Page 60 of Two Hit Wonder

"I know."

"But I want to try." The words came out like they'd been pulled from somewhere deep.

Iona's phone rang.

She considered ignoring it, but the ringtone was the one she'd set for Mo's school, and she'd learned the hard way that ignoring those calls only made things worse. She gave Maeve an apologetic look and answered.

"Ms. Faith? This is Mrs. Patterson from the front office. I'm afraid we need you to come collect Mo. There's been an incident."

Of course there had.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Iona said, and hung up. She looked at Maeve helplessly. "I'm sorry. I have to…"

"Go. I heard."

"It's Mo. She's in trouble again." Iona shook her head, gathering her bag. "I don't know what's wrong with her. I can't get through anymore. She used to talk to me about everything, and now it's like there's a wall."

Maeve smiled, the light catching in her eyes. "Remember us at fourteen?"

"What?"

"We were never off the school stage. Always rehearsing, always writing songs in the back of class. We never wanted to go to lessons. That’s why they called us The Stage Girls, remember?"

The memory made Iona smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember."

"Maybe Mo's a bit more like her mum than you'd like her to be." Maeve's voice was gentle. "Maybe she's just looking for her thing. And maybe you could go a little easy on her while she finds it."

Iona sighed. "Since when did you get wise?"

"I'm not wise. I'm just old and I've made a lot of mistakes." Maeve stood up, still slightly damp, and pulled Iona toward her. "Go get your daughter. We'll continue this later."

The kiss was soft at first, tentative. Then Iona's hand came up to cup Maeve's jaw, and Maeve made a small sound against her mouth, and suddenly it wasn't tentative at all.

When they finally broke apart, Iona was breathless. "I have to go," she said, not moving.

"I know."

"This isn't over."

"I hope not."

Iona laughed, kissed her once more quickly, and made herself walk toward the door. She was halfway out when Maeve's voice followed her.

"Iona."

She turned.

Maeve was standing by the table, coffee-stained and rumpled and somehow the most beautiful thing Iona had ever seen. "To be continued," she called.

Iona’s heart skipped at the thought of it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Shepherd always chose the kind of restaurant his other clients would love. The sort of place that served foam on things that didn't need foam. Iona watched him dissect his steak with surgical precision and tried not to think about where she'd rather be.

Which was anywhere Maeve happened to be, if she was being honest. It was becoming a problem, this inability to concentrate on anything except a grumpy Irish woman with too many walls and not enough patience. Iona had spent the last week feeling like a teenager with a crush, which was ridiculous given that she was old enough to know better and had been married twice.

"You're not eating," Shepherd observed.