> "Have you lost your damned mind?!"
Tilly's voice cracked through the clatter of bottles and the low hum of the bar lights.
I rounded the corner, a case of pale ale digging into my hip, and shot her a look that could probably melt glass.
"Yep. Totally lost it. No hope left. Now" I dropped the box onto the counter with a thud, "can we get back to stocking your bar before the regulars riot?"
From behind the kitchen door, Cobb's deep laugh rumbled through the space. He leaned out, wiping his hands on a towel.
"Let the girl live a little, Tilly. She's old enough to make her own dumb decisions."
"Thank you!" I gestured at him with a beer bottle. "See? A man with sense!"
Cobb smirked. "That being said, we all remember what happened the last time you dated."
I groaned. "I was eighteen! It's been seven years and about ten bad haircuts since then."
Before anyone could respond, a yawn echoed from the back, followed by the sound of claws on the floorboards.
Cobb's bulldog, Larry, waddled out like the ghost of chaos itself.
"Ye not be givin' the lass much credit," the dog rumbled in a gruff Irish accent.
I crouched down, scratching behind his wrinkled ears. "Thank you, Larry. Finally, someone in this family gets me."
"Aye," he snorted, "but only the one date, lass. Once Ronan hears, the lad'll be dead before sundown."
I shot up, hands on hips. "Larry! Et tu, Brute?"
Tilly groaned. "You're playing with fire, Tierney. The Circle's one thing, but your father he's going to lose it if he finds out you're dating a mortal."
I busied myself wiping down the bar, pretending her words didn't hit like a dagger. "He doesn't have to find out."
"Tierney," she said in that mom tone, "you're his only child. He knows everything."
I sighed, dropping into a stool. "Then I guess I'm doomed. Because I'm not marrying Finley freaking Sawyer just to keep the Circle happy."
Cobb lifted a brow from the kitchen door.
"You're talking about the assistant?"
"The one with the emotional range of a stapler," I muttered. "Yeah, him."
Silence filled the bar for a beat until Larry broke it with a well-timed snort.
"Ah, the lass has spirit. Shame it'll get her killed."
I rolled my eyes and leaned back. "Whatever happens, happens. I'm twenty-five, immortal, and way too sober for this conversation."
And that's when I realized the problem wasn't that I was breaking some ancient rule.
The problem was that, for the first time in forever, I wanted to.
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A dead pickup, a tow truck driver with dimples, and one immortal woman who really should've stayed home.