I had to bite my tongue. I wanted to know more, but I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it.
Why were we going to meet a woman that he didn’t even know? What was the point? But obviously, there must have been a point or we wouldn’t have been going. I didn’t want to push anything. It wasn’t my business, especially if it wasn’t business-related.
“So, shall we walk the Royal Mile?” he suggested.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got my good old sneakers. They’re comfortable.”
“Darn. I thought you were going to wear heels. So I could see your sexy calves.”
“Very funny, Mr. McAllister.”
“What? Your calves are sexy. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes at him.
“Well, they should. Come, Abby. Let’s enjoy the day. And, by the way …” He leaned in for a short but sexy kiss.
“Yes?” I said breathlessly.
“I had a really great time last night as well.”
“Really?” Happiness and relief swept over me.
“Really.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “I’m hoping for a repeat performance tonight.”
“Oh, so you’re asking, are you?”
“Are you answering?”
“Maybe …”
“That sounded like a yes to me.” He winked. “I guess we shall see what the night brings us.”
“I guess we shall,” I said.
We got to the coffee shop at around 3:45 p.m. We’d had a great day up until then, but now Dylan seemed agitated and nervous.
“You okay?” I asked, still wondering why we were here.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you. You can go back to the hotel if you want,” he said suddenly.
I made a face. “Okay … why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I mean, you don’t have to be here. It’s …” He sighed. “It’s personal. Sorry. I should have said that earlier.”
“So you want me to leave?” I felt distraught all of a sudden. What was this personal matter? Was it a blind date? What was going on?
“I mean, I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m a little bit apprehensive.”
“Apprehensive about what?”
“I’m meeting someone that …” he paused, “might be related to me.”
“Might be related to you?” I stared at him in confusion. “You mean like a cousin or something?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I’d never seen him look so serious. What had happened? I remembered that he told me that he’d grown up in foster homes. So was this someone related to one of his foster parents or his real parents? I wanted to know so much more, but I could tell that he was hurting and that this meant a lot to him.
“If you really want me to go,” I said, “I’ll go. But if you think you might need support, I’ll stay. I’d like to be here for you. I know I’m only your secretary and—”
“You’re more than my secretary,” he interrupted.
“Then I’d like to stay if you don’t mind, Mr. McAllister.”
“We’re back to that again,” he said with a wry grin.
“We don’t have to be,” I said, softly.
“I know. I don’t mind you staying, Abby,” he said, softly, and I nodded and we both sat at the table.
About ten minutes later, an elderly woman walked in. She had keen blue eyes and blonde hair up in a neat bun. She looked around the room. When her eyes settled on Dylan, her expression changed. She almost looked like she wanted to cry as she walked over to us.
“Aye, you must be Mr. McAllister,” she said in a deep Scottish accent.
“Yes. Are you Barbara?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I’m Barbara McAllister.”
My eyes widened as I looked back and forth between the two of them. Was this Dylan’s mom? She was a lot older than I assumed she’d be.
“You’re Barbara McAllister?” Dylan looked as confused as I felt.
“Yes, I am. I heard you were looking for me.”
“I was just looking for answers, actually,” he said, quietly. “Are you my …”
“Oh, no, dearie, I’m not your mother.” She laughed. “I’d be a bit old to be a mother.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m your auntie.”
“You’re my mother’s sister?”
“No, I’m your grandmother’s sister. I’m your great aunt.”
“Oh.” He smiled at her. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. McAllister.”
“Call me Auntie Barbara. I’m your auntie,” she said. “You look just like your mother and your grandfather. Oh, yes, you do. I remember you when you were a little boy. Yes. Sad thing it was.” She paused for a second. “How have you been?”
“You knew me when I was a little boy?” he said, frowning.
“Yes. Came over to America to see you. Me and your grandma.”
“Really?” He looked confused. “But … What? Why? I don’t understand.”
“I know,” she said and she sat down. “It was a sad story. A very, very sad story.”
“Would you tell me?” he said, softly.
“You mean you don’t know any of it?” She looked surprised as she looked at me and then she looked at him.
“I don’t know any of it.”
“Aye, I didn’t realize that.” She looked nervous now. “How did you find me?”
“Private detective,” he said. “It was actually my brother’s idea. Kent.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.” She looked confused. “I never heard that you had a brother. Your dad was a bastard. Nasty man he was.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Very nasty. Your grandma and I, we didn’t like him. I knew that he was bad news from the moment I first set my eyes on him.” She shook her head. “I guess we should get a coffee or something stronger. Maybe a scotch, if you want. I know it’s the afternoon, but we’re in Scotland and you’re on holidays, so maybe we need a double scotch.”
“I don’t think I’ll drink,” he said. “But whatever you’d like, I’ll get it.”
“Aye, I didn’t realize I’d be here having to tell the family’s story. Oh, I didn’t realize.” She twisted her hands together.
Dylan stood up. “I’ll get us some drinks. Is there anything else you’d like, Mrs. McAllister?”
“Remember, call me Auntie. Just a double scotch. Oh, and maybe a scone with some jam. Yes, scone with clotted cream and jam, and a double scotch. Is your wife going to have anything?”
“Oh, no. No, I’m not his wife,” I said, quickly. “I’m his—”
“Oh, you’re his girlfriend,” she interrupted me with a smile. “Pretty thing you are.”
“Oh, no, I’m not his girlfriend, either—”
“Ohh, what are you? His fiancée?”