“I’m joking, I’m joking. I won’t out his secret to the boys. You have my word.”

At this, she smiled tightly and turned to look out the window. A few minutes passed as I quietly drove. Eilish reached up to fiddle with her hair. It was in a neat bun, but she pulled out the elastic and let it fall over her shoulders. Man, that hair. I bet it felt like silk. My fingers itched to find out.

I pulled to a stop outside one of my favorite steakhouses and parked. Eilish didn’t speak as I led her inside. But when I asked for a table for two, she put in, “Please, a booth at the back if you have one,” anxiety radiating off her in waves.

I was still at a loss to explain what was going on with her, but I tried my best to put her at ease even though her nervousness was rubbing off on me a little.

“They do amazing chicken wings here. Louisiana hot sauce. You should try them,” I said as we slid into the booth.

“Oh yeah, I might,” she replied absently and took the menu from the waiter before studiously reading through the options. The tension grew thick between us, and I was at a loss as to how to break the silence. She asked me here to discuss a sensitive issue. The only person we had in common was Sean, so maybe something was going on with him. Maybe he was ill. I hoped to God that he wasn’t.

“Can I take your orders?” the waiter asked when he returned. I gestured for Eilish to go first.

“I’ll have the chicken wings and the sweet potato fries, please. Oh, and a Coke.” Her voice was a little shaky and I felt this overwhelming urge to touch her, help her calm down in some way.

“And I’ll have the sirloin. Medium rare. Still water to drink. Thanks.”

The waiter took our menus and the silence returned. I couldn’t take much more of it, but I knew if I pushed to know what she wanted to talk about I’d only scare her off.

“So, how was your day?” I asked. “Good, bad, average?”

“It was okay.”

“My knee’s been feeling great since your massage.”

She shifted in place, not meeting my gaze. “That’s good.”

“How are you liking working with the team so far?”

“I like it.”

“Eilish.”

Her bright eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Yes?”

In a bold move, I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Talk to me. Whatever you have to say, I promise you won’t find any judgment here.”

She let out a long, shaky breath. “Can I, um, ask you a few questions first?”

I let go of her hand and sat back. “Of course. Fire away.”

“Sooo . . . eh, what do you think about kids?”

“Kids?”

She nodded fervently and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table. “Yeah, kids.”

Where was she going with this? I mean, I knew she had a son, but why ask me about kids?

Her gaze seared into mine, like my answer was a matter of life and death.

I cleared my throat, wanting to be honest but also give the right answer. “I don’t really think about them much, if I’m honest, but I like them. Some of the blokes on the team are dads, and I have great craic playing around with their little ones on family days.”

Eilish absorbed my answer with a serious expression. “What about the non-fun side? Could you ever see yourself caring for a child when he’s . . . I mean, when they’re sick? What about when they throw a tantrum and need to be disciplined?”

I raised an eyebrow. This was an odd conversation, but I went with it, curious to see what her end game was. “Again, never really thought about it, but I guess it could be rewarding to raise a little boy or girl. I’ve always been a very protective sort, and I think if I had a child, or the person I was with had a child, I’d pretty much do everything I could to keep them happy and safe.”

I gave myself a mental high-five for that one. If this was her way of interviewing me before agreeing to go out with me, I could more than respect that. She was a mother, of course she’d want the guy she was dating to treat her son well.

Well look at you, Bryan Leech, getting one right for a change.

Feeling pretty good about my chances, I gave her an easy smile.

The waiter approached and placed our drinks down in front of us. Eilish grabbed her Coke, sucking a long gulp through the straw while a thoughtful expression crossed over her features.

After quenching her thirst, she spoke again. “So, let’s imagine a scenario where you are a dad. What sort of parent do you think you’d be? Strict? Laid-back? Somewhere between the two?”

A dad? Really? I didn’t say it, but I thought maybe she was getting ahead of herself.

“There must be a need for both, right? Too much of either would probably mess a kid’s head up, so I’d say somewhere between the two.”

“How about slapping a child when they’ve misbehaved? Do you think it’s necessary?”

“I guess . . . no? I mean, I was slapped growing up and it never stopped me from misbehaving. I think a good talking to, or a discussion, would have worked better.”

She nodded, her eyes brightening. “And you’re Catholic, right? Do you think you’d raise your kids in the church?”

“I guess I would, but what—?”

“And what about phones and computers? Where do you stand on children having access to the Internet?”

“Well, obviously I think they need to be supervised up to a certain age but . . .”