The timing had been... less than ideal, in retrospect, for letting Angel know that Doyle was back.
Not that the news had made the vampire unhappy -- far from it. So far that if the bright, befuddled smile splitting Angel's face hadn't been accompanied, of necessity, by the solid warmth of Doyle's hand in Wesley's, it might have caused the tiniest of selfish, unfair aches. But Wesley'd lost the knack for selfish aches, somehow. Some Irishman had stolen it, along with all his beer.
It was just that Doyle had insisted on shouting, "Boo!" and, well, Wesley had liked that coffee-pot.