A man in his mid-fifties walked in. He was a few inches shorter than Killian, had a bit of a beer belly, and wore a crooked smile on his face.
“Uncle Ted, you have terrible timing,” Killian shook his head. I swallowed a chuckle—those were his exact words.
“I apologize for being late, but I couldn’t miss the chance to meet your girl now, could I?” He walked toward us with a light step and looked at me with warm, shining brown eyes. “Hello, love. I’m this guy’s uncle and only living elder at this point. Some would say I deserve a little respect,” he added with a mock scolding glance.
Killian just rolled his eyes in response.
I took Ted’s extended hand.
“I’m Mila.”
“I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you,” he said, gripping my hand with both of his.
Ted’s smile was infectious,
