It was surprisingly easier than I’d anticipated to get through a few hours at the pub with Roddy. Seonaid made it easy by distracting him constantly with her digs at the barmaid he was dating, even though the girl wasn’t working, and therefore unable to defend herself.
However, I knew from the lack of any real emotion when talking about the barmaid that Roddy wasn’t in as deep as Seonaid feared. He was too busy exchanging mock barbs with the woman he actually cared about to give much thought to the barmaid.
My friends’ funny dynamic put me at ease and I got through hanging out with Roddy, assured I could do it again. And if Roddy had been pissed off at me, he never showed it.
That week I’d also had the privilege of spending more time with Sylvie, who had talked her uncle into letting her join the group again for my readings. I also introduced some games that day, and Sylvie served as my little helper. This time she and I couldn’t sit and talk because I’d agreed to have lunch again with Seonaid. At the despondent look on Sylvie’s face when I told her I had to leave, I knew I wouldn’t schedule lunch after my visits at the hospital again.
During our time with the kids, Sylvie expounded on the awesomeness of her uncle Aidan to everyone. I think some of the kids were a little tired of hearing, “Well, my uncle Aidan says,” but others had fallen under her spell. She’d transformed her uncle into a godlike creature, to the point where I think she had some of the younger kids believing he was an actual superhero. I let her. What was the harm? More than ever, those kids needed to believe in miracles and superheroes. Wasn’t that what was I doing there? Spinning them stories of magic and escape?
The Wednesday after my Sunday drinks with Roddy and Seonaid, I found myself in the untenable position of wanting to say no to Sylvie and not being able to. Somehow, she’d gotten her hands on a Twister game board and had talked the kids into playing.
I hadn’t thought it was a great idea, and Jan wasn’t too sure, either, but Sylvie won by announcing only she and I would play, and the kids would take turns spinning the wheel. It actually turned out to be a pretty good idea because we ended up in such awkward positions, in fits of giggles, that we had all the kids laughing and trying to cheat by placing us in even more ungainly positions!
I was in the middle of begging Poppy not to cheat with the Twister spinner when a deep, masculine voice sounded from behind me at the door.
“What is going on here?”
Unable to turn to see who it was, I heard Jan’s voice. “The children’s entertain—”
“Uncle Aidan!” Sylvie squealed in my ear, making me flinch. “I’m moving but you can’t move!” She unwound her leg from mine and was gone.
“How is that fair?” I asked. I wanted to move. I had my ass in the air and the mysterious Uncle Aidan was right behind it.
I bowed my head trying to see through my legs but all I saw were his and Jan’s feet and then Sylvie’s as she rushed him.
“Come play, Uncle Aidan,” Sylvie begged excitedly.
“I think I’ll just watch.” His voice rumbled, sounding amused. He had a great voice. A beautiful lilting, cultured Scottish accent. And my ass was in his face. In green Peter Pan leggings that did nothing to hide the shape of my body, I might add.
Great.
I looked super professional right now.
“Oh, please,” Sylvie begged. “Please.”
“No, sweetheart. You go back to the game. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“But I want you to play with Nora—I mean, Peter Pan.”
I almost choked. It was time to get up before Peter Pan was made to play Twister with a strange man. The thought sounded so perverted, I had to swallow a giggle.
“Please, please!” the other kids suddenly started begging.
Sylvie began instructing him on the position she’d been in.
“Guys, leave Sylvie’s uncle—” The squeak of the plastic mat halted me mid-sentence.
And then I felt his heat, followed by the smell of expensive cologne. It was earthy but fresh. Like wood, and amber, mint leaves and apple.
Oh, dear God.
Slowly, I lifted my head and found myself staring into green eyes that were bright with amusement. Familiar green eyes with flecks of yellow gold.
“You must be Peter Pan,” he said, laughter trembling on his lips.
Lips I remembered well.
