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.
I’d like to say Sylvie and Aidan weren’t on my mind for the rest of the week but they were. It had been a long time since anyone had judged me. That I knew of. Not since Indiana.
Jim’s family and friends had accepted me, and even when they were frustrated with my choices, I never felt like they were appraising me. They were simply concerned.
I felt under a microscope with Aidan.
And it pissed me off!
It lit a fire in me that I wasn’t expecting. I couldn’t get his cocky, knowing, judgy little smirk out of my mind.
But with it came more guilt because, as angry as Aidan made me feel, as little as his larger-than-life presence made me feel, there was also attraction there. There had been from the moment I’d met him. Before Jim was gone. The kind of attraction I’d never felt for my own husband.
I hated myself for that.
Sylvie wasn’t a part of those feelings, however. She was something else. For Sylvie I still worried, and even though it would bring Aidan inevitably back into my life, I didn’t want to say goodbye to the kid. I wanted to see her safe and happy and back at school with friends. I wanted to know that she was going to be all right.
That was why then when I walked into the hospital the following week, I was relieved to see Sylvie—but anxious as well because she was accompanied by Aidan. They were standing at the nurses’ station, Sylvie with a book in one hand while gripping Aidan’s hand with the other. Jan was nowhere in sight, which would account for the young nurse who was leaning across the desk, smiling dreamily up at Aidan while he talked.
I guessed it was hard for her not to.
He wore black jeans, black boots, and a plain black crew-neck T-shirt that was loose at his waist but tight on the biceps. Because they were impressive biceps. I swallowed hard as my steps slowed. How could he make something as simple as jeans and a T-shirt seem expensive?
He looked like a bodyguard on casual Friday.
A bodyguard protectively holding the hand of his little girl.
Heterosexual women who met him were screwed.
Or wishing they would be soon.
I rolled my eyes at the thought, shaking myself out of the Aidan-induced stupor.
It had taken me twenty-two years, but I finally had my first real crush. Oh God. Worst someone ever!
Sylvie glanced up from her book and did a double take. “Nora!” she cried happily and let go of Aidan’s hand, hurrying toward me. She grinned, holding up the book. It was Coraline by Neil Gaiman. I’d told her a few weeks ago that I’d read it around her age and loved it.
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Yeah,” she said, like it was obvious. “Will you read it to the kids?”
I loved how she continued to not include herself in the category of “the kids.”
“I thought today we’d actually start with Harry Potter, if that’s cool with you?”
“Ooh, I love Harry Potter.”
“Is there a muggle alive who doesn’t?” My focus was drawn from her face upwards as I felt Aidan approach.
He gave me a nod. “Nora.”
Goosebumps prickled along the back of my neck at the sound of my name on his lips. Feeling ridiculous about the reaction, I tried to prove to myself I could handle this guy. “Aren’t you a little old for storytelling?”
Sylvie giggled while Aidan gave me a droll look. “Attacking my age. How unoriginal of you, Peter Pan.”
“Oh, I wasn’t attacking your age,” I said, walking around him, “I was attacking your maturity level. But hey, who am I to judge? You want to listen to a little Harry Potter, that’s okay with me.”
“I’ll have you know, Harry Potter appeals to a very broad age range.”
Somehow, I doubted he was among them. “That’s true.” I pressed a hand to the common room door, stopping before I entered to look over my shoulder at Aidan. “But I’d be surprised if it appealed to a man like you.”
He stunned me by leaning into me to put his hand above mine on the door. I sucked in a breath at his nearness, his chest so close to my face, I’d only have to move an inch and my lips would meet his T-shirt. His heat and scent overwhelmed me, and my gaze stuttered on its way up to his face.
Smirking smugly down at me, as if he knew how he affected me, he murmured just loud enough for me to hear, “You don’t know what appeals to a man like me, Pixie.” He pushed the door open before I could respond; I stumbled into the common room like a klutz.
I knew my cheeks were an embarrassing shade of pink.
Thankfully, the kids’ warm welcome meant I didn’t have to look at Aidan again. As we settled in, and I opened Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, I was more than aware of Aidan standing at the wall by the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest making his muscular arms bulge. I was betting that was deliberate.
Exasperating, distracting man.
However, I understood he was here for a reason. Sylvie wanted to see me and hear me tell stories, and he wanted to make her happy. But he didn’t trust me. I guess he had no reason to—he didn’t know me. Could I fault him for that? Not at all. And if he was going to continue to be around, I was going to continue to crush the insecurities that arose around him and pretend I didn’t feel like an unsophisticated country bumpkin.
When the reading was over for the day and I’d chatted a little with the kids, Aidan approached me while Sylvie talked with Poppy. I braced myself for whatever would come out of his mouth next.
And I hated the way I had to crane my neck to look up at him. Jim had been tall but this guy was like a goddamn rugby player.
“Are you an actress or a film student?” he asked as I shrugged on my backpack.
Flattered that he would think I was either, I shook my head. “Neither. Just a shop girl.”
“No,” he said, his expres
sion thoughtful and intense, “definitely not just a shop girl. You’re talented.”
Amazed, I didn’t know how to respond.
Aidan continued before I could. “You draw people in, make the story come alive. That’s hard to do merely standing there, reading a book aloud. I’m begrudgingly impressed.”
Begrudgingly?
I scowled up at him but before I could respond, Sylvie interrupted. “Lunch again. Please?”
And as always, it was difficult to say no to her.
Honestly, I didn’t want to. I, of course, wanted to spend time with Sylvie. But as much as Aidan flummoxed me, I also unwillingly gravitated toward him. Which made me want to run in the opposite direction. Confusing, I know!
“Sure, sweetheart. Nora and I are going to step outside for a minute to have a private conversation. You stay here.”
While my heart raced at whatever was about to be said in this “private conversation,” Sylvie frowned up at him. “Why?”
He gave her a stern look. “Well, it wouldn’t be private if I told you, now would it?”
“I like her.” Her words held a surprisingly hard edge. She appeared to sense the undercurrent between me and her uncle in that way that adults liked to pretend kids couldn’t.
“I know.” He cupped her face, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’ll only be a second.”
I tried to give her a reassuring smile of my own as I followed her uncle into the corridor, but that was hard to do when I suspected I was about to be confronted. Adrenaline shot through me, making my hands shake.
Out in the corridor, I followed Aidan to a quiet corner and looked up at him expectantly.
Expression grim, he folded his arms over his chest and announced, “Sylvie is growing too attached to you.”
Confused, I mirrored his body language. “Too attached?”
“It isn’t wise.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Surely if this was about trust, that would take time. You couldn’t automatically trust someone. You had to give them time to earn it. I knew I needed time to earn his trust regarding Sylvie. How could he not see that?
Aidan looked quickly peeved. “Because she’s already lost too much. I don’t want her attaching herself to something temporary.”