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Isla ran her finger across her lip, looking up at Rich with an intense expression. “I could be your kid. You could be my dad.”
Okay, so this wasn’t quite so funny anymore. Meghan glanced at Isla’s empty plate. “Take your dishes to the kitchen, honey.”
“I can’t. It’s rude to clear the table before everybody is finished.” She looked at Rich’s plate, with three nuggets still there. “I’ll wait.”
Silence fell over the table. Rich speared another nugget, looking at Meghan with wide eyes, as though he needed help.
“Rich can’t be your dad, sweetheart,” Meghan told her. “You already have a dad, remember?”
Rich blinked, swallowing down the nugget.
“Yeah, but I don’t know him. And some kids at school have two dads. He could be my Angel Sands dad.”
“Maybe I can just be your friend.” Rich seemed to have recovered his poise. “Would that work?”
Isla tipped her head to the side, her eyes narrow as she thought it over. “I guess… yeah, we can be friends.”
“I’m glad we’ve got that figured out.” Rich had thankfully finished, and Meghan took his plate, passing it to Isla to put on top of her own. “Help me clear up, sweetie. I have a special ice cream for dessert.”
“A new one?” Isla’s eyes widened. “Yum!”
“She’s asleep, finally,” Meghan said, softly closing Isla’s bedroom door and tiptoeing back to the living room. Rich was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. After dinner, they’d played a game of Uno, and Isla had taken a shower while Rich cleaned up the kitchen. Then they’d watched a couple of episodes of some Disney kid show she seemed to be hooked on, before she’d reluctantly gotten into bed.
And it was weird, because at any other time he’d have made an excuse to go home after dinner was over. But he was enjoying being part of their routine. It reminded him of the ER, there were protocols to follow, a system to be had, and Isla was always trying to buck it.
But she was no match for Meghan. He bit down a smile at how in control she was.
“Would you like a beer? Or a glass of wine?” Meghan asked him. “I have a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the refrigerator.”
“Wine sounds perfect. Thank you.” He stood, stretching his aching muscles. “Can I help?”
She shook her head. “Let’s drink out on the balcony. That way we won’t disturb Isla.”
The sun was setting as Rich pulled two chairs around the little bistro table on Meghan’s mostly unused balcony. She passed him a glass and they sat, looking out at the distant mountains, shaded purple by the evening rays. The air was cool, enough for Meghan to slide a grey cardigan over her pretty yellow dress. Her feet were bare, her toes painted a pale pink that enhanced the lushness of her skin.
“So.” Meghan gave him a tight smile. “I’m sorry about Isla. She shouldn’t have said that stuff about you being her dad.” She shifted in her chair and took a sip of her wine, her chin lifting as she looked out at the distant hills.
“You don’t need to be sorry.” He tipped his head at her, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Hey,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I’m not running away screaming because your kid wants to know why I’m not a dad.”
Finally, she looked at him. He felt like he could breathe again.
“We had a talk at bedtime. Isla knows she already has a dad. I think she’s just not sure how to relate to you. She doesn’t have a lot of men in her life apart from my dad.”
“Can you tell me more about her dad?” he asked. “Only if you want to.”
She crossed her legs, the movement pulling her dress up her thighs. He was really trying not to look at them.
And failing miserably.
“I think I told you we met the year I graduated. I was trying to earn some money and get
some experience. I always had a plan to start my own business, just needed to know how. I think I knew from the start I couldn’t work for anybody else long term. Not after growing up in such a controlled household. I still kind of blanch when people tell me what to do.”
“That’s understandable,” he murmured, entranced by the way she was looking at him.
“Anyway, I was running a bar at a festival. Typical rich girl rebellion. I’d lucked out or maybe they could smell the upbringing on me, because I was in the VIP area. Which meant mostly rich people who liked to tip a lot were coming in to drink and relax. And the bands would come in after their sets and hang out in the area. One of them – a drummer – took a bit of a liking to me. He’d stand by the bar and talk to me while I served. After a couple of nights, he got me a backstage pass and let me stand in the wings while they played. It was so different to anything I’d experienced before. I guess I got swept up in the romance of it all.”
His jaw tightened at the thought of this drummer, whoever he was. Not because he was jealous – they were adults, they had pasts after all – but because he knew where this story was going.
