“Evening,” a familiar voice filled the air as Joey appeared in the doorway, clad in oil-stained overalls. “Evening.” “Lynchy.” “Hi, Joe.” Ignoring the rest of us, Joey strode through the open-plan kitchen/living area, not stopping until he reached his girlfriend, who was sitting cross-legged on the rug, neatly folding stacks of their son’s tiny clothes. “Hey, stud,” Aoife said, craning her head up to smile at the lad towering above her. “Queen.” Crouching down, he tipped her chin up and kissed her once. “You good?”
