Chapter 3

"No, they live in my building," Megan said lowly into her telephone. She sat at her kitchen counter, legs tucked against her chest as she picked idly on her breakfast.

"You're kidding!" Mary exclaimed from the other side of the line.

Megan scoffed. "I couldn't make this up if I tried – you know that," she responded. "Anyway, I had to tell you since I'm off at the store today – but I have to call my Maimeó before she gets too grumpy,"

"I think you're a few decades late on that boat. See you tomorrow," Mary said.

"You might be right. See you tomorrow," Meg laughed before pressing the dial tone, and dialing in her father's phone number.

The phone rang exactly three times before it was picked up. "Hello." A flat voice crackled across the line.

"Good morning, Maimeó," Meg greeted, grabbing a bite of her eggs, growing cold on the counter in front of her.

"Mo stór," the older woman purred, her tone abruptly changing when she realized it was her granddaughter on the line. "Did you sleep well, in that infernal new flat?" Siobhan inquired.

"Yes, Maimeó, I slept fine. I got in around two-thirty, and I only woke up about an hour or two ago," Megan explained. Her grandmother made the appropriate sympathetic noises before promptly launching into another rant on why Megan should never have moved out. For a few moments, she tried to listen attentively. Then she tried to cough, to get a word in edge-wise.

"Listen, Maimeó," Meg interrupted. Siobhan was immediately silenced, most likely because she was shocked her granddaughter would interrupt her. "I was thinking I could come over and have lunch with you in about an hour. You could finish your rant then," she suggested.

Siobhan chuckled. "Mo stór, you're sassing me. Who are you and what have you done with my granddaughter?" Meg blushed. "And yes, Meg, I would like you to come for lunch. I will be waiting for you." Siobhan continued.

Meg grinned. "I just need to get dressed and then I'll be on my way. See you soon. Love you!"

"And I you, mo stór," Siobhan purred before she hung up. Meg placed the phone back on the receiver and all but skipped towards her shower.

Half an hour later, Meg was locking her door just as Murphy opened his. There was a moment of instant panic that welled up in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the admittedly attractive man. "Mornin', lassie," Murphy greeted, lips curling up into a grin around a lit cigarette. Meg grimaced, more at the cigarette than Murphy himself. "What? Still mad we're neighbors?" Murphy asked, closing the door behind him and taking a few steps towards Meg.

She shook her head hurriedly. "No," she said, waving her hand near her face to disperse the smoke. "It's the smoke," Meg continued, shuffling a step back.

A look of understanding dawned on Murphy's face, and he immediately took his cigarette from between his lips and put it out with the sole of his shoe. He took a step towards Meg again, and seemed pleased that she didn't shuffle back again. "Where you off to on this fine mornin'?" Murphy asked.

"To see my grandmother," Megan answered, starting towards the rickety elevator. Murphy fell into step with her.

"The she-demon your Da mentioned?" he suggested, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"The one and only," Meg replied, grinning.

Murphy smiled back, and shuffled his fingers through his hair. He seemed sheepish, almost embarrassed "I'll walk ye, if ye like?" he offered, the invitation hanging in the air between them.

Meg hesitated, shaking her head. "No thank you. I'm sure you've got other things to do than walk me everywhere I go," she politely refused.

"I don' mind," Murphy said right away, a little pink in the cheeks. "I like talking to ye," he continued, taking her by surprise.

Meg flushed a little red, avoiding his gaze. "If you like..." she began, and he eagerly looked up. "You can walk me home from McGinty's tonight. That is, if you're not busy..." her hesitance was obvious.

"I'd like that very much," Murphy said quickly, smiling brightly. "What time does your shift end?" he asked.

"11," Meg answered. "I work at the grocery early tomorrow morning so I can't stay too late," she explained.

"And do ye usually walk to work alone at an early hour?" Murphy questioned, clearly testing the waters.

Meg shook her head. "No, my Da walks me. This one, Murph, you'll just have to sit out," she responded, and finally hit the call button on the elevator. She couldn't believe her cheekiness, even though Murphy seemed amused.

"I knew ye were starting to like me," he said in a silly voice, making Meg blush.

"Shut up!" Meg immediately fired back, her cheeks growing even hotter.

