My eyes popped before I could dial back my reaction.
Miles didn’t seem to mind by the twinkle in his eye. “Intriguing, is it not?”
I dropped the crayon I wasn’t really coloring with anyway, most definitely intrigued. “How do you keep a child a secret?”
The smile he wore so easily faded. “The better question iswhy?”
I found myself clasping my hands and resting them on the table as I leaned toward him, wanting to know exactly why. Miles moved in closer, his hands gliding across the overly shellacked wooden table, landing a fingertip away from mine. My hands retreated a few inches back, while his remained steady as did his eyes fixed on me. Locked in his gaze, for a moment I felt as if we were playing out my daydreams. Something familiar crackled between us. In his eyes, I could see he felt it too.
I rubbed my lips together, nervous. His gaze went right through me. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, “Are yougoing to tell me why?” came falling out of my mouth in whispered tones like I was flirting with him. I wanted to kick myself. This wasn’t one of my daydreams.
He nodded slow and deliberate. “First, though, I will tell you how Henry—” Miles threw his nephew, who was continuing his crayon assault on the coloring page, a thoughtful glance that carried with it a touch of loss “—came into my care. As I previously mentioned, Sophie was not made aware of my existence until we were adults.”
“But you knew about her?”
“Yes . . . and more.” He began to absentmindedly tap his index finger against the table. “I do believe I came as a nasty shock to her and my two other half-siblings—Amelia, the youngest, and our older brother, Charles, the Greaves heir. But Sophie, who was three years my junior, was gentle and loving in nature and sought me out while we both attended Oxford. At first, our relationship was merely superficial and probably mostly based on curiosity, but then she forced me,” he grinned to himself, “to meet her once a week at a local pub for drinks. From there, brotherly and sisterly affection began to grow. We became the best of mates.” He cleared his throat to cover the emotion that accompanied his words.
I felt his pain so deeply I found my hand reaching toward his to give it a comforting squeeze. Before my hand fell upon his, I came to my senses, and it awkwardly froze right above his. Unfortunately, none of this went unnoticed. Miles’s thoughtful expression waited patiently to see what I would do. His hand stayed still as if he welcomed the gesture, but his eyes said he wasn’t sure about it. I agreed with his eyes; it was inappropriate behavior for a “job” interview. If one could call this that. I felt more like I was interviewing him. I thinkif it were up to him, I would already be signing an employment contract.
I withdrew the affection I had carelessly tried to offer, with cheeks burning brightly. He did the kind thing and didn’t draw attention to it. He chose instead to pretend to be interested in the sights and sounds around us in the crowded café until my hands were safely gripping my ice water the server had brought when he’d taken our order. I let the cold from the glass seep through me, begging it to put out the fire that had spread across my face.
Miles went right back to his story as if nothing awkward had passed between us. “As the years passed, we both ended up in London. At one point, for a short period of time, we shared a flat while I was a struggling writer, driving a taxi to make ends meet. She, on the other hand, was well on her way to becoming one of the most sought-after interior designers in the city. I had refused her offer at first,” he said fondly, “taking it as pity since she always felt guilty that she had the advantages of the Greaves name and wealth. But once again, she got her way. For as demure as she was, she knew how to bowl me over.”
My almost numb hands fell away from my glass. “But if your family knew you existed by that time, why didn’t they help you too?”
He took a long drink of his water while he thought about how to answer me. “We are coming to the crux of the story. I promise I will enlighten you.”
Henry started getting wiggly and began to whine about how long it was taking for his food to arrive. To keep him entertained, I took my doodle notebook, as my mom called it, out of my bag. She’d said I’d had onesince I was two. “Do you want to help me draw a picture of George?” His bear and faithful companion was seated next to him in the corner.
Henry nodded vigorously and armed himself with the brown crayon.
I used a pencil from my bag and began to outline George’s body. Henry, who like any three-year-old I had ever met, was impatient and started coloring the picture of his friend before I was even halfway finished.
“You’re an artist.” Miles admired my scribbled-on artwork.
“Hardly.” The only classes I’d ever taken were in high school. My only claim to fame was when I won the blue ribbon at the district art festival my junior year. My parents were so proud, they had the charcoal drawing I did of the old abandoned mine above Carrington Cove framed. It still hung on the wall in their home office, near the shelves where my parents saved every award my siblings and I had ever won. Granted, my siblings occupied most of the shelves. There were a few soccer championship trophies of mine scattered amongst the many academic accolades my older sister and younger brother had received over the years.
My siblings deserved the recognition. Vanessa, my older sister, was a clerk for a federal judge in Washington D.C., and my little brother, Troy, was just hired by NASA in Florida. At least I gave them a grandchild. Mind you, it wasn’t how they hoped, but they loved Chloe like she was the air they breathed. My siblings, though each married, had yet to fulfill my parents’ wish for more grandchildren. They and their spouses were more focused on their careers right now.
Miles angled his head to get a better look at my simple drawing. “You have talent.”
I didn’t argue with him. I was anxious for him to finish his story. I went back to absentmindedly drawing for Henry while he continued to color everything I drew.
Before Miles continued, I saw him flexing his fingers as if he was trying to prepare himself for the painful memories he was about to share with me. Once his fingers relaxed, he began again. “Sophie,” he said her name with such love, “was determined to be better than her family,ourfamily,” he conceded. “Especially when it came to her husband and son. She wanted Henry to live a life outside of family secrets, lies, and propriety. I’ve always lived outside the ‘familial’ rules.” He smiled to himself, but it only lasted for a moment. His handsome face soon turned somber. “So . . .” he had to take a deep breath, “after the accident . . .” his voice cracked.
I had that urge again to reach out and comfort him, but this time I stopped before I made a fool of myself.
Miles steadied himself. “. . . my sister lived for a few hours.” A sheen of mist covered his eyes.
My free hand flew to my mouth.
“It was then,” he hurried to say what he needed to, “that I found out she and Kevin had made me the executor of their estate and guardian to Henry.”
Henry looked up at me and I brushed back his hair. My heart ached for him and his uncle.
“She made me swear I would bring him here and raise him better than she could. An impossible task.”
I wanted to ease his pain. I thought for a moment before leaning forward. “She paid you the highest compliment and honor. Iwould believe her.”
