Liam knew he was getting old. He wanted his son to have a family. More importantly, he wanted a grandchild. He was way over sixty. His first wife, Andrea, conceived Logan when she was in her early thirties, while Liam was in his forties.
Once Logan was born, his beautiful wife had passed away due to cancer, leaving him to look after their baby.
He missed his wife dearly, still holding on to their cherished memories, but he regretted having his son at such a late age. But Liam was the type of man to look towards the future.
He would not let his past gloom affect his judgment for the future. That was why his son needed to look for a girl now, to stop the cycle of conceiving a baby at an older age.
"Dad, I can't just go up to some random girl, ask her to sleep with me, then marry her. It doesn't work that way with me."
Logan interrupted his father's train of thought. "You've been doing that already. So just ask the question once you've done with the sleeping bit." Liam half-heartedly argued with his son's statement.
"Dad, I told you I can't. I need to love the girl. When my time comes, I'm sure I'll find the right one for me." "But if you get the girl pregnant, wouldn't you have to marry her?" Liam took in his son's suggestion, smiling at the thought. "Yes, that could be a very strong possibility. Then you could marry the girl."
"Dad, I won't get a girl pregnant. I practice safe sex, so don't dream about that," he declared. "Well, how do you propose to go about getting a family, then? I'm not getting any younger.
I want to see my son married." Liam was back to square one again. "I can't answer that for you."
Logan folded his arm and relaxed into the chair next to his father, having had enough of the massaging now, since his tactic of sweet action didn't work on his father. The man was just so adamant about finding him the perfect girl.
"You're not making this old man happy." Liam moaned like a child whose toy has been taken away. "Ah, come now, Dad. Stop acting like a kid."
Logan patted his father's hand in comfort. "I'll call Bibi to make you your favorite chocolate cookies. Okay?" He turned towards the main house and shouted, "Bibi, make Dad something to eat. He's upset again."
Bibi was Logan's stepmother, or more precisely their housemaid who had turned into his stepmother. His father had remarried when Logan turned sixteen. No woman was like Bibi. She was amazing.
She was the only woman he could tolerate living in the same house. She was a sweet soul, and he was glad when she agreed to marry his father.
Bibi, upon hearing Logan's shout, came rolling out of the kitchen door at the back of the house, dressed in an apron, a rolling pin in her hand. Her face was white, covered in flour. She must be baking again, Logan thought.