“Well…” he set the bottle down with a clunk, “I’m not good at this. Iamtrying, though.”
He brought his hands in front of him, fidgeting with his fingers. No, not his fingers. He was spinning the ring on his index finger. A wide, silver band, the center ridged.
He’d bought himself a fidget ring.
I bit down on my lip, forcing my gaze from his hands. “Good at what?”
“Saying the right thing.Doingthe right thing.” His gaze flickered over me again, meandering and appreciative. “I haven’t told you howbeautiful you are yet, and that’s a mistake. I like your hair that way. With the scarf pulling it back. It shows your face, and it’s…nice.”
‘Nice’ was the most tepid compliment, but from Tore, I felt it down to my toes. I knew he thought I was pretty, but I liked that he’d noticed details about me.
I’d done my best not to dress up for tonight. No cleavage or high hemlines. I didn’t want him thinking I’d made an effort—even if I had. I simply wasn’t capable of throwing my hair in a pony, putting on sweats, and calling it good. My version of casual was cropped jeans, an off-the-shoulder top, pin curls, and a bandanna headband. I’d foregone the red lips for pale pink and based on the way he’d paused at my mouth, he’d taken note.
“Thank you,” I replied, more breathlessly than intended. “I think…yes, I’ll have a glass of wine.”
Tore had a heavy pour, and the glass was oversized. If he wanted me drunk, this was a good start. Despite working in bars most of my adult life, I didn’t have a high tolerance.
I grabbed one of the mini cakes and perched on a stool. My stomach was churning, and my mind was going a mile a minute with ideas and possibilities. Tore wasn’t putting me out of my misery either. He sipped his wine, watching me as he always did: slow and methodical, cataloging every bit of me.
It was too much. This had to be over and done with so I could get out of here and move on. Once I had answers, I’d finally be able to put the questions I’d had for two years to rest.
I placed my glass down and braced myself. “What happened?”
He gulped his wine. His throat worked as he swallowed a few more times, rolling his ring with his thumb. “My sister was in an accident a few hours after I left you. She died that night.”
Oh no.
Heat suffused my cheeks. Heavy pressure sank on top of my chest. “Your sister?”
Of all the things I’d imagined he might say, this had never crossed my mind. His sister, my god…
“Tia.” He flinched, like saying her name inflicted a wound. “My older sister.”
Devastation. That was what this was. He’d brought me here to share his pure, utter devastation. I didn’t know what to say. He thought he was bad at saying the right thing, but I was the one searching for words.
“I’m sorry, Tore.” That wasn’t enough, but was there anything that would be? “That must have been hard.” Such an understatement.
He shoved his fingers into his hair, pain lashing at his features. “It was impossible. I did not handle her loss well. For weeks, there was nothing outside my grief. Sam and I had just signed the DoD contract, and I fell apart. He had to handle everything with Nox while I dropped out of life, and my dad took care of everything else.”
My hands twitched, needing to offer him comfort. Even now, he looked lost, adrift on the other side of the marble.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Bowing his head, he studied his hands on the counter. “I’m not proud of how I reacted. Everyone was grieving, everyone was sad, but I’d let it consume me. Nothing else mattered. And once I resurfaced, I had a lot to piece back together.”
“I understand.”
How could I not? My siblings were alive, but they were lost to me. I hadn’t fallen apart when we were ripped away from each other, but I’d wanted to. If survival hadn’t been on the line, I might have.
He lifted his gaze. “By the time I’d started thinking straight again, you’d blocked me. Even if you hadn’t, I didn’t have anything to give to you. Not then, when I was figuring life out. But I would have liked to have been able to explain where I’d gone.”
I scrunched my nose. “I’m wishing I hadn’t been so hasty with the block.”
“To be fair, it was weeks before I tried to contact you.”
I dug my teeth into my bottom lip. “I waited forty-eight hours before I blocked you.”
It had been out of self-preservation. If I hadn’t, I would have been tempted to text again…and possibly again. That was how obsessed one date had made me. It would have gotten ugly and weird, andno onewanted that.