In fact, I remembered those broad shoulders too, that square, unshaven, strong jawline and expressive mouth. I remembered the sexy laugh lines around his eyes. It all belonged on a very tall, well-built guy who had once picked me up off the floor of a pub and then flirted with me the following day in a supermarket on what would turn out to be one of the worst days of my life.
Uncle Aidan was the stranger from the bar.
Small goddamn world.
Realizing I hadn’t spoken, I managed a croaky, “Hey.”
Our faces were too close together, and his long leg was currently entangled with my short one.
“Right hand green, Peter Pan!” Sylvie announced.
I wrenched my gaze from his to the mat. The nearest green spot would mean climbing her uncle like a monkey. Part of me wondered if she’d cheated. I shot her a suspicious look and watched her shake with giggles.
“Oh, crap,” I muttered under my breath.
I heard the rumble of laughter and my eyes flew back to his. There was a challenge in his, but not recognition. He didn’t remember me. Why would he? I was just a girl he briefly met once.
“I’m not doing it.”
His eyes grew round with mock innocence. “But that would be cheating.”
“Cheating?” Sylvie heard. “No cheating.”
“No cheating, Peter Pan!” Poppy cried out from her chair.
Soon all the kids were buzzing with laughter and conversation as I stared at the man who was already too close for comfort.
There was no way I was doing it. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I moved toward him as if I was going to do it and I let my left hand and foot slip. I flipped at the last minute, crashing down on the mat on my back.
“Oh no, I fell! I lose!” I threw my hands up in the air.
I heard his laughter before his face appeared upside down above mine. My breath caught as he smiled down at me. “Liar.”
“It’s called pretending.” I grinned up at him. “There’s a difference.”
Instead of smiling back at me, he suddenly frowned. “Have we met?”
Although I didn’t like to admit it, I was gratified that he’d felt a flicker of recognition. It was more than a little humbling that I had recognized him immediately, but he had no idea who I was. “No,” I lied. What was the point in reminding him? If he remembered me, he’d only have questions about the wedding ring I no longer wore.
Suddenly, Sylvie was kneeling over me. “You meant that.”
I sat up. “Prove it.”
She thrust a book at me. “You have to read now. I want Uncle Aidan to hear all the voices you do.”
Embarrassment threatened to freeze me in place. It was one thing to act out a story for a bunch of kids, even a parent or two, but for Aidan Lennox? Mr. Sexy Stranger from the bar/worldly music producer/composer/only dates beautiful women/gave up the bachelor life to care for his dying sister and then adopted his sister’s kid?
This guy wasn’t for real, right?
I jumped spryly to my feet and turned to watch him get all six-plus feet of his large build up off the mat with more grace than a big guy should be able to pull off. He towered over me, making me feel like one of the kids. I wondered how odd we looked standing together.
Aidan took a seat and Sylvie sat on the floor between his legs. The kids looked at me expectantly, so I had to force myself to block him out.
I did this for the kids.
Stranger from the Bar wasn’t going to mess up what I had here with them because he was an intimidating hunk of man candy.
At first, I couldn’t help but be aware of the masculine gaze focused so intently on me. Despite his earlier amusement, I could feel him studying me, trying to work me out. I understood it, of course. His kid was spending time with me, and he wanted to see what I was all about.
Eventually, however, the joy of acting out the story took over. Every time I’d look up from the page and see Poppy’s wide eyes and enthralled expression, or Aaron’s unusual stillness that gave away his interest, or Aly’s smiling, encouraging face, or Sylvie’s admiration, I was pushed on, all inhibitions forgotten at my feet.
Soon, Jan reappeared to tell us time was up. Like always and to my gratification, the kids groaned their displeasure. “I’ll be back next week, guys.”
Aaron approached me slowly and then stopped, shifting from foot to foot as he looked anywhere but at me. “I won’t be here next week.”
Please be good news. Please. “Oh?”
“I’m better.” He shrugged, finally looking at me. “I’m going home.”
