“I still feel bad about that. I’ve made a career out of repatriating lost soldiers, and I’m usually better at dealing with people on their worst days.”

“The film meant a lot to you. I feel bad, too.” She regarded him calmly for a moment. In that moment, he realized she disarmed him, and he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe—

“Professor Finnemore.” The maître d’ greeted him with a slight bow. “Your table is right this way.”

She smiled slightly. God, he couldn’t get enough of that smile. “Friend of yours?” When she saw the prime location of the table, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Obviously.”

They were ushered to a curved, upholstered bench at an intimate table by the front bay window—an ultraprivate spot reserved for VIPs. “My mother comes here a lot,” he said. “She’s in the Diplomatic Corps.”

“They must think she’s awesome.”

“Everyone thinks she’s awesome.”

“Including the Washington Post. I read the coverage of the ceremony for your father. What an incredible moment for your mother and your whole family.”

“It was. Seeing the survivors—the guys on my father’s reconnaissance team . . . They’re all the age my dad would have been, surrounded by their kids and grandkids . . . that was something. After the ceremony, they gave my mom a collection of letters they’d written.”

Camille gazed across the table at him. Okay, maybe she wasn’t gazing, but he could tell he had her attention. “That must have been nice,” she said. “Hard, though, for your family.”

“You’re right—it was both. We went back to my mom and stepdad’s place afterward and got drunk and read the letters,” he said. “That probably sounds disrespectful, but it was . . . well, we drank toast after toast to my father, there were tears, and we bonded.”

“It’s good that you spent some time with your family.” She folded her hands on the table and held his gaze. “Tell me about them.”

Shit. Now he was the one gazing. And he liked her. Not just because she was pretty, but because she was . . . interesting. Cool. She didn’t fit the mold of the kind of woman he usually hooked up with. She made him want something more than a hookup. She made him want to get to know her. And even more risky—she made him want to let her know him.

“Let’s see. Short version. When my dad went missing, Mom had three kids—my sisters Margaret Ann and Shannon Rose, and she was pregnant with me. She met my stepfather while on assignment in Belgium,” he said. “Rudy had two kids by his first marriage—Joey and Roxy—and he and Mom had two more—my brothers, Devon and Rafe.”

“Wow, that’s quite a clan.”

“Even more so now that we’re all grown and have kids.”

“You have kids?”

“Not me, but all the others. I’m a professional uncle.” After he’d been burned by Emily, he wasn’t sure he was cut out for family life. His sisters kept saying he just hadn’t met the right woman yet. Sitting here now, having lunch with Camille Adams, made him wonder . . . no. No.