That's Amore! (24 page)

"We most definitely are, Mrs. Santori. Per cent'anni."

A hundred years. Yes. It was definitely a start.

EPILOGUE

For the first time in her life
, Daisy O'Reilly realized, the luck of the Irish had truly been on her side. She'd heard no screaming—no fallout—from the three engaged couples to whom she'd sent the mixed-up packages. So she obviously
hadn't
screwed up the orders.

That, unfortunately, was about the only thing she hadn't screwed up. Because since that day a few weeks ago, she'd never seen Neil again. She'd obviously scared him off with her brusque manner and standoffish attitude. Their regular delivery guy had been back on duty the next
day,
and Daisy had gone back to wondering what might have happened if she'd just said one word. Her name. Daisy.

Maybe it didn't matter. Because on the day she'd met him, she'd been in no frame of mind to give any good guy a fair chance. But now, having had almost a month to think about Trudy's assessment of why Daisy made the choices she did, she'd come to acknowledge her cousin's wisdom.

She'd been looking for love with losers. Because then, when she invariably ended up alone, she'd have someone else to blame. She'd been wallowing in the belief that she'd never be able to have a meaningful relationship with a man who could love her—truly love her—for everything she was.

She'd changed, though. Somehow, since that day, she'd changed. It had taken some soul-searching, and a lot of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, but Daisy had begun to accept the fact that she
did
have something to offer. She was worthy of a nice guy, real love, maybe even a ring and some of the silly wedding favors they sold on a daily basis.

"It's not too late," she told herself one afternoon as she worked alone in the mailroom, feeling better about things than she had in a very long time.

"What's not too late?" a voice asked.

Daisy slowly turned around, almost holding her breath, not absolutely certain of the voice. But it was him. Neil. Looking at her with that same genuine friendliness—and interest—she'd seen on the day they'd met.

She smiled at him, a slow, genuine smile of pleasure. Because she had another chance. And she had the feeling something amazing was about to happen.

If she had the courage to let it.

"Not too late for what?" he asked again, his voice low and intense, as if he, too, was aware of the strange currents of certainty … Fate, almost … flowing between them.

"It's not too late to tell you my name," she said softly, praying he still wanted to know.

He apparently did. Putting his clipboard on top of her desk, he walked over to her and held out his hand. She put hers in his, feeling an instant spark, a recognition, almost. Again that sense of the inevitable.

He squeezed her fingers, lightly, tenderly. Then he said, "Hi. I'm Neil. It's nice to meet you."

She took a deep breath,
then
admitted, "I'm Daisy. And it's very nice to meet you, too."

They just stood there for a long moment, staring at one another, and Daisy felt as if she'd just taken the first step of a long, wonderful journey. A small step. But one that might just be the most important one of her life.

"Neil?" she finally said, still not releasing his hand. "There's something you should know about me."

"Yes?"

"I'm Irish." Then, unable to contain a low laugh of utter happiness, she added, "And I do believe in leprechauns."