Gladness suffused me. “Aaron, I’m going to miss you, kid. But that’s the best news ever.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Thanks. You know, for …” He gestured around the room.
He reminded me so much of Roddy in that moment, I had to stop myself from pulling him into a hug. I brushed my fist against his shoulder. “See you around, kid.”
Aaron grinned, seeming relieved I wasn’t going to get all emotional on him. “Bye.”
As soon as he left my side, Sylvie dragged her uncle to me. I smiled at her, even though Aidan made me nervous. Gathering my things, I said, “You heading out?”
“Uncle Aidan said we can have lunch with you in the cafeteria. Please, Nora, please.”
My stomach dropped at the thought as she looked at me with such adorable pleading, my chest actually ached. She had that magical ability to turn you to mush. You know, like puppy dogs had.
My eyes flew up to Aidan’s, but his expression was neutral. I couldn’t make out what he was thinking.
When I looked back at Sylvie, I found I couldn’t deny her. “Of course. Let me grab my stuff.”
They left to wait outside, and I took the time to gather my things and say goodbye to the kids. I squeezed Poppy’s hand as I passed and she rewarded me with the world’s sweetest smile.
Aidan and Sylvie were at the nurses’ station talking to Jan, but as soon as Sylvie saw me, she impatiently pulled Aidan away. I waved at Jan, and then fell into tense silence beside uncle and niece. The silence, however, was only on mine and Aidan’s part. Sylvie filled the hallways with her excited chatter. I knew why I was drawn to Sylvie—she reminded me so much of Mel. She was opinionated but kind, strong and brave, and she’d been through so much, I found I couldn’t help but want to protect her. Moreover, as a child she was literal and uncomplicated. She didn’t want to pry into my reasons for dressing up like Peter Pan and telling stories. She didn’t know about my dead husband, or grill me about moving on with my life. In Sylvie, I found peace from the world outside.
However, I didn’t know why Sylvie was so drawn to me. I would’ve thought it was my storytelling but she seemed more interested in Nora than Peter Pan.
As if to prove my point, she gestured to a restroom up ahead. “Do you want to change your clothes, Nora?”
My lips twitched at her suggestion. “Embarrassed by my cool threads?” I tugged at the ragged hem of my costume.
Sylvie wrinkled her nose. “A little.”
“Sylvie,” Aidan admonished, but I could tell by the small smirk he wore he thought she was hilarious. Lucky for him, I thought she was too.
“I’ll change, Your Highness.” I gave her a mock bow that made her laugh.
Inside the restroom, I found my fingers trembling as I undressed and pulled on my skinny jeans and T-shirt. I was all too aware of Aidan. More than that, I was worried he didn’t like Sylvie spending time with me. His stare was unnerving and unwavering, as if he were analyzing my every word and movement, trying to work out if I was good enough to be around his niece.
I hated that feeling.
I met them outside, squirming inwardly as Aidan’s eyes flickered down my body and back up again. Without meaning to, my hand went to my hair, my fingers rubbing against the short strands at my nape in a self-conscious movement. For the first time since cutting it, I felt a pang of regret.
Jim hadn’t been the only one who’d liked my hair.
I liked my hair.
Being short with slender curves and a propensity toward wearing jeans and shorts, my hair had made me feel feminine. I’d loved that I could wear it down, curl it, braid it, throw it up in a messy bun. Anything. It always made me feel pretty.
Huh.
I guess I hadn’t really realized that about my hair until right then. Somehow, I thought I’d kept it long for Jim but I hadn’t. Not really.
It should’ve taken me, just me, to realize I didn’t like my freaking hair short. Not a guy! Certainly not this guy.
Deciding right there and then I couldn’t care less what Aidan Lennox thought about my looks, I threw my shoulders back and walked. They fell into step beside me.
“Uncle Aidan said I can get mac and cheese again if they have it.”
Mac and cheese always sounded good. I might have had butterflies, but I could eat around them. Maybe carbs would crush the little bastards. “Sounds great.”
