He raised his brows at her bluntness. His lips curled in a thin smile. “You used to prefer some preliminaries. Sit down.”
Her cheeks burned. Her hand tightened on the strap of her purse. She didn‟t let men—she didn‟t let anyone—boss her
around. But she was attracting attention, standing here. She dropped onto the bench and lowered her voice. “How did you find
me?”
“I recognized your vehicle. Drink?”
She glanced up as the waitress appeared beside their table, a fresh-faced college student who looked too young to serve
alcohol. The girl smiled hopefully at Morgan, clearly ready to give him whatever he wanted.
Like Liz sixteen years ago.
She winced. “I don‟t need anything.” This wasn‟t a date. And she wanted a clear head.
“You look like you do. Another whiskey,” he instructed the waitress.
“Wine.” She didn‟t have to drink it. “A glass of pinot grigio,” she ordered, and tried to hide her annoyance when the girl
waited for Morgan‟s nod before moving away.
Liz cleared her throat, the edge of her determination blunted. “Well.”
“Yes.”
“Here we are.”
“Indeed.”
The faint mockery in his voice made her fist her hands in frustration. “What are you doing here? What do you want?” she
repeated.
“To see you.”
“You haven‟t seen me in sixteen years,” she said baldly.
“To meet my son.”
Her stomach jumped. For one wild moment, she was tempted to deny he was Zack‟s father. He couldn‟t know. He had no
proof. But the impulse died stillborn.
He wasn‟t stupid either.
“Is this some midlife crisis thing?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon.”
She pressed her clammy hands together in her lap. “You didn‟t care about the possibility of fathering a child sixteen years
ago. It‟s a little late for you to come forward claiming . . .”
He raised his eyebrows. “Paternity?”
“Concern.” Their eyes locked. She leaned forward across the table. “Which makes me wonder what happened to change
your mind. Life-threatening illness?”
“I don‟t get sick.”
“Divorce?”
He held her gaze. “I never married.”
Her heart gave an inconvenient kick. Oh, damn. He could have added, “ No one could ever compare with you. ” Or, “ I was
waiting to find you again. ”
But he didn‟t, so she couldn‟t even accuse him of lying.
The young waitress returned to set a glass of wine in front of Liz and lingered. “Anything else? Another Scotch?”
Morgan shook his head without glancing up.
She pouted freshly glossed lips, twirling the ends of her blond hair around her finger. Morgan didn‟t seem to notice. “Well,
let me know if you change your mind.”
“We will,” Liz said. “Thank you.”
The girl smiled quickly, uncertainly, and left.
Liz sighed. Had she ever been that young? That hopeful and unguarded?
Yes.
She looked across the table again into Morgan‟s eyes, dark and bright as a night full of stars, a night sixteen years ago
when she was young and foolish and aching with possibilities.
He looked exactly the same. Broad nose, sharp jaw, lean cheeks. His upper lip was still narrow, the lower one full, curved,
and compelling.