never have to confront her past again, but a stronger urge to get to know Flynn superseded her fears. If she was ever going to be in a relationship again, she'd have to be able to talk about her issues.
Gail took one brave breath and met Flynn's gorgeous green eyes. "My father was like you â a cryptozoologist chasing myths and dreams. He loved anything that hadn't been proven yet on the scientific spectrum: unsolved riddles, unexplained phenomenon, mysterious tracks⦠you name it."
She smiled, remembering how her dad used to stay up late watching Unsolved Mysteries and The X-Files . Sometimes she' stayed up with him, suffering the programs just so he wouldn't have to watch them alone. "He used to take me on expeditions. We'd look for Bigfoot tracks in the woods or UFOs in the sky."
"Sounds like you have the coolest dad ever." Flynn's eyes lit up.
"Had." The word fell on the table like a stone.
Flynn grew quiet, and Gail knew she had to tell him everything now.
"He disappeared seven years ago, hunting Yeti tracks in the Alps. They sent out search parties for months and found nothing except his thermal gloves. My mom still goes on a trip each year when the snow melts, looking for any trace."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's mine. If I'd told him how I felt about his adventures instead of encouraging him, he wouldn't have given everything up to follow an empty dream."
"It's not an empty dream, Gail. It sounds as though your father was doing exactly what he should have been doing â what made him happy. You were the best daughter he could have had for supporting his dream."
She'd never thought of it that way. Coming from Flynn, the man who most resembled her father, she almost believed it. "I know it's totally illogical and ridiculous, but I like to think he's still up there⦠that maybe my dad found a secret Yeti population and the creatures took him into their tribe. I still hope to this day he's out there foraging in the woods, trying to find his way home."
Gail looked away, biting her lip with embarrassment. She'd never told anyone that before.
Flynn reached across the table and took her hand. His swordfish was getting cold and it was all her fault.
She sniffed back tears. "I'm sorry I dropped such a bomb on our conversation."
"I'm glad you told me."
A string plucked behind her, and Gail turned. An Irish fiddle group was setting up on a small stage.
Flynn nodded toward the ensemble. "I forgot. The Broken Strings play here on Sunday nights."
"The Broken Strings?" Gail wiped her eyes and laughed. "I'm not sure I want to stay for this."
Flynn stuck a forkful of swordfish in his mouth. "Believe me, you will."
As the fiddles tuned, Gail tried a spoonful of her clam chowder and bit into a chunk of potato. The salty broth warmed her mouth. The perfect comfort food for the heavy subject she'd just broached. To her surprise, she was glad she'd finally opened up.
"How's your mom doing?" Flynn started devouring his food.
Gail shrugged. "She's all right. She never used to get into my dad's adventures, so when he disappeared, she got angry at him â like it served him right for wasting his time."
"But she still looks for him."
"Of course. Under all that anger, she loves him very much." Gail hated how this was turning into some kind of therapy session. She needed to change the topic, turn the tables. "Do you see your parents?"
Flynn nodded easily. "All the time. In fact, I saw them last night. They live in Inverness."
"Oh really?" Gail tried to hide her fascination by spooning another bite of soup into her mouth. So who was this hon he'd said he'd see this weekend? Flynn didn't call his mom hon , did he?
"You and your parents are close?"
"Sure. My dad would have liked for me to go into medicine or law, something more stable than touring, but he's over that now. In fact I think he's kinda proud of how successful my touring business has become. Sometimes the old man takes his business
Gail took one brave breath and met Flynn's gorgeous green eyes. "My father was like you â a cryptozoologist chasing myths and dreams. He loved anything that hadn't been proven yet on the scientific spectrum: unsolved riddles, unexplained phenomenon, mysterious tracks⦠you name it."
She smiled, remembering how her dad used to stay up late watching Unsolved Mysteries and The X-Files . Sometimes she' stayed up with him, suffering the programs just so he wouldn't have to watch them alone. "He used to take me on expeditions. We'd look for Bigfoot tracks in the woods or UFOs in the sky."
"Sounds like you have the coolest dad ever." Flynn's eyes lit up.
"Had." The word fell on the table like a stone.
Flynn grew quiet, and Gail knew she had to tell him everything now.
"He disappeared seven years ago, hunting Yeti tracks in the Alps. They sent out search parties for months and found nothing except his thermal gloves. My mom still goes on a trip each year when the snow melts, looking for any trace."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's mine. If I'd told him how I felt about his adventures instead of encouraging him, he wouldn't have given everything up to follow an empty dream."
"It's not an empty dream, Gail. It sounds as though your father was doing exactly what he should have been doing â what made him happy. You were the best daughter he could have had for supporting his dream."
She'd never thought of it that way. Coming from Flynn, the man who most resembled her father, she almost believed it. "I know it's totally illogical and ridiculous, but I like to think he's still up there⦠that maybe my dad found a secret Yeti population and the creatures took him into their tribe. I still hope to this day he's out there foraging in the woods, trying to find his way home."
Gail looked away, biting her lip with embarrassment. She'd never told anyone that before.
Flynn reached across the table and took her hand. His swordfish was getting cold and it was all her fault.
She sniffed back tears. "I'm sorry I dropped such a bomb on our conversation."
"I'm glad you told me."
A string plucked behind her, and Gail turned. An Irish fiddle group was setting up on a small stage.
Flynn nodded toward the ensemble. "I forgot. The Broken Strings play here on Sunday nights."
"The Broken Strings?" Gail wiped her eyes and laughed. "I'm not sure I want to stay for this."
Flynn stuck a forkful of swordfish in his mouth. "Believe me, you will."
As the fiddles tuned, Gail tried a spoonful of her clam chowder and bit into a chunk of potato. The salty broth warmed her mouth. The perfect comfort food for the heavy subject she'd just broached. To her surprise, she was glad she'd finally opened up.
"How's your mom doing?" Flynn started devouring his food.
Gail shrugged. "She's all right. She never used to get into my dad's adventures, so when he disappeared, she got angry at him â like it served him right for wasting his time."
"But she still looks for him."
"Of course. Under all that anger, she loves him very much." Gail hated how this was turning into some kind of therapy session. She needed to change the topic, turn the tables. "Do you see your parents?"
Flynn nodded easily. "All the time. In fact, I saw them last night. They live in Inverness."
"Oh really?" Gail tried to hide her fascination by spooning another bite of soup into her mouth. So who was this hon he'd said he'd see this weekend? Flynn didn't call his mom hon , did he?
"You and your parents are close?"
"Sure. My dad would have liked for me to go into medicine or law, something more stable than touring, but he's over that now. In fact I think he's kinda proud of how successful my touring business has become. Sometimes the old man takes his business
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