"Ah, so there's my sharp-tongued vixen... I'll see ye later tonight..." Murphy teased, waving as he walked back to his apartment.

Meg took a deep breath and stepped into the elevator. She hit the button for the first floor, and closed her eyes the doors shut. She took several deep breaths in hopes of calming the raging blush on her cheeks. As she stepped out of the elevator, Meg checked her face in her compact - she still glowed pink.

Megan walked the sixteen blocks from her apartment to the townhouse her father and grandmother shared. Where Meg had lived from the moment they'd come to America ten years ago up until two days ago. She mounted six steps to get to the door and then fished a key out of her bag to unlock the door and step inside. "Maimeó!" Meg called out as she shut the door.

"I'm in the kitchen!" came Siobhan's reply. Meg made her way through the spartan living room into the kitchen.

For the Kavanaughs', the kitchen has always been the room they gathered in and loved best. So it was the most decorated and well-used room in the house. The walls were painted Kelly-green, an eleven-year-old Megan's tribute to their home when they'd first moved in, and the cabinets were a dark cherry wood that made the green walls pop.

Meg's grandmother sat at the kitchen table with a mug in front of her as well as a prepared plate of sandwiches. As Meg entered, Siobhan stood, welcoming her granddaughter with a hug and kiss. The eighty-year-old was only a few inches shorter than Meg's 5'2" frame, and thin as a reed. Her silver hair was fine and soft like silk, always loose in waves. Once, Siobhan had the famous Irish red hair, but Quinn had inherited his father's black and so had Megan. Faintly, Megan remembered running her fingers through Siobhan's hair when it was still shot with red instead of just silver.

"Come, come, sit down, mo stór," Siobhan urged, taking Meg's hand in her frailer one and walking her to a seat. "What would you like to drink?" she asked, walking to the sink to grab a clean glass.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Megan said accommodatingly. Her grandmother flashed her a look. "Hold the whiskey, of course," she added.

"Such sass," Meg's grandmother acknowledged, turning a critical eye back towards her. Meg flushed a little red. "Who are you and what have you done with my Meg?" she asked, turning and shuffling back to the table with a cup of tea in hand. Siobhan raised a cool hand and pressed the back of it to Meg's forehead.

"Maimeó!" Meg protested, brushing her grandmother's hand away. "I'm fine," she said firmly. Siobhan gave her another disbelieving glance as she settled in her seat opposite Meg. "It's all just a matter of getting used to the new situation." Meg added, hoping to distract Siobhan.

"So it's nothing to do with the handsome men who walked you home last night?" Siobhan remarked, stirring her tea innocently. She lifted her eyes to Meg, who had turned tomato-red and was now spluttering incoherently. "So it was," she concluded, not really needing any more information on the matter.

"How do you even know about that?!" Meg demanded. She could feel heat crawling up the back of her neck, and knew she had no hope of hiding a thing from her grandmother.

Siobhan raised an eyebrow, helping herself to a sandwich. "As if your father can enter this house without telling me any secret he might have, mo stór," she remarked, taking a hearty bite before pushing the plate towards Meg.

The brunette narrowed her eyes at her grandmother, carefully taking a sandwich and then began to scarf it down. She was startled by how hungry she was. With the few moments of silence, Meg thought Siobhan might just let it be. As if.

"So have they taken your fancy? Those boys your father spoke of?" Siobhan asked suddenly.

Meg forced herself not to react, and just to be honest with her grandmother. She knew if she sputtered and refused, that would only give Siobhan more reason to needle her. "I'll admit Connor and Murphy are attractive," Meg said slowly. Siobhan raised an eyebrow, and the mischief behind her eyes seemed to dim. "But I don't know if I fancy them," she concluded.

"So that's not a no," Siobhan said in a questioning tone.

"No," Meg confirmed with a nod.

Siobhan took a few more bites of her sandwich, clearly thinking carefully about the situation. "And have they expressed an interest in you?" she asked.

Meg hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Murphy has. Connor's a little harder to read. I first met them in the grocery, Maimeó," she began, stifling a laugh. "They came to my line and started talking about me in Gaelic, assuming I didn't understand. They said that I was cute, and such," she flushed a little pink at the memory. "Then Murphy tried to ask me out,"

Siobhan let out a girlish noise that was quite unlike her. "You haven't expressed this much interest in a boy since that mess with that Robert fellow a few years ago," she exclaimed in excitement. "I need to meet that Murphy boy right away," she began, not seeming to notice Meg's downtrodden expression.