That was it? That was all I was going to say? Why were words deserting me?
Thankfully, Sylvie continued to chatter as we entered the cafeteria, and as we waited in line for our food. Aidan paid for my lunch and when I thanked him, he waved my words away.
Irritation bubbled under my skin but I let it go. He’d gone from teasing me back at the common room with the kids, to stoic silence and a blank expression I quite frankly wanted to smack off his face.
I liked being able to read people.
“So, Nora. What’s your surname?” Aidan said as soon as we took a seat.
“Surely your private investigator can find that out,” I cracked.
He smirked. “I’d rather not have to pay him to find out something you can tell me.”
Weirdly, I didn’t think he was joking about having a PI.
“It’s O’Brien,” I said, even though technically, it was still McAlister.
“Uncle Aidan thought you were brilliant, didn’t you, Uncle Aidan?” Sylvie piped up before shoving a huge forkful of macaroni into her mouth.
There was that annoying smirk again. “Very entertaining.”
My eyes narrowed, not knowing whether he was being condescending. “Thank you?”
“Where do you work?” he asked abruptly.
“A shop,” I said.
He looked unamused by my vagueness. “Aye, would I know it?”
“Probably not.” I turned to Sylvie. “The mac and cheese is good, right?”
“Not as good as my mum’s but it’s okay. Can you make mac and cheese?” Her eyes lit up at the thought.
“It’s not my specialty, I’m afraid.” I’d learned to cook growing up because I had to, but it wasn’t something I’d ever really enjoyed.
“What is your specialty?” Aidan questioned.
He was intimidating me with his interrogative tone but I refused to let him realize that. “I’m killer with a takeaway menu. I can order in five seconds flat.”
Reluctant amusement flitted across his expression. “You don’t cook. You work in a shop. And you volunteer at a sick kids’ hospital. Not a lot to go on there.”
Trying to steer the conversation away from me, I replied, “Do you cook?”
“I dabble.”
“Uncle Aidan is a great cook,” Sylvie said.
Surprise, surprise.
“He learned a lot from traveling, didn’t you, Uncle Aidan?”
He gazed down at her fondly, and I realized he hadn’t touched a drop of the soup or any of the salad in front of him. To be fair, the salad looked like it had been foraged a month ago. “I did.”
Not really wanting to know but needing to keep the conversation off me, I asked, “Where have you traveled?”
“Your neck of the woods. A lot. China, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Russia, most of mainland Europe, Scandinavia, Israel, Poland, Bulgaria, South Africa …” I knew that list went on.
I suddenly felt very young, uncultured, and inexperienced, and it prompted me to ask, “What age are you?”
Aidan raised an eyebrow at my somewhat abrupt question. His eyes drifted over my face, seeming to linger on my mouth before moving back up to meet my stare. The blood beneath my cheeks warmed at his perusal. “What age are you?”
Realizing I would have to give him information to receive information, I was honest. “Twenty-two.”
He frowned in thought. “Are you sure we haven’t met? You remind me of someone.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You haven’t told her what age you are.” Sylvie stared innocently at her uncle. “Nora told you.”
He grinned at her. “Is that how it works?”
“It’s only fair.”
“She’s right,” I agreed.
Aidan leaned back in his chair, pushing his uneaten tray aside. “I’m thirty-four.”
“He’s old,” Sylvie teased.
Twelve years older than me. Twelve more years of experience. Of traveling the world.
God, I must appear like some silly, weird kid to him, hanging around hospitals pretending to be Peter Pan.
“Old?” He pressed a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him, reminding me of that moment in the supermarket. How could he not remember me? The air between us had been so charged.
There was tension still between us now. But it was different. Back then, he’d looked at me with curiosity, maybe even a little fascination. Now he was careful with me. Reserved.
Understandable. Because now I was involved in his kid’s life. I wasn’t just some girl in a supermarket he might have found a little attractive.
