He didn't much like this, having to be serious around her. Not that he expected Maggie to think him capable of it, when he wasn't proposing irrational schemes, wild ideas like this one. Not that the seriousness was a conscious choice, for that matter; his brow had furrowed of its own accord, his mouth dipping into a frown as he surveyed her.
She'd cried. That much was blindingly apparent. They were - not even an hour into their new life together, officially - and she'd already been in tears. Lorcan had not thought far ahead enough to predict this. "Together", did he mean? Although there was nothing metaphorical about living under the same roof, so he supposed that was together enough, even if one counted all the ways in which they weren't.
Together enough that she had suddenly started feeling like his responsibility, especially with the state she was in. Together enough in this situation that at least some of this would be shared. He hadn't broken the news to his family yet, however, and judging by her response (and that was her family, kindly and supportive and not the least Irish or insane), it was probably something to put off as long as possible.
No: this was the way Maggie had wanted it. This had been her part of the plan. (He did not plan to remind her of this.) Rip the plaster off all at once and be done with it, he remembered saying that to himself, and to her. So - the wound was still smarting. That was natural. It'd settle soon enough, with... with everyone.
"Of course they will," Lorcan finally piped up. All he could be was insistent, he decided, since Maggie had already tried to comfort herself independently, had used up all the logical words of consolation. "They're only shocked, they'll come around," he repeated, squeezing her hands and then letting one go so he could brush a loosened strand of her hair back behind her ear, a move meant only to offer some sort of comforting familiarity in an unfamiliar situation, since she didn't have anyone else to turn to, here. Focused on her face, he forced a smile wider than the one she'd tried, as if they could coax themselves out of this sadness, inch by inch.
"Just think, when they actually have a chance to see the bakery, to see you in your element," Lorcan told her brightly, "they'll understand. They love you, don't they?" He said to her, near-chiding. "And," he added, the expression in his eyes a little more pleading now, "this is the first night here, living in London, at your own shop! You can't go to bed sad about it."
She'd cried. That much was blindingly apparent. They were - not even an hour into their new life together, officially - and she'd already been in tears. Lorcan had not thought far ahead enough to predict this. "Together", did he mean? Although there was nothing metaphorical about living under the same roof, so he supposed that was together enough, even if one counted all the ways in which they weren't.
Together enough that she had suddenly started feeling like his responsibility, especially with the state she was in. Together enough in this situation that at least some of this would be shared. He hadn't broken the news to his family yet, however, and judging by her response (and that was her family, kindly and supportive and not the least Irish or insane), it was probably something to put off as long as possible.
No: this was the way Maggie had wanted it. This had been her part of the plan. (He did not plan to remind her of this.) Rip the plaster off all at once and be done with it, he remembered saying that to himself, and to her. So - the wound was still smarting. That was natural. It'd settle soon enough, with... with everyone.
"Of course they will," Lorcan finally piped up. All he could be was insistent, he decided, since Maggie had already tried to comfort herself independently, had used up all the logical words of consolation. "They're only shocked, they'll come around," he repeated, squeezing her hands and then letting one go so he could brush a loosened strand of her hair back behind her ear, a move meant only to offer some sort of comforting familiarity in an unfamiliar situation, since she didn't have anyone else to turn to, here. Focused on her face, he forced a smile wider than the one she'd tried, as if they could coax themselves out of this sadness, inch by inch.
"Just think, when they actually have a chance to see the bakery, to see you in your element," Lorcan told her brightly, "they'll understand. They love you, don't they?" He said to her, near-chiding. "And," he added, the expression in his eyes a little more pleading now, "this is the first night here, living in London, at your own shop! You can't go to bed sad about it."
