“I may have overcatered. It’s a family trait.”
A smile flashed across her face. “I remember being in your kitchen with about eighteen other people. Your mom didn’t even flinch. Your house was always full of people, and the food kept coming.”
“Blame the Italian blood. Food has always been central to family life in my house.”
She eyed the food on the countertop. “And you’re continuing that tradition. I didn’t know you liked to cook.”
There were a lot of things she didn’t know about him and plenty he didn’t know about her, but this time he was determined things were going to be different. Last time they’d rushed their way through most of those small, subtle things that fed a relationship and made it grow and deepen.
They’d bypassed some aspects altogether in their race to satisfy raw sexual attraction.
It was like having arrived at a destination without having taken the time to enjoy the journey. Only now was he realizing how much he’d missed.
If he’d understood her better, would they still be together?
“My mother always insisted that we sat down at the table at least once a day. Breakfast could be taken on the run, but dinner never was. It didn’t matter what we were doing, we were all expected to be there. Eating those meals, talking over food, was something that glued us together as a family. If it hadn’t been for that we might not have spent time together.” And he instantly felt a flash of guilt because the one thing he did know about her was that mealtimes in her house had been an incendiary affair. “I guess that happens a lot in a family with divergent interests. Given the choice, Bryony would have spent her whole time at the stables with the horses and Vanessa would have been with her friends.”
“How are your sisters?”
“Bryony is teaching first grade and loving it, and Vanessa is married and determined to see everyone else in the same blissful state.”
She smiled. “You two used to fight all the time.”
“Still do.” He decided not to elaborate on what the biggest cause of their discord was. “We’re not as close as you, Dan and Harriet.”
“And your mom?” Her gaze skated to his. “Losing your dad must be hard on her.”
“It is. They were together for more than forty years. She’s lost her soul mate. But she’s doing better than she was. Having grandchildren helps.” He saw the question in her eyes and realized how much of each other’s lives they’d missed. “Vanessa has two children. A girl and a boy, age six and eight. Vanessa works part-time as an accountant and Mom takes care of the kids when they’re not at school. I reckon it helps her as much as it helps my sister.”
“So you’re Uncle Seth. And I bet you’re good at it.” She leaned against the counter. “Beach games, hide-and-seek, you’re a hands-on type of uncle. Six and eight. I’m guessing lots of sport. Taken them surfing yet?”
“As it happens, yes.”
“I bet they loved it.”
“Tansy loves it. She’s the eight-year-old. It’s hard to get her out of the water. Cole would rather dig in the sand for dinosaurs.”
“Which you’ve conveniently buried?”
“Sounds about right. How about your family? How’s Harriet?” He forced himself to ask the question. Not that he didn’t care about Harriet, but he cared more about finding out as much as he could about Fliss. “Does she know you’ve been impersonating her?”
“Yes.” She paced the kitchen, on edge, and then spun to face him. “Okay, I thought I wanted to avoid this but it turns out I can’t, so can we just get it over with?”
“Which part? The part where we update each other on the parts of our lives we’ve missed, or the part where we enjoy dinner?”
“The part where you say whatever it is you feel you need to say. Just do it. Give it to me straight. I hate suspense and tension. At least, I love it in movies and books, but I hate it in real life so let’s just get this done. You’re mad at me. Ten years is a long time to store up anger, so just let it out and then we can move on.”
“Fliss—”
“Don’t feel awkward about it. You think I don’t know? I messed up, Seth. I messed up in a giant, huge way. Mega mess-up. And you suffered for it. I wrecked your life, and I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead and muttered something under her breath. “That didn’t sound sorry, did it? But I am. Jeez, I am so bad at this. Are you going to speak?”
“You said the same thing the other night.” And he’d thought of very little else since. He couldn’t make sense of it. “Why would you think that? Why would I be mad at you?”
“You want a list?”
She had a list?
“Yes. Let’s hear it.” He wanted access to everything going on in her head. Even more so now he’d been given a glimpse.