The waiter left and Sean folded his napkin and put it on the table. God, how to answer her. This had been the best date he’d been on in…forever. All it had been was two people getting to know each other and he didn’t want to ruin it.
Especially because he didn’t know for a fact that she hadn’t been using his father for money.
Except, damn it, Lizzie just did not seem like that kind of woman.
Sean cursed in his head. Yeah, well, neither had the one who had taken him for such a ride way back when.
“My work?” He shrugged…and recalled the conversation he’d had with his team before he and Lizzie had gone out. Nothing but interest-rate analysis and speculation on whether the Fed was going to raise the rates in the next quarter. Dry. Very dry. “You know what, it’s not that interesting, I’m afraid.”
“Are you in construction?”
His brows shot up. “What makes you think that?”
As Lizzie turned bright pink again, he wanted to lean across their empty cups and kiss her. So much so, he planted his palms on the table and started to rise.
But come on. Trying to do that for the first time in public? Not smooth.
As he forced himself back into the chair, he knew he was going to end up putting a move on her at the end of the night. He knew it. It was probably a bad idea but she was so different…so natural…so real. A woman, not a social shark in a skirt.
Or at least she appeared that way.
“Why do you think I’m in construction, Lizzie?”
“Your chest is really…ah…developed. So I thought maybe what you did had a physical component to it.” Then she frowned and looked down. “Except your hands aren’t callused. Are you a trainer at a gym?”
“I do train folks, yeah.” And this was not a lie. He worked a lot with the membership of his triathlon club, getting folks ready for events. “I’m into sports.”
“What kinds?”
“Every year I do the Ironman Triathlon. I hit a number of others, but that’s my big one. I like to compete. And I like to win.”
“You like to push yourself, then.”
“Yeah, I do. So do my brothers. We’re like that.”
“Why?”
The question made warning bells go off in his head. He and Billy and Mac were all driven to the point of obsession and the root cause, he suspected, was in the ugly past: every day, they ran without running.
Time to switch the subject.
Sean shrugged. “We’re just like that. So tell me more about your mom. What kind of art is she into?”
God, he was a liar, wasn’t he?
And she knew it. Her smart, level eyes told him that.
Lizzie smiled at him, and it was the smile of a Madonna, all-knowing, very kind. “It’s okay, Sean. I’m not going to push.”
Crap. Now he was the one flushing. Imagine that. “I’m not into talking about myself much.”
“That’s all right. You’re really good company anyway.”
Sean’s heart stopped. He couldn’t think of the last time a woman had told him he was really good company. Hell, maybe one never had. And he was so used to being seen as a “catch” that the idea someone just liked his words and his opinions was…disarming.
“You’re some good company there, too, Lizzie.” His voice was a little husky and he hoped she didn’t notice it. He cleared his throat. “I am curious about your mom, though. What’s she like?”
Lizzie took a deep breath, as if she were about to lift something heavy off the floor. “My mother calls herself a free-range art-ellectual. I’m not too clear on what exactly that is, but I can tell you that she’s into pottery now. I don’t think it’s going to stick. Over the past two decades, she’s been through almost everything. Painting in watercolor and oil. Sculpting in clay, marble and brass. Pastels. Photography. Macramé. Toothpicks. Recycle art—that’s garbage by the way. She follows her whims where they take her.”
“She sell any of her work in galleries?”
“She’s more into the creation end of things rather than the retail.” Lizzie sipped at her cappuccino. “And well…honestly? She’s not that good at it.”
“Sounds like an expensive hobby then.”
Lizzie’s voice grew wry. “Yeah. But the thing is, it makes her happy. So I support it.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He left about five years ago for the third time and it finally stuck. My mother is enchanting, but she can be difficult to handle. She’s a child in many ways, and like a child, she’s both irresponsible and beguiling. So I can’t say I blame him.”
“Do you see him?”
She shook her head. “When he left, he left us both. Said a clean cut was best. It was no big change, though. She was always what held his interest, not me.”
Good Lord, he thought. “That’s harsh.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to come across that way.”
“Not you, Lizzie. Him. To leave his daughter like that?”
There was a quiet moment. Then she murmured, “I think it’s hard for him to see me. I look a lot like her and our voices sound the same. To him, I am the younger version of her.”
“So what? He should man up and get over that.”
Her eyes flipped to his, and as he saw the sadness in them, he wanted to hunt down her father and yell at the guy for dumping his daughter.
The urge got even stronger when she said with dignity, “It is what it is. I used to hope he’d be different, but he is who he is and it’s better for me…healthier…to accept him and move on. Waiting for change is hard and not all that realistic.”
Yeah, well, Sean respected the fact that she wasn’t looking for sympathy and he could see her point, but it still sucked. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters do you?”
“No.”
“Which means you deal with your mom all by yourself.”
“Yes, but it’s not that bad. The house is paid for and her expenses aren’t that high. Usually.”
He kept his curse to himself. “No offense, but it strikes me that the parent-child thing is ass-backward.”
“But I love my mother. And without me…”
“She’d be forced to grow up?” In the silence that followed, Sean cursed out loud. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get in your face about this.”
There was another long pause. Then she said, “I don’t tell people this usually, not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed, but because I’m not interested in pity…. My mom’s mentally challenged. She can function independently to a point, but she’s always going to need help. First my father was that for her. Now I am.”
Sean’s eyes widened. “Oh, God…Lizzie, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She smiled. “There is no tragedy here and no shame, either. You know, it’s interesting. My father is much older than my mom and I assume in the beginning he thought that she was just young and eccentric. Like she’d grow out of her ways or something. It wasn’t until I was in my early teens that he took her to doctors and we learned that it was not an issue of maturity. But again, there is no catastrophe here. My mother’s happy and healthy and she’s full of joy. So it’s okay. But can you understand why things between her and I aren’t just a case of a parent dropping the ball?”