“As a little kid, I had a lot of questions about why I didn’t have a dad around,” he revealed eventually. “Mostly what my mom did was remind me that we were so lucky to have each other.”
“She never told you about your father, not even when you asked?”
“She had a standard response, one that painted a rosy picture of an incredible man who simply hadn’t been ready to be a dad. I tried my best to take my cues from her. She didn’t seem to hate him for that, so how could I? Besides, I could see how sad it made her to think that she wasn’t enough for me.”
“So even as a boy, you were intuitive and kind,” Liz surmised.
“I loved my mom,” he said simply. “I didn’t want to make her unhappy. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a saint. I lashed out from time to time and accused her of trying to keep me from my dad. I even threatened to take off and find him, but mostly I kept my questions and my resentment to myself.”
“That’s very noble. Didn’t you ever want some genetic history or a name?”
“Sure, and more than once as I got older I thought about digging around and trying to find answers on my own, but I thought about how disrespectful that might seem to her. And I told myself, when it came right down to it, what did it matter? Why would I want to know someone who didn’t care enough about either of us to be in our lives.”
Liz didn’t entirely buy that he’d been that mature about it. Oh, she believed he loved his mom and hadn’t wanted to distress her, but a teenager’s curiosity about who’d fathered him wasn’t usually pacified by logic.
She saw Aidan studying her, a faint smile on his lips. “You think I’m glossing over how much this bothered me, don’t you?”
“Are you?”
“Okay, I’ve been resentful and bitter at times, no question about it, but I covered that up with my mom. There were times as I got older when I wanted to demand answers, but just when I might have pushed for them, my mom got cancer. After that my whole focus was on trying to support her.” His expression turned sad. “And then it was too late.” He gave her a wry look. “There was no deathbed confession of the truth, in case you’re wondering.”
“So you still don’t know any more about the man who fathered you?”
Instead of a direct answer, he gave her a puzzled look. “Why are you so concerned about this? It’s ancient history. My ancient history.”
Liz was taken aback by his sharp tone. “I guess I was just trying to picture myself in your shoes, having all these huge questions left unanswered.”
He held her gaze. “I know who I am, Liz. I know the kind of man I am, and it was Anna Mitchell who made me into that man, not some guy who provided sperm.”
The heated response made her squirm. What had she been thinking, digging into such a private topic and suggesting he’d handled it all wrong? She was the one who’d been putting up walls, and now she was climbing over them herself, trying to turn this into a more intimate relationship than she herself had claimed to want.
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. I grew up with my family intact. I had lots of friends whose parents were divorced, but at least both parents were in their lives to one degree or another. It’s hard for me to picture growing up without ever seeing a parent or knowing anything about the kind of person they are. I guess I was projecting what I imagined my reaction would be onto you.”
Aidan stared out at the bay, then took a drink of his water before he finally faced her again. “I took my mother at her word, that he was a good man. For most of my life that was enough for me. It had to be.”
Liz didn’t believe for an instant that he still felt that way, because the shadows in his eyes when he said it told another story entirely. Clearly, though, it was a story he didn’t intend to share with her. And hadn’t she had enough of men with secrets to last a lifetime? It was just one more reminder about the wisdom of keeping Aidan at arm’s length.
* * *
Once dinner came—neither of them had the prime rib—the conversation turned casual and Aidan finally allowed himself to relax. All that talk about his dad had left him jittery and uncomfortable. Sure, he’d had questions, maybe a million of them. He still did, but he was finally in a position to get a few of them answered. He just wasn’t ready to share that information with anyone, not even this woman who seemed to be genuinely concerned about him.
He glanced across the table, noting the color in Liz’s cheeks, possibly put there by the one glass of wine she’d allowed herself. Strands of blond hair had escaped her topknot to curl carelessly about her face. She looked relaxed and infinitely more approachable than she probably intended.
“Dessert? Coffee?” he asked, not eager for the night to end, despite those earlier uncomfortable moments.
She studied the dessert menu, then put it aside with a sigh of regret. “Not for me.”
He grinned. “You don’t even want to share that chocolate lava cake with me?”
Her eyes lit up, just as he’d anticipated. He’d learned that women could resist a lot of treats, but that one seemed to call to them. It usually became irresistible after just the tiniest bit of encouragement from him.
“You promise you’ll eat most of it?” she asked.
“Promise,” he said solemnly, beckoning for the waiter. When he’d placed the order for the decadent cake and