The moment Siobhan had mentioned that name, Meg could feel that little ball of warmth at the pit of her stomach shrivel up and die. When she had been seventeen and madly in love, he had taken her to prom. Rented a motel room and hadn't given Meg much of a choice. She had locked herself in the bathroom and called her father from there. She didn't emerge until Quinn had forced his way into the room and socked Robert in the jaw. The following Monday, Meg had returned to school to find out that Robert had spread vicious rumors about her as revenge for ruining his night – consequently making those last months in high school hell for Meg.

"Oh, oh," Siobhan said, her excited words coming full-stop when she saw her granddaughter's expression. "I'm sorry, mo stór, for bringing him up. Don't let that scum spoil your future," she said, standing with a little difficulty to walk around the table and wrap her arms around Meg.

Meg sucked in a deep breath, burrowing into her grandmother's embrace. "I'm trying," she said lowly. "I try to keep the things he said about me, the things he made me believe, out of my mind, but it's hard, Maimeó," she acknowledged.

Siobhan pulled away, and used a finger to raise Meg's gaze to hers. "If I'd known you still felt that way, I would have sent your father to pummel him again a long time ago," she remarked. Even though the words were somewhat appropriate, Meg found them calming. It wasn't Maimeó if she didn't offer to send Quinn out to pummel someone to make Meg feel better.

"Thank you, Maimeó, but I think Da can keep his fists to himself this time," Meg said with a wry chuckle.

Siobhan grinned. "Just this once!" she warned, waving a finger in the air.

!

The hallway was empty that night as Murphy walked Megan to her door. "You've been real quiet this evenin', lass," he remarked, brows furrowed in concern.

Meg flashed him a half-hearted smile. "I've been told I need to work on being…" she trailed off, clearly trying to find the right word. "Upfront," she finally added.

"Abou' what?" Murphy asked curiously.

"What I want." Meg answered. They were standing in front of her door and her keys dangled in her hands. She shifted the metal from hand to hand, clearly nervous.

Murphy shocked her by covering her hands with his. "What is it you want?" he asked, the warmth of his limbs quickly seeping into Meg's cold hands.

It took Meg a few moments to formulate an answer. When she had, she looked up at Murphy. "Would you…" she began a little hesitantly. He stood up straighter, to show she had his attention. "Would you take me on a date?" Meg asked abruptly. Murphy's eyes went wide and she looked just as surprised as he.

"I'd love to," Murphy said quickly, taking a half-step to stand closer to her.

Megan's face had flushed completely red in embarrassment. "I know," she replied, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Cocky, are we?" Murphy flirted, raising a hand to brush it along Meg's fore-arm.

"Well, I did understand what you were saying about me in the grocery store yesterday… it was a safe bet," Meg confirmed, trying to play along. Murphy's grin split his whole face, making him look much younger than she knew he was. She knew he was at least three or four years older than her.

But that grin… it made Meg's insides feel all warm and squiggly, and she couldn't help what she did next. She shifted onto her toes to lean up and press her lips to Murphy's. He stiffened for but a second in surprise before he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back.

The kiss was nothing Meg had ever felt before. It was like eating warm cookies and milk, Maimeó's hug, and her Da's laugh all wrapped into one warm feeling. She was so engrossed she barely noticed Murphy pull her closer and deepen the kiss. And for a second, Meg was ready to give in. Give him everything.

Reluctantly, Meg pulled away, turning her head to the side. She was blushing even more furiously now, and the look on Murphy's face was awestruck. It took him a moment to recover his words. "Well then, when can I take you out?" he asked, not bothering to take his arms from around her waist. Surprisingly, Meg didn't mind.

"Two nights from now," she suggested. Murphy gave a resolute nod. "Seven o'clock?" she added and he nodded again. "And no McGinty's," Meg warned and he nodded again, a little less eagerly this time.

"As you wish, milady," he said teasingly before leaning down to capture her lips once more before gesturing for her to go inside her apartment.

"What a gentleman," Meg responded, only half-joking as she fit her key into the lock.