trevor, men my age needed more from me than I could give. I already had one child; I had no desire to have a man-child as well.

I often wondered if my cousin was the only decent guy out there. Sean stood out like a neon sign as a man barometer, and sadly other men didn’t measure up.

“Trevor is a good guy, but there’s no spark between us. We’re better as friends.” I checked the time on my phone, then returned it to my bag, taking a big gulp of my tea. We only had another ten minutes before I needed to leave.

“You’re too nice, Eilish.”

“I can’t believe you just called me too nice.”

“Well, you are. You didn’t used to be. You used to be a snarky bitch, but now you’re too nice. And too responsible.”

I exhaled another laugh. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

I lifted my eyes to hers and found Josey watching me with a sad expression. “I’m glad you’re here, in Ireland. But I still miss you. I miss my friend.”

“You miss the snarky bitch?” I gave her a small smile.

“Yes, I do.”

I stopped myself before I rolled my eyes. “People change, Josey. Especially after they have a child.”

Her lovely dark eyes moved over my face, like I was a stranger or like she was seeing me for the first time after a long separation. “I thought things would be different when you moved back to Ireland.”

“How so?”