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downward. “Not on my account. Mornings are miserable enough
     these days without a hangover.”
    She rested her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t getting easier to do without Patrick, but she was getting more used to feeling
     horrible all the time. Maybe that was some kind of progress.
    “I’ve nearly phoned him, you know,” she said. “Loads of times. And I’ve typed umpteen text messages, but I haven’t sent any
     of them.”
    “Good,” Adam said. “Don’t. Keep reminding yourself what a bastard he is.”
    She swirled the liquid again. “I’ll try. But there’s so much I want to know.”
    “Why? What good would it do? Just let him off.”
    “I know, I know. You’re right.” She set her glass abruptly on the coffee table and sank her head onto her knees. “Two days
     to go,” she groaned. “I wish I’d never signed that lease—I’m dreading it now. Is it too late to change my mind?”
    “Cut that out.” Adam reached for her hand and squeezed it. “This is what you’ve always wanted, remember? Your own shop, selling
     all your own stuff. I’ve been listening to you going on about this for God knows how long, and it’s finally going to happen.
     Don’t let this guy take that away from you.”
    “It’s not just Patrick—I’m still petrified,” she said, her words muffled. “What if nobody comes in?”
    “Of course they’ll come in.” He lifted her hand and counted on her fingers. “One: It’s the first dedicated cupcake shop in
     Clongarvin. Two: It looks fantastic—no small thanks to me. Three: The location is perfect. Four: Nobody bakes cupcakes like
     you do. Five: You’re giving them away free.”
    She raised her head and looked at him. “One complimentary cupcake with every order is hardly giving them away free. And anyway,
     that’s only on the first day.” She nibbled a nail. “What if nobody comes back for more? Or what if someone says they got food
     poisoning? What if—”
    “Stop that,” Adam said. “I’m living proof that your cupcakes are impossible to resist, and not at all poisonous. You’ll be
     the talk of Clongarvin within a week.”
    Hannah smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”
    “A word of advice,” he said.
    “What’s that?”
    “Don’t try selling leftovers the day after. They won’t keep, and you’ll lose your reputation.”
    She slapped his arm halfheartedly. “Nice try. You know very well they’re good for at least three days. Leftovers will be half
     price, and that’s that. For the last time, you will not be getting a steady supply.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said gloomily. “You’ll be so busy baking for the shop that I’ll never get to taste them again.”
    “You could try buying a few, like everyone else. I’ll see about giving you a small discount. Although I feel I should point
     out, darling” patting his generously proportioned stomach—“that you could do worse than laying off the cupcakes for a while.”
    He grinned. “That’s better. You’re beginning to sound like your old bitchy self.”
    “I’m going to be baking all night and selling all day—I’ll be too wrecked to be a bitch.” She rested her head on his shoulder
     again. “God, what possessed me to think of opening a shop? Why didn’t you stop me?”
    “Yeah, like you’d have listened to me for a second. Anyway, the one to blame is your granddad—it’s all his fault for leaving
     you that money. But like I keep pointing out, you don’t have to do it all on your own—you can take someone on part-time.”
    “And like I keep saying, pay them with what? Granddad’s money bought the lease, and most of the paraphernalia, and not much else. You
     know I’m already up to my neck in debt…” She trailed off. “Did I tell you that the new stand mixer cost almost eight hundred
     euro—and that was on sale?”
    “Yes, I’ve heard that more than once. You’ll remember I nearly collapsed the first time.” He shot her a stern look.