I nod with a deadpan expression. “Yeah, wildly jealous. I wouldn’t stand a chance with a girl like Elle.”

Ma nods too eagerly. “You may be right. You are a bit of a rogue you know, and she’s a nice girl.”

I bite my tongue. There’s no use sullying Elle’s good impression with talk of Tinder hook-ups and a coffee table stacked with porn books pretending to be romance novels.

I look at the pow-wow still going on in the living room. The circle is wider now that Trisha has joined in. I turn to Ma. “So you think Patrick is going to win her heart with his thrilling stories from the world of accounting?”

“Stop!” she says as she grabs the dishcloth and snaps it at me, before joining the rest of the family.

I open a beer and linger in the kitchen a few minutes longer. I’m in no rush to join the Patrick hook-up party.

“Oh, Paulie,” Ma calls out as a summons.

I sigh, set down my beer, and surrender.

“Hi, Ms. Jacoby,” I say as I approach. Now that I’m seeing Elle up close it really rustles my jimmies. Is the get-up she’s wearing Irish Catholic family cosplay or something? She looks like she’s heading out to her job at the library. I’m holding back a snicker so hard that my lips are tingling.

She reaches out to shake my hand and when she does I realize I’ve never held her hand. Damn it’s strong but so soft at the same time.

“Hi, Paul Junior.”

Dad laughs. “Oh you don’t have to call him Junior, lass. We call him Paulie.”

She grins like she knows how much I’m not enjoying this. “Paulie. I like that. Hi, Paulie.”

“And what shall I call you? Is it Eleanor?”

She arches her brow with pursed lips. “No, Elle will be fine, thank you.”

Ma turns away from me. “And Patrick was just telling Elle about his promotion at work. Weren’t you, Paddy?”

He nods as his cheeks color. “I’ll be a senior manager now, just below being a junior director.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Soon he’ll be the VP of senior mid-level bottom-feeder ass- kissers.

“Impressive,” Elle says in a breathy voice. “Why don’t you sit over next to me and tell me more about it.”

By the time we get to the meatloaf she’s mastered gazing at him like he’s the most interesting person in the world, while Ma and Dad keep mentioning his accomplishments to keep the conversation going.

Trisha, for once in her life, doesn’t say much, but the shit-eating grin she has watching me slowly get riled up is really pissing me off.

The family and Elle are drinking some pussy chardonnay that you couldn’t pay me to gargle with. When I go into the kitchen to get another beer, Trisha follows me in.

“What’s up, Paul Junior?”

I narrow my eyes. “Screw you.”

“What, are you pissed because there’s finally a skirt more interested in Patrick than you?”

“Yeah, I’m devastated.” I take a long swig of my beer and then wipe off my mouth on my sleeve. “Completely devastated.”

“It’s got to hurt. I mean she’s really cute.”

“You think?” I ask, studying Trisha. Maybe she’s gay too, and she and her husband Mikey are beards for each other. Talk about a marriage of convenience.

“Super cute. Have you ever seen Ma this amped up?”

“Not since Prince William and Kate got married.”

“Right!”

I decide to push the envelope. “So when they get married do you think they’ll live here with Ma and Dad . . . you know since Patrick still lives at home?”

“Good question. Maybe. But doesn’t she have a house or something? Weren’t you there recently helping Dad with a job?”

I slap my hand over my forehead. “What’s in that damn meatloaf? Are you people all high or something? I was joking Trisha! They’re not getting married!”

“How do you know? Daddy asked Ma to marry him on their first date.”

“That was decades ago, when they lived in a tiny village in Ireland where Dad could either marry Ma, or his second cousin. Times have changed, Trisha, or haven’t you noticed?”

“Jealous,” she says with a taunting expression.

“Shut up,” I growl.

“Jealous! Jealous!” She spins on her heel and goes back to the dining room with me following close behind.

I sink back into my dining room chair with a huff and dig into my meatloaf.

Taking a sip of her wine, Elle watches me over the edge of her glass I stare back and raise my eyebrows with a what-the-hell look.

When her eyes dart over to my mom and then my dad, and sees they’re both focused on their dinner, she looks back at me with a piercing intensity.

I take a long sip of beer as I glare back. She holds her gaze without blinking.

Game on, Elle. But damn, the woman has focus. My eyes start to water from the pressure and I turn to Ma as I blink.

“I like Elle’s outfit, don’t you, Ma? It’s much fancier than what she wears at home.”

“I do,” Ma says with a smile.

Elle gives me a dirty look with a headshake so subtle that I doubt anyone else notices.

“What do you mean exactly, Paul?” Patrick asks, his serious accountant expression on his face.

“Oh you know at her home she had those tight stretchy pants on and a little tank top on during my first visit to her place last week,” I say as I fill my spoon with a pile of buttered peas.

Patrick’s eyes widen as he glances at Elle and then looks down at his plate.

Elle’s cheeks color. “I was wearing my work-out outfit. And in fairness I wasn’t expecting anyone at the house just then.”

“Riiiight,” I say before leaning back in my chair.

“I think it’s lovely that you work-out and keep such a nice figure,” Ma says.

“What kind of working out do you do in an outfit like that?” I ask.

“It’s a Pilates spin-off. You know, working with resistance.”

“Resistance? How do you do that?”

“With exercise balls, and various elastic straps.”

I rest my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand. After she’s had a bit of time to fidget, I tilt my chin up and soften my expression to give her, what has been termed, my panty-decimating smile.

I clear my throat. “Really, balls and straps?”

She shakes her head briskly. “It’s a great workout. I swear,” she says sounding a bit frantic.

“Well, I’d really like to see that sometime. You and this resistance thing.”

In the downcast light of the light fixture over the table I can see her cheeks are turning hot pink.

“Me too,” says Patrick the dork. He has no fucking clue what’s going on.

Elle looks like she’s just steps away from losing her cool entirely.

It’s at this point my dad announces that he’d love some of that pie Elle brought. Ma jumps up and starts clearing dishes. After they gesture at Trisha and I, we pick up the cue to help clear too.

Dad pushes his chair back. “What would everyone like with dessert? Tea, coffee? I think I’d like a hot toddy with the pie? How about you, Millie?”

Ma nods her head.

The way the three of them scurry to the kitchen it’s obvious that it’s a ploy to get Patrick alone with Elle.

He keeps nervously folding and unfolding his napkin in his lap. I turn toward him. “Hey, Patrick, show Elle the animal shapes you can fold out of napkins.”

She turns to him with a bewildered expression.

“When I was in school I worked summers at the country club,” he explains to Elle.

My work here is done, I think as he clears a space on the table to fold his napkin.

Everyone is bustling about the kitchen as I lean against the pantry door. While I sip my beer, Ma keeps peeking through the crack in the door to spy on Patrick and Elle.

“Oh, he just folded his rabbit!” Ma says to Dad.

Even Trisha rolls her eyes.

“What do you imagine she thinks?” Dad asks.

“Well, she’s smiling at him. I think it’s good. It shows he’s not just about numbers and tax write-offs.”

Oh for fucks sake. He’s folding a fucking napkin in the shape of a rabbit.