“Not that old,” Sylvie amended, grinning. She had cheese sauce around her mouth, and I watched as Aidan folded up a napkin and leaned over to gently wipe it. Sylvie took it from him to finish the job. A pang echoed in my chest at the ordinary but sweet gesture. His expression may have been guarded with me, but every time he looked at his niece, he didn’t hide the fact that he adored her.
My curiosity about him grew. “Sylvie said you’re a music producer?”
He nodded, his countenance changing when he looked at me. It was like he had an emotional portcullis that lifted when he turned to Sylvie and slammed shut when he addressed me. “That’s right. That’s where the traveling came in. I don’t travel as much now.” He looked at Sylvie who was sopping up the last of her macaroni with bread. “For obvious reasons.”
“What instruments do you play?”
He frowned.
I shifted uncomfortably. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “That’s not what people usually ask.”
“Really?” I made a face. “When you tell people you’re a music producer, they don’t ask if you can play an instrument or two?”
“The first thing most people ask is who I’ve worked with.”
Understanding dawned. “They want to know about the famous people?”
He nodded.
Did that mean he wanted to brag about the famous people? Because that was not an attractive quality in anybody.
“I don’t really care,” I told him, straight up. “They’re merely people with more Instagram followers than most.”
“Is that right?”
I wondered if I’d insulted him. “Not to say that they don’t deserve their fame … or that you don’t work hard,” I scrambled to explain, “I just … I mean, I’m more impressed with the actual music than the fame … part. Or … I’m not explaining it very well.”
“You’re explaining it fine. I don’t care about the fame part, either. I like working with talented people.”
“Like David Bowie,” Sylvie said.
David Bowie? I think my jaw hit the table. “You know who David Bowie is?”
“Uncle Aidan loves his music.”
My head spun as I looked at Aidan like I’d never seen him before. “You worked with David Bowie?”
He grinned at my awe. “No. I’ve had the pleasure of his company a few times. I met him through his producer. I was a little younger than you, just starting out.”
The knowledge that Aidan spent time in the company of not just famous people, but FAMOUS people suddenly sank in. I went from being overwhelmed by the guy to completely intimidated. In my head, I’d known since the moment Sylvie started talking about him that her uncle was older, experienced, worldly. And even back then, over a year ago when we first met, I knew he’d reeked of class and money.
But it was more than that.
He was smart and driven and the most successful individual I’d ever met in real life. He’d gone from this amazing life with these apparently gorgeous women and an astounding career, to changing it so he could look after his dying sister and then look after her kid. He hadn’t run from that. This man had made a choice and was sticking with it.
And I was dressing up as Peter Pan to entertain kids and bury myself in fantasy so I didn’t have to face reality.
I pushed back my chair and the feet squealed against the linoleum. “I just remembered I have somewhere to be. I’m so sorry.”
“You haven’t finished your lunch,” Sylvie said, disappointment ringing in her words.
Even though her sad face pained me, I gave her a small smile as I stood. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I have to go. Thanks for hanging out with me again.”
She immediately got out of her chair and threw her arms around my waist. A lump formed in my throat as I hugged her back. For some reason, guilt welled inside me and my eyes unwillingly flew to Aidan.
His expression was grim.
“Thanks for lunch,” I said politely.
He barely nodded as Sylvie finally let me go.
I brushed her cheek with the back of my hand, my tenderness for her only increasing by the minute. “I hope I see you again, Sylvie.”
She nodded vigorously. “Definitely.”
With another affectionate smile her way, and total avoidance of her uncle’s gaze, I left.
I needed to.
He made me feel small, and I didn’t mean physically. Before meeting him, I was okay with my life choices. And you know what? I was only twenty-two years old! Maybe when I was his age, I’d be worldly and sophisticated too.
For now, however, I wasn’t. The two of us couldn’t be more different and even if I wanted to let my guard down with him, he’d never understand. So it was up to him. He could let Sylvie come back, or he could decide not to. But I was done being grilled and made to feel insignificant under his intense scrutiny.