“The imaginary old man?” he asked as he poured my glass.
“How do you know about that?”
“It’s a small town. No. I was interested in everything about you from the first moment I saw you.”
I sipped the wine and walked around the den, looking at the paintings and at the case of DVDs and CDs. Again, it looked like hundreds. I browsed the bookcases, too. I could feel Liam’s eyes on me constantly. There was a white faux-fur area rug between the two settees that faced each other. I knelt down to run the palm of my hand over it.
“How cozy. It’s so white that it’s intimidating. I’m afraid to walk on it.”
He laughed. “Mrs. Wakefield used to make me take off my shoes first whenever I entered the house. When I complained, she would tell me I was lucky she didn’t make me take off all my clothes, too.”
“Oh?”
“Just her way of making me grateful that it was all she demanded,” he said, shaking his head. “No dirty thoughts, please.”
“Moi? Never.”
He laughed, and I came around and sat on a bar stool.
“You saved my life, you know,” he said, leaning over to get closer to me.
“What? How?”
“If you hadn’t said yes to my invitation to spend the day with me, I would have drowned myself.”
I laughed, but I couldn’t help wondering if there would be a time, and soon, when I would have to think about saving his life.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t left a line of broken hearts back in California, where the preferred method of suicide is surfing.”
“You’re very funny, but no, I have not left a line of broken hearts trailing.”
“Must be at least one.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“This great little Italian place, DiBona’s. It’s a true family-owned restaurant. Alberto DiBona cooks everything. His wife, Francesca, helps, but she’s more like the hostess, and they have two daughters and a son who work as the waitstaff. I think there’s a nephew in there, too. For some people, family is still a very big thing,” he said, and bit down on his lip. “Sorry. I keep forgetting about your own situation.”
“Yours doesn’t exactly fit on Christmas cards, either,” I said.
He nodded.
We heard some voices in the hallway.
“My father, unbeknownst to either Julia or myself, had started dating again. He’s seeing Kelly Burnett, the administrator at the hospital. I promised we would stay long enough to have one drink with them and meet her. She’s been divorced for a few years and is only seven years younger,” he finished in a whisper as they entered the den.
Kelly Burnett was as tall as Ken Dolan. She was svelte in a stylish black three-quarter-sleeve dress with an elegantly paneled bodice. She wore her dark brown hair parted in the middle and shoulder-length. Dark-complexioned, with intelligent ebony eyes and firm, feminine lips, she reminded me of my older sister Brianna, especially the way she fixed her gaze on someone. I could almost hear her thoughts rolling through quick impressions.
“Liam, Lorelei, I’d like you to meet Kelly Burnett.”
“Hi,” she said, holding her hand out for Liam first. He took it and smiled. Then she turned to me and said, “Enchanté,” as if she expected that I spoke French. It was almost a challenge.
“Oui, je suis heureuse de vous rencontrer,” I said.
Her eyes widened, Ken’s smile exploded, and Liam looked at me as if he had just first set eyes on me.
“I really don’t speak French,” Kelly said, laughing. “I just like the way they greet each other. What did you say?”
“Yes, pleased to meet you,” I told her, and shrugged. “What else would I say?”