That makes a lot of sense. In our whole marriage, Landon has never once mentioned his father. Nor have I noticed him ever receiving a call or calling him. There were never any birthday cards in the mail or gifts sent on Christmas.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

Landon raises a brow. “That’s it? Okay? You’re not going to ask why or something?”

I shrug. “If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

Landon nods his head then shakes it then nods again. “You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

I respond with a smile. “Okay, well then, we should probably get back on the road. We’re going to be late.”

I nod my head, and Landon quickly shifts into drive and smoothly pulls back into traffic.

We arrive a short ten minutes later. Landon’s childhood home was a huge fenced-in mansion with a private road and a security-coded gate. The driveway was lined with hedges cut into perfect circles. The grass was a vibrant green, not a weed in sight. It all seemed so cold, and non-child-friendly. We park, and Landon grabs Cahal from the backseat.

A maid opens the door and takes our coats. Landon must have been able to tell how nervous I am because he reaches for my hand. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before guiding us to a sitting room. We wait a good five minutes before he finally strolled in. Landon immediately stands up and offers his hand for a shake.

“Father.”

“Son.”

They say this with both of their voices void of emotion.

“You know my wife, Brooke. And this is our son, Cahal.” Landon lifts the car seat up from at his feet, placing the sleeping child in view of his grandfather.

Mr. Campbell gave the child a quick once over before turning his attention to me.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Campbell,” I said, reaching out my hand in the same fashion as Landon did.

“Please, call my Tavish,” he says, ignoring my hand. He turns back to Landon. “Can I get you something to drink? I got a nice bottle of Drambuie.”

Landon shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

Tavish grunts in disapproval before inviting us to sit. “So Brooke, tell me about yourself.”

I straighten up at the question, nervously tucking some hair behind my ears. “Oh, well, there’s not much to tell really. I’m not that interesting,” I stammer.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. What charity board are you on?”

“I’m not on any.”

Tavish hums at that. “Well, what plans do you have for that grandson of mine? He’ll go to a private school, of course. Who did you hire for your nanny?”

“No nanny, and we haven’t decided on a school yet. There’s still plenty of time to choose,” I say.