My attention drops to the plastic bracelet on her wrist as we clink our glasses.
“I know it doesn’t fit with the vibe of this place,” she says, sipping her drink, then placing it down quickly so she can cover the bracelet with her hand after noticing me studying it. She strokes it gently with her thumb. “But I wear it all the time. I won it at the fair when I was with my mom. It’s the last day we had out together before she died.”
Jesus, I’m a bigger asshole than I thought.
I swallow my whiskey and place my glass down. “I’m sorry. What happened to her?”
Tate rubs her bracelet, smiling sadly. “Brain hemorrhage. No warning. One moment she was here. The next…” She shrugs.
“I understand what that’s like.”
She lifts her eyes to my face. “Of course… your mother and brother. I’m so sorry. I read about it online.” She winces like she’s mad at herself for reminding me that the press created a media circus reporting on their deaths, like it was a type of sick entertainment. Speculations were rife for some time afterward over whether it was an insurance coverup, or something equally underhand. It all died down after a few weeks when an investigation declared the yacht fire as an accident. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a terrible, tragic accident.
Without conscious thought, I lean over and gently uncover her hand from her bracelet.
“My sister wears a necklace that reminds her of our brother. The diamond is made from his ashes.”
Tate’s eyes shine with understanding. “It’s not the same as having them, but it can help to have something to hold onto in those times their loss hits you.”
“Comes out of nowhere, doesn’t it?”
She holds my eyes, her voice soft with understanding. “Yeah, sure does.”
Vincent continues his set and I observe Tate’s growing smile as she listens. I saw the way she touched the piano in my place. I was right to bring her here.
“Do you play?” I ask.
“I do. I’m not very good, though.” She turns her gaze from Vincent and meets mine. “Do you?”
“Sometimes,” I reply. “I’ve been told I’m excellent.”
I hold back my smile as she breaks into a surprised laugh.
“Is excellent spelled v-a-i-n, by any chance?”
I let the smallest fragment of my smile out so that my lipsquirk. “I see you learned spelling at the same school as my sister.”
Tate bites down on her bottom lip, and her laugh softens. “She gives it back to you, huh? She sounds cool.”
“She is.”
“I don’t just play.” Tate screws her face up like she’s embarrassed before she takes another sip of her cocktail. “I like to write songs too.”
“You do?”
“Yep. One almost got me a place in a girlband once. Until they decided my ‘thunder thighs’ didn’t belong on an album cover.”
“Thunder thighs?”
She shrugs, reluctant to meet my eyes. “Their words, not mine. They wanted thin and pretty.”
“Thin,” I echo, my eyes dropping over the neckline of her dress to the swell of her breasts. I run my tongue over my lower lip as I drag my gaze upward.
“Exactly. So that was that.” She sighs. “I keep meaning to send a song I wrote to record labels. But Dad got laid off, and then the stuff with Brandon happened and I just put it on hold. But it’s my dream, so I’ll start again when the time’s right.”
“You want to give up your career?”
She laughs again like I’ve said something funny. Only this time I’m not joking. It takes years of studying to be a teacher, and Tate must be in her mid-twenties. She’s barely begun seeing how much of an impact she can have on kids’ lives.