I wet my lips and motioned to his empty glass. “Another drink?”
The question hung between us.
Kobe warily studied my face without responding. I couldn’t blame him.
Risking everything, answering his unasked question, I shifted my leg against his. Two drinks had lowered my inhibition and dampened my fear.
It made me stupid. Reckless.
Would I regret it in the morning?
Time would tell.
The bold act worked. The crescent groove of a single dimple showed in the dark stubble on Kobe’s cheek. “Sure. I could have another drink. Would you like to share a couple of appetizers? I’m embarrassed to admit, I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to hard liquor. I skipped dinner, and the drinks are going straight to my head.”
The glassy sheen in his eyes supported the claim.
We ordered something called Bang Bang shrimp—Kobe swore that if I liked seafood and spice, it was a winner—and house focaccia. Every order of the latter supposedly helped support the citywide school breakfast program. This fact seemed important to Kobe, which was a testament to his character.
Both dishes were amazing. The spicy shrimp coupled well with another round of smoky Morticians. When I asked Kobe about the bar’s whole goth theme, he explained that when the building was first erected, the city’s mortician took up residence in the basement, away from the public eye.
“Back then, people were leery of a man who dealt in death. Later, the ownership changed hands. When the speakeasy opened and Prohibition came into effect, the secretive lounge gave people somewhere private to drink and socialize. The vibe proved inviting, so the owners kept it alive.”
With food and more alcohol, the conversation drifted. Fearing Kobe might delve into my past, I kept questions centered around him, asking about his little brother and the sort of things they got up to.
Kobe glowed, happily sharing about movies they had seen and trips taken. Émeric’s mother was young and barely scraped by. She’d left her son’s abusive father but not before the child had withdrawn so far into himself that the school had expressed concern.
“Émeric has come a long way since we met. He’s a typical nine-year-old now. He keeps me busy.”
“Do you have any proper siblings?”
Lips pressed in a firm line, he diverted his gaze to the remains of our appetizers. “One. A half sister.”
Older? Younger? He did not elaborate, and I didn’t ask. A wall slammed down between us. Kobe’s good humor faded. It seemed he, too, had limits to what he wanted to share.
I tried a different approach. “Did you grow up in Ottawa?”
Kobe stabbed the final shrimp and dragged it through the sauce. “Nah. Grew up in a shit town about forty-five minutes south of here called Kemptville, but I moved to Ottawa when I was sixteen.”
“Are your parents still local?”
Another hard press of his lips before he mumbled, “I came alone. They stayed in Kemptville. Still there so far as I know.”
Again, he did not elaborate or explain why he’d left home so young, but a picture formed. Kobe’s easy smiles vanished. An awkward discomfort swelled, threatening to ruin the evening.
We silently agreed to listen to the music. The chatter of other patrons’ conversations danced around us. The candle flickered with the promise of a romantic evening. It wasn’t working, and I suspected the fault was mine.
I felt the heat of Kobe’s gaze, and I glanced up. He shifted. The pressure of his leg against mine increased, demanding my attention, asking something I wasn’t ready to answer aloud. Fire licked a burning path over my skin and pebbled sweat on my upper lip. My heart knocked a frantic rhythm, and the room grew swelteringly hot.
We’d been at the Apothecary for close to two hours, and I’d kept my jacket on the entire time—winter-grade heavy leather, unsuitable for indoors. It served as a protective shell when vulnerability threatened to kneecap me.
Removing it at this point felt ridiculous.
“I didn’t invite you for a drink to discuss work, Dominique. That was an excuse.” Kobe’s barely audible confession hung between us, the pressure of his leg more pronounced.
“I know.” My voice hitched. I stared into my empty glass, clinging to it so I had something to do with my hands. “I suspected.”
“Was I wrong? To ask. I mean… I wasn’t sure if… Well, um, Rue suggested it might be too soon. If it is, I understand.”
