‘Six months. It’s how long I can manage to stay in a relationship with a woman, apparently.’
Caitlin thought about the unexpectedly volunteered information. ‘How come?’
‘I wear them out.’
She laughed at his joke. ‘I’ll bet.’
He smiled. ‘I guess I’m just not neat little marriage material.’
‘No kids to scrub and read fairy stories to, huh?’
The ache in his stomach came back. ‘I don’t have any experience on either of those things.’
She turned her head towards the door at his answer. ‘Your mother didn’t scrub your face and read you fairy tales when you were little?’
None of them had. They’d had so many kids in their care that it had been miraculous enough if they all made it through each day fed and watered. Fairy tales hadn’t exactly been on the menu at any stage.
‘That’s a second question.’
She opened her mouth to push him on it, but he got there first. ‘That’s probably enough to add to the lists—for one night anyway.’ The bed creaked again as he turned away from the door and switched off the bedside light. ‘Goodnight, Caitlin Rourke.’
Caitlin blinked into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to make out the dark forms of her bedroom furniture while her mind worked overtime. Aiden had more facets than he first appeared to have. And that intrigued her.
The fact that it intrigued her bothered her.
She’d never met anyone like him before. But the simple fact was in three months’ time she’d probably never meet him again.
‘Goodnight, Aiden.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE fixed cameras in her house were replaced by a camera guy and a sound man during the day. And by lunchtime Caitlin knew more about them both than she knew about her ‘fiancé’.
They just had an openness that she was more accustomed to. In conversation they shared information that might have been simple in its general topic but gave hints to their personalities and lives. Whereas Aiden just had a way of avoiding anything remotely like sharing. He could be an international spy for all she knew.
Except for that brief time that they’d shared talking from separate rooms across the hallway.
She struggled her way through the lunchtime rush at Maguires, the employer of her choice in Dublin city centre. The dream of having a restaurant of her own was so far off that it made sense to work somewhere she at least liked to fill the time. But with Aiden Flynn, international man of mystery, sitting at home in her house it was hard to concentrate on dish presentation.
Faking a headache, she left the restaurant and piled into her car with Mick and Joe to make the drive home.
‘So you’re taking Aiden home to meet your parents tomorrow, then?’ Mick pointed the camera at her from the passenger seat.
‘Mmm.’ She grimaced slightly at the thought. ‘That’s the plan.’
‘You worried about it?’
‘Oh, no. We tell massive porkies to each other all the time. It’s a sort of family hobby of ours.’
Mick laughed. ‘Mine too.’
She risked a massive insurance claim by glancing into the lens for a second, ‘I was kidding, Mick.’
‘Oh, me too.’
She laughed. ‘Seriously. My family is close. Really close.’ Her expression changed. ‘After Liam died they were there to hold me together. On the days when I couldn’t get up they brought me food in bed. When I couldn’t stay still my father even took up jogging to keep me company.’
Glancing back at the camera, she smiled sadly. ‘Where one of us ends the other begins. It’s just the way we are.’
‘That’s a rare thing, all right.’
‘Yes, it is.’
She wove her way through the traffic, her mind focussing on the task of not hitting another vehicle. But as they got out of the city and headed towards the suburbs her mind went back to a darker time than the sunny autumn day they were currently in.
‘Do you still miss him, Caitlin?’
The softly voiced question caught her off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had asked. She thought about it a while, played snapshots of memories across her mind, and smiled wistfully as she answered. ‘I miss the sound of his voice sometimes.’
The sound of the camera filled the silence.
‘You tend to think that someone the same age as you will just always be around. Especially when it’s someone you love.’ She continued smiling, eyes on the road ahead but her mind reliving he past. ‘Liam was always the one who lived for the moment. He used to say life was too short to just stand still.’
She glanced at the camera again. ‘Maybe he knew.’
She made the turn into her street and parked in front of her house. Switching off the engine, she glanced up at the windows. Was he looking out at her, Aiden Flynn man of mystery?
‘Aiden’s different from Liam?’
The question raised a small laugh. ‘Like night and day.’
‘Aiden?’
‘In the kitchen—and aren’t you supposed to yell “Hi, honey, I’m home”?’
She smiled as she walked through the living room to the open kitchen/dining room. ‘I’ll remember next time.’ Her eyes roved over the mess on her normally immaculate kitchen surfaces. ‘What are you doing?’
He quirked an eyebrow at the question. ‘I was hungry.’
‘So you thought it would be an idea to massacre my kitchen?’
‘It would have been perfect when you got home.’ He pointed an accusatory finger at her. ‘You’re early.’
She watched as he nodded at her crew.
‘I told them I had a headache.’
Concern crossed his eyes. ‘You’re sick?’
Caitlin’s eyes focussed on the spoon suspended in mid-air as he stared at her. In slow motion drips of red something dripped onto her cooker. ‘No.’
‘Getting quite good at this lying thing, aren’t we?’
‘I don’t think that actually counts as a lie.’ She continued watching the dripping. A small pool formed on the surface. Whatever it was, it had better wash off.
‘I guess it’s all about degrees of lying.’ He watched her face as he thought out loud. ‘What constitutes a big lie and what’s a fib.’
‘A fib, in theory, doesn’t hurt people. It may even save their feelings, depending on the situation.’ Her eyes searched for the nearest cloth. ‘What is that stuff you’re dripping all over the place?’
Aiden waved the spoon as he looked at it. ‘I’m making cheese on beans on toast.’
Her eyes moved up to lock with his. ‘You’re making what?’
‘Cheese on beans on toast.’ He grinned, white teeth peeking out from the shroud of his beard. ‘C’mon—you haven’t heard of it? And you call yourself a chef?’
‘I cook food that tastes good.’
‘This tastes good—’ He waved the spoon again and small splatters of red appeared on his white T-shirt. ‘Believe me.’
Frowning