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that Niall wasn’t even at home when she returned them.
    That would have been the smart thing to do. Then Danny would have left her alone. Then she wouldn’t have been standing there in the hall that smelled like pot smoke and industrial sheet metal, wondering why a total stranger thought she was stalking Niall—okay, she’d been standing there a little too long, probably with a deer-in-the-headlights look, but still.
    She was unsure whether to stand her ground or run when someone pushed past the sarcastic dude. Niall. Filling the doorway, the biggest grin lighting up his face. All thoughts of running left her head immediately when she realized he’d brightened up just because she was standing there.
    Celia struggled to find something to say. She had come up with several pretty good opening lines during her subway ride, but the fickle stinkers had deserted her just when she needed them.
    Niall filled the gap. “Miss Celia,” he said loudly, over the music. “It’s good to see you again.”
    â€œI guess that proves threats work,” she shouted back.
    He frowned, concerned. “You’re here under duress?”
    Yeah, what she’d meant to be quippy just sounded harsh. She scrambled to make amends. “No, no!” She ignored the memory of Danny shoving her out of their apartment. “I was, you know, in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d . . . um . . . is this a bad time?”
    He put on a blank look. “What do you mean?”
    â€œYour party.”
    â€œParty?” Celia gestured behind him. He looked over his shoulder and jumped. “My God ! Where did they come from? All of you—get out!”
    As he flapped his arms wildly at the guests, who collectively ignored him, Celia smiled and moved closer. It was probably an honor that he expected her to play the straight man to his shtick; the least she could do was step up. She pulled a tiny shopping bag out of her huge quilted purse and handed it to him. “Boxers returned. Don’t worry, I washed them.”
    Niall held her gaze as he accepted the bag. “Pity.”
    â€œEw.”
    â€œYou’re entitled to your opinion, but mine is the correct one. Come on in.”
    â€œOh . . . uh . . . I—I shouldn’t—”
    â€œDon’t tell me. You have a wilder party to go to.”
    â€œI don’t think that’s even possible.”
    â€œSo come on in, have a drink.”
    He took her by the elbow and led her inside, helping her navigate around the knots of people. She looked for an open space, but there simply wasn’t one. She stuck close to Niall as he parted the crowds; out of the corner of her eye she caught people staring at her. She realized she didn’t quite fit in here, but some looks—from the women—were downright hostile.
    â€œWas it okay to come over?” she shouted in the general vicinity of Niall’s shoulder. “I mean, the guy downstairs said it was okay to come up, but—”
    He turned to face her, ducking his head close. For a split second Celia had the insane notion that he was going to kiss her. And she realized she didn’t pull back, but rose up on her toes instead, heart thudding. Before she could deal with her own body’s betrayal, Niall spoke, his lips nearly touching her ear, his breath warm on her skin. He just wanted to make sure she heard him over the music. Oh.
    In a serious, even tone, he said, “I’m so glad you’re here.” And her heart started jackhammering all over again.
    He drew back only far enough to look into her eyes. She needed to respond, say something meaningful, something . . . cripes, anything. What came out was, “I was wondering if I should have called first.”
    Smooth. What was she going to do next, start yammering about what route she’d taken to get here, subway or bus? Celia tried not to let the full-body flinch going on inside her show on her