Daddy, Unexpectedly

“You mentioned something about a breakup. Were you the heartbreaker or the heartbroken?”

He should have seen this question coming since he’d been the one to bring up exes. “A little of both, I guess. I didn’t cheat on her, though.”

“Did she? Cheat on you, I mean.”

“No. At least not that I know of. We were seriously into partying and then...ah...something happened that made me realize I had a problem. I knew I needed to quit drinking, and it turned out I wasn’t much fun to be with when I was sober.”

“She actually said that?”

“Not in so many words. And I learned some stuff, too.”

“Such as...?”

“Being sober and living with a drunk isn’t much fun, either.”

“Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. Do you know how she’s doing now?”

“No. We sort of lost touch.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He did know how she was doing. Not good. He didn’t want to talk about Sherri or the real reason they’d split up. He never talked about stuff like this with anyone, ever. Why was he opening up with Claire?

A food runner arrived with their order. “The O’Chicken?”

Claire patted the table in front of her, eyes widening as she took in the amount of food on her plate. The kid set the second plate in front of Luke and sidled away as the server appeared. She balanced a tray of drinks on one arm as she pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket and set it on the table.

“Anything else?” she asked.

He and Claire both shook their heads, and she carried on.

For a few moments there was silence as Luke applied a generous squirt of ketchup to his burger and squeezed another zigzag across his fries. He offered the bottle to Claire but she shook her head. He picked up the top half of his bun—lettuce, tomato, pickle and all—slapped it onto the burger side, and flattened it with his palm. While he watched Claire, he picked it up and took a bite.

She started by rescuing the pickle slice and moving it to the edge of her plate before going to work on the rest of her meal. By the time she’d unwrapped her cutlery, spread the paper napkin on her lap and, with surgical precision, cut her burger in half, he had devoured half of his.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Mmm.” She murmured her approval as she swallowed.

“Help yourself to some fries.”

She reached across the table, picked one up and dipped it in his ketchup. After biting it in half, she closed her eyes and chewed. “So good,” she said when she opened them again. “I haven’t had one of these in ages.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been on a diet.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce.

She looked fine to him. Better than fine. She had curves in all the right places, but if he told her that, she’d probably think he was lying, or coming on to her. He’d been around enough women to know that when they ordered diet drinks instead of regular, salad instead of fries and generally worried about their weight, the smart thing to say was nothing.

So instead he picked up his burger and bit off almost more than he could chew.

* * *

A CRISP FRENCH FRY AND tangy sweet ketchup were like a perfect marriage, Claire thought. What she didn’t know about the latter was made up for by a deep and abiding love of food, the crisper, sweeter and greasier the better. And she had the size fourteen hips to show for it.

“What do you think of the building you live in?” Luke asked after he swallowed a mouthful of burger and washed it down with coffee. His healthy appetite and the rock-hard abs she’d clung to all the way here created an interesting dichotomy.

She twirled the straw as she stared at the surface of her drink for a moment. It sounded as though he was fishing for information, but that didn’t make sense. He’s just making conversation, she decided. They had to talk about something.

“It’s not my dream home, but it’s okay. We—Donald and I—bought it after we got engaged and we moved in right after the honeymoon.”

She bit into her burger. After Donald’s phone call that afternoon and his unexpected appearance tonight, she was more annoyed with him than ever. She still couldn’t believe he’d shown up at the exact time she was meeting Luke. On the plus side, though, there had been that kiss.

“Does he make a habit of showing up like he did tonight?”

“No, he usually phones. His lawyer sent divorce papers to my lawyer this afternoon. He expects me to agree to whatever is in them.”

“What do you want?”

“I guess I still want what I thought I was getting when we got married. To put down roots, have a home and a family.”

“Sounds like a wonderful life.” The bitter edge to his voice had a bite to it.

She knew he hadn’t had the greatest home life growing up, but back in college he had never talked about it. He’d been too busy partying and playing the field. Apparently the partying had stopped, but it was too soon to tell if he’d moved past the seemingly endless string of girlfriends.

“It would be wonderful.”

He didn’t agree or disagree. “Do you still want that? With him?” he asked instead.

“God, no. But someday, with someone, definitely. But you don’t think it’s possible.”

He shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, just that I’ve never seen it happen.”

“Seriously? You don’t know anyone who’s happily married?” She prided herself in being a realist, but even after her experience with Donald she still believed she had a chance at a long and happy marriage. Without that dream, the future looked awfully grim.

“Well, let’s see. My parents have been married for almost forty years. I’m not sure either of them has ever been happy.”

Forty years of unhappy would be grimmer than grim. Maybe that’s why Luke tended to play the field rather than make a commitment.

“They’re still married,” she said. “That has to mean something.”

Luke shrugged. “Convenience, maybe. My dad can string along his various girlfriends by telling them his wife won’t give him a divorce. And I think my mom is so afraid of being on her own that she puts up with all his crap.”

Claire thought of her two business partners, Sam and Kristi, who’d both grown up with loser dads and then found men who were loving husbands and devoted fathers. By comparison, she had been raised by parents who were still crazy about each other, even after all these years, yet she had ended up marrying the wrong man. Now she was staring a bleak future square in the eye.

“I’m sorry to hear your mom’s had such a rough go of it. Have you talked to her about it?”

Luke pushed his empty plate away, picked up his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. “Devlin men don’t tend to be talkers.”

“You’re talking to me.” She wondered if he would open up about his ex-girlfriend, tell her what happened there. Someday, maybe, but she sensed this wasn’t the time to ask.

“True. You always were a good listener. What about your family?”