“Like how old?”

I scratched at my stubble. “Fourteen?”

“You think a fourteen-year-old should have unfettered access to the Internet? Really?” she questioned, not seeming to like that answer.

“Okay, maybe sixteen then, but I don’t think you can shelter them forever, either. At some stage you need to let them make sense of the world on their own.”

“Huh.”

A moment of silence ensued as she thought something over.

“Eilish, am I being interviewed for a nanny position or something? Because I have to say, I’ve never quite had the pleasure of being asked out to dinner by a beautiful woman only to be peppered with questions about parenting.” I studied her closely, noticing her blush at my calling her beautiful. She was though, and she had to at least be a small bit aware of it.

“I know,” she answered quietly, her eyes a little sad. “And I’m sorry for all the questions, but there’s a point to all this, I promise. I just have one more question.”

I shot her an empathetic look and spoke softly, because she seemed to be hurting in some way. “Okay, one more won’t kill me.”

She cleared her throat. “You mentioned you struggled with an alcohol problem in the past and that you’re sober now. I was just wondering what age you’d allow your child to start drinking?”

Quick as a flash my mood changed. Her question hit a sore spot. Growing up, Mam let me drink early. Too early. I definitely could’ve benefited from stricter rules.

“I don’t think any child should be allowed alcohol. In fact, if I had my way we’d have similar laws to those in the U.S. that restrict alcohol consumption until the age of twenty-one.”

She tilted her head, her expression curious. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Yeah well, I don’t think we should ever underestimate the damage drinking can do. Our mid-to-late teens are some of the most tumultuous years in a person’s life. Every little thing that goes wrong seems like the end of the world, and having access to alcohol at that age can be extremely dangerous. My mam started offering me wine at the dinner table when I was eight. I know that’s normal in a lot of European countries, but well, my mother’s been struggling with an alcohol addiction her whole life. Before I knew it, I was mimicking her behavior, and she was too lost to care. I’d go as far as to say she was comforted by the fact that I drank with her. I essentially made her feel better about her own behavior by partaking in it.”

When I paused to look at Eilish, she seemed horrified. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been rough.”

I shrugged. “It was, but I never realized until I got older and saw how drink was ruining my life. It was stealing my health, preventing me from maintaining long-term relationships of any kind. It even stole my memories. Most things in life you can get back, but time isn’t one of them, and my biggest regret is the years I lost when I could’ve been doing something productive with my life.”

I stopped speaking, because Eilish was staring at me so intensely it almost took the wind out of me. She was truly emoting to my loss and it was completely unexpected coming from a woman I thought hated my guts.

Our gazes were still locked when she blurted, “I have a son.”

I nodded once. “Yes. I know.” This was old news.

“His name’s Patrick.”

“My middle name’s Patrick,” I told her with a warm smile.

She nodded, gulping in air. “I know.”

Now I studied her quizzically. “You do?”

“I do.” She pressed her lips together, her jaw ticked, her eyes now drilling into mine. And then she said, “Patrick is yours, Bryan.”

I’d just lifted my glass to take a drink and almost spat water out all over the table. Instead, it went down the wrong pipe and I choked.

She winced.

“He’s what?” I half-sputtered, half-laughed. She was having me on, right?

“He’s your son. We have a child,” she stated, clasping her hands together tightly, her tone firm. “It’s the reason I’ve been . . . acting like a lunatic.”

What the hell?

My brain simply couldn’t compute what she was saying, because what she was saying was completely fucking crazy. But of course you can’t say to someone, You’re completely fucking crazy.

So instead, I decided playing things off with humor was the best approach. “I’m sorry, Eilish, but I think you’re mistaken. We only just met a few weeks ago. Although I might’ve boasted I could get women pregnant with just a look as a younger man, it wasn’t actually true, and definitely not retroactively. Certain body parts have to be in play for that to happen.”

Her posture drew ramrod straight, her lips forming a tight line.

“This isn’t a joke, Bryan. You spoke of your memory loss just now. Well, we’ve met before, you just don’t . . . you don’t remember me. It was five years ago, at Ronan and Annie’s wedding. We slept together once, and a few weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant.”

My smile faded quickly as her words sank in.

Memory loss.

Slept together.

Pregnant.

The sound of my heart filled my ears, and my vision went hazy at the edges.

Several moments passed. They could’ve lasted seconds or whole minutes, I couldn’t tell. My brain was too busy trying to untangle the information I’d just been handed. Each piece made too much sense for me to deny. That sense of déjà vu that struck me when I’d first met her, the feeling that I’d known her in another life. The unexplainable familiarity. The pull to get to know her.