Page 27 of Broken Blood Ties

“Hey! My main little lady. Whatcha doing?” Lizzy throws her arms up and to the side in true welcoming fashion. Aoife giggles as she hoists herself up on the barstool, and I let the door swing behind me while nodding at the few customers seated for an early dinner.

But instead of moving, I watch my little girl. Seated high on top of the stool, she sips her orange juice in a fancy glass, laughing at her Aunt Lizzy and earning smiles from several of the staff moving about the dining floor.

Flashes of her older, twenty-one, us sharing a beer assault me, and a weight settles over my chest. She deserves so much more from life. I hate that her mother isn’t in the picture to be there for her. Not once has she reached out to check in on her or ask for pictures.

Lizzy bops her on the nose.

Thank God for Lizzy. Aoife needs female role models and unfortunately, in my line of work, most of the surrounding adults are men.

Then there’s Miss Smith—Summer. Although she can’t seem to keep her opinions about my parenting to herself, I can see the heart behind it. She cares for Aoife.

I sigh, walking to pull out a stool next to Aoife. “How’s yer orange juice?”

“It’s not orange juice. Lizzy said it’sjus d’orange.”

Lizzy returns with a burger and fries, sliding it in front of Aoife.

“Ye’re teaching her French?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Please. I know like two words. It sounds fancy, though. Huh, Aoife?”

“Yep!” Aoife grins and lifts the glass for another sip. I reach over and steal one of her fries.

“Want me to put something in for you?” Lizzy asks, whipping a bar towel off her shoulder to dry some glasses for tonight.

“Nah,” I say, focusing on a bottle of whiskey with a peeling label on the shelf behind her.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

She pauses with her hand on the inside of a glass, pinning me with a look.

I shrug. “I was late to get Aoife. The teacher reamed me out.”

She cackles. “Aw. Did you get in trouble with the teacher again? Did she give you detention?”

Crossing my arms, I glare at her. But her joking doesn’t temper the slightly elevated heartbeat in my chest at the thought of Miss Smith holding me in detention.

I avert my eyes, and Lizzy laughs harder. “She’s cute.”

I snort. “She’s a—” I glance at Aoife dipping her fry in the mound of ketchup piled high on her plate. “She’s … difficult.”

“I’m sure she’s just looking out for Aoife, Kieran. Like you are.”

“Miss Smith is nice. I like her,” Aoife chimes in.

“I think your father does, too.” Lizzy waggles her eyebrows at me.

I rear back. “No. No, definitely not.”

Lizzy continues to prod. “Come on. What could she possibly have said?”

“She thinks I put work before Aoife.” I wince as I say it, because I’m not sure she’s wrong.

Lizzy’s curved-up mouth falls, and her carefree expression tenses. “You’re a wonderful father, Kieran. She doesn’t know. She can’t possibly judge you, and you shouldn’t let her. With the work you do … how could she ever understand? She thinks you run a few restaurants. She probably assumes you make more than enough money to hire people to work for you, and that you should be available more often. But she doesn’t know, and if she did, she’d understand.

“You’re doing it yourself, Kieran. That’s a feat in itself. I’m sure she means well but don’t take it to heart. You’re doing great. I mean look at her.” Lizzy gestures to Aoife who’s using her French fries to make a house, and her furrowed brow softens.