“Did you know about this?”

“Sure.” Patrick was noncommittal. He could love the idea or hate it-it was impossible to tell. So she asked him.

“How do you feel about this?”

“It’s Dylan’s birthday party. He can invite anyone he wants.”

Okay, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings.

She hesitated, tapping the card against her palm. “I’m flattered that Dylan invited me, but I’m not sure it would send the right message if I-”

“Don’t tell me. I didn’t invite you. Tell Dylan.” Patrick pointed to the last line. “It says RSVP right there.” He turned and disappeared into his office.

Briana had the feeling he was disappointed she was going to turn down his son’s invitation. But she had to, didn’t she?

Later that day, when she called Dylan, he whooped with joy at the sound of her voice, and Briana knew right then that she was going to his party.

“I knew you’d come,” Dylan said enthusiastically when she accepted his invitation. I told Dad you would.”

“Really.” She paused in surprise. “Did he think I wouldn’t?”

“He said you had your own life and I shouldn’t be disappointed if you couldn’t make it. But I would have been.”

So, she’d spend Saturday afternoon at the birthday party desperately pretending she didn’t have the hots for Dylan’s father.

At least she had a good idea what to get Patrick’s son for his birthday and spent a happy hour in an arts and crafts store downtown selecting a drawing kit that was age-appropriate and yet offered him some tools and an instruction book if he wanted to learn more. She also picked up a three-volume set of The Lord of the Rings, figuring that no matter how good a movie was, it could never capture all the nuances of the original book.

While she was in the bookstore, she picked up a book for Fiona, as well, knowing that she was young enough to feel left out when Dylan got all the presents.

Since she wasn’t in the habit of buying kids birthday gifts, Briana didn’t have the right kind of wrapping paper. She found a card shop and bought paper with realistic-looking dinosaurs and a “now you are 10” card.

That was the easy part.

The tough part came Saturday afternoon when she had to decide what a thirty-two-year-old woman should wear to a ten-year-old’s birthday party.

“This is ridiculous!” she yelled to herself after she’d changed her outfit more times than a runway model for a Paris show. She finally decided on a denim skirt, leather sandals, a pale blue shirt and a white cotton sweater.

As she drove to the party, she had no idea what to expect. Her big fear was that, for all the supposed casualness of the invitation, she’d be the only adult other than Patrick, which might in some way cast her as the mother figure for the day.

Of course, she’d tried to pump Patrick for details of the party, but, being a man, he didn’t seem to catch on to the subtext of her questions the way a woman would.

When she’d asked him, “Has Dylan invited many boys?” what she really meant was, “Will I be the only woman there?”

Patrick had answered absently, signing a stack of correspondence. “I gave him a limit of ten boys.”

“Oh. Was I included in that limit?”

He glanced up, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not a boy.”

She gave up. She absolutely gave up.

Now, as she drove up to Patrick’s house, she was surprised to see a string of cars lining the driveway and parked out front.

When she climbed out of her car, she heard unmistakable sounds of adult merriment. Clearly, then, there were more than just ten boys here at the party. Oh, well, her worst fear was banished. She wasn’t being chosen as stand-in mother for the day. Dylan had simply invited her because he wanted her to be there.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she walked to the front door and rang the bell. She was about to ring again when a harassed-looking Patrick opened the door. Briana had anticipated feeling a little awkwardness at being in his home again, but he was so clearly frazzled that any nervousness immediately fled in the need to help him in some way.

“Do you know anything about potato salad?” he asked.

It was impossible not to smile. He was adorable when he was flustered. “The basics. Why?”

“I forgot to buy it from the deli. Dylan loves potato salad. He can’t turn ten without it and I’ve got a potful of boiling potatoes on the stove, ten demons from hell destroying my house, guests in the backyard I’m ignoring and no clue what to do first.”

So the man could run a city in crisis, but a simple kids’ party was beyond him. Briana had no idea why she found that so appealing, but she did.

“I can handle the potato salad,” she said, entering the house. She handed him the presents and started pulling off her sweater. “But the ten demons from hell are your department.”

He shot her a grateful grin.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

Since she knew her way around his kitchen, she went straight in, trying to ignore the howls and yells of the boys currently stampeding through the house. Demons from hell wasn’t so far off, she decided.

The potatoes were boiling merrily in the pot. Patrick hadn’t peeled them before putting them on to cook, but she could deal with that. She opened the cutlery drawer, found a fork and pushed it into a random potato. Still hard. Good.

“How do you know where Patrick keeps his cutlery?” a sharp voice from the sliding doors leading into the backyard made her jump and almost drop the fork.

Swinging round, she saw Shannon, Patrick’s younger sister-you could never call her little-staring at her with an expression that was far from benign.

Why shouldn’t she know where Patrick kept his cutlery? There was an innocent enough explanation, but she hadn’t seen Shannon since the night she’d helped rescue Patrick and Briana from the elevator, and the same suspicious gaze was riveted on her now.

Briana noticed then that the adults she’d heard out in the yard weren’t just parents of the other boys. There were a lot of O’Sheas out on the lawn, laughing and talking. In fact, Briana realized with a stab of panic that the birthday party was as much a family gathering as a kids’ affair.

Shannon slid the door closed and came closer.

“Lucky guess,” Briana told her. “Patrick’s having potato salad angst. Since you’re obviously more familiar with his kitchen, why don’t you make the salad?” She stepped back and made a graceful gesture toward the pot.

Shannon shrugged and sent her a wry smile. “Potato salad’s not my specialty.”

“Wash your hands and grab a knife. You can be my sous-chef.”

While Shannon did just that, she said, “I’m surprised Patrick invited you.”

“Patrick didn’t invite me,” Briana assured Patrick’s nosy sister. “Dylan did.”

“Oh. He’s a nice kid. More sensitive than he looks.”

“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Briana said, only half-teasing. “The last time I was at a ten-year-old’s birthday party, I think I wore pigtails and a Cabbage Patch doll T-shirt.”

This sally didn’t receive so much as a smidgen of a grin in return. “Why are you here?”

“I told you, Dylan invited me.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t have to say yes. You look like a woman who gets a lot of weekend invitations.”

Briana understood that Shannon was protective of her brother and her niece and nephew. She respected that, so instead of getting snippy, she was honest. Letting out a breath, she turned to lean against the kitchen counter. “I planned to say no, but it’s harder than you’d think to say no to Dylan.”

Shannon emitted a surprisingly musical laugh. “Don’t I know it. All the O’Shea men inherited the Irish charm.”

Briana nodded and turned back to recheck the potatoes. Patrick sure had charm, and it had worked on her all right. She turned off the stove burner.

“You probably think I’m being pushy and sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Shannon remarked.