“Thanks to you.” She reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “Patrick, I need you to know—this isn’t just gratitude. What I feel for you isn’t because you helped save my company.”
My pulse quickened. “What is it then?”
She pulled her hand back, but her eyes stayed on mine. “I don’t know yet. That’s what scares me.”
The waiter arrived with our appetizers, and we let the conversation drift to safer topics. But there was an undercurrent now, a tension that had nothing to do with business partnerships.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said, twirling her fork through the creamy cheese. “Something that has nothing to do with work or children or loss.”
I thought about it. So much of my identity had become tied to those things. Who was I beyond that?
“I wanted to be an archaeologist when I was a boy,” I admitted. “Used to dig holes all over our estate in Scotland, convinced I’d find Viking treasure or Roman coins. It drove my mother mad.”
“Why didn’t you pursue it?”
“Responsibility.” The word came out heavier than I’d intended. “My father died when I was twenty. The estate, the business interests—someone had to manage it all. Then, Shannon and Imarried, and children came quickly. Dreams of digging up the past gave way to building the future.”
“Do you regret it?”
I considered this. “Sometimes. But then I look at what I’ve built with my business, and the children, and I think perhaps this was always the path I was meant to take.”
“You could still do it,” she said. “Take up archaeology as a hobby. God knows you have the resources.”
“Perhaps.” I smiled at the thought. “And you? What dream did you abandon?”
She blushed. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I wanted to run a wildlife sanctuary for injured birds of prey.” She laughed self-consciously. “I was obsessed with hawks and eagles as a child. Used to check out every book on raptors from the library.”
“That’s not silly at all. Why didn’t you?”
“Same as you, I suppose. Life happened. College, Marco, CarideoTech, children. The dream got smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely.”
“Maybe it’s just dormant. Waiting for the right time to resurface.”
Our entrees arrived, and we ate in silence for a few moments. The food was exceptional, but I was more aware of her than anything on my plate. The way she closed her eyes when she tasted something particularly good. How she unconsciously leaned toward me when she spoke.
“Can I ask you something personal?” she said suddenly.
“More personal than abandoned dreams?”
“Much more.” She set down her fork, her expression turning serious. “Did you hesitate? About this I mean. Us having dinner again.”
I paused, watching the candlelight flicker in her eyes. I knew what she was really asking.Is this too soon? Is this too complicated with ten children between us? Is this betrayal?
“I hesitate about everything these days,” I admitted comfortably. “I have six grieving children and a company in transition. I hesitate before I decide what to make for breakfast.”
She gave a small, nervous smile.
“But when it comes to you?” I shook my head. “No, I don’t hesitate. You’re the only thing I’ve been sure of in months.”
Her shoulders relaxed, but she still looked searching. “Really?”
“I’ve been sitting in high-level strategy meetings, supposed to be discussing immunotherapy protocols, and instead, I’m replaying a conversation we had.” I held her gaze. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Theresa.”
She was quiet for so long I worried I’d said too much.
