“Mr. Shaw.” The hostess’s voice broke into my thoughts. I glanced toward the front of the restaurant, expecting to see Aaron. Instead, I saw a man who looked the way Aaron would in thirty years. His thick blond hair was tinged silver. His lips were set in a permanent half smile. He wore a three-piece suit as comfortably as other people wore a T-shirt and jeans. Aaron’s father. My stomach twisted, because if this was Aaron’s father, he was Sloane’s father, too. Beside him, there was a woman with light brown hair coifed at the nape of her neck. She was holding a little girl, no older than three
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