“Hi.”
“Are you staying for lunch?” Kate asked.
“No, just dropping a few things off for Dad.”
“Uh-huh.” Patrick and Kate exchanged a look, one that asked and answered questions in the silent language shared between siblings. Then Kate turned to Morgan, her smile sincere. “It's really nice to meet you, Morgan.”
“You too.”
Kate took her mug back upstairs, leaving Morgan and Patrick alone. This, Morgan thought, was what a family should be. Warm, comfortable, genuinely fond of one another.
Patrick’s fingers flexed. “Ready?”
“Sure.”
They stepped outside, back into the beautiful day.
“Would you like to grab something for lunch?” Patrick asked as he opened the passenger door for her.
Her first instinct was to say no, because she always said no. But another part of her wanted to know more about Patrick Callaghan and his family.
“I’d like that.”
His eyes widened slightly as if surprised. “Great. Are you craving anything in particular?”
She blinked, pushing back sudden images that had no place in this conversation.
“Not really. You know the area. Why don’t you pick something?”
“A test,” he said with a grin. “I’m up for the challenge. Just remember, you left it up to me.”
“Noted.”
A short while later,they were seated in a café just off the main street that specialized in healthy, clean fare. It seemed to be a popular place with the locals, which was the mark of a good business anywhere.
“Is this okay?” he asked as she perused the menu, finding at least half a dozen things she wanted to try.
“It’s perfect.”
They placed their orders, then sat back. Patrick was the first to speak.
“Go ahead. Ask. I can see the questions burning in your eyes.”
Could he read her so easily?
“What does your father do?” Morgan said, after a while.
Patrick smiled, that crooked, mischievous one that held secrets and mysteries she wanted to explore. “He's a bartender.”
“Bartenders don't typically have satellite feeds and NSA level equipment in their homes.”
He shrugged. “I told you. He likes tech.”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Is he… does he do covert work?” she asked, not knowing what the proper protocol was for asking someone if their father was an operative.
“He was a Navy SEAL. All of my uncles were. And my grandfather,” he said carefully, studying her closely.
“And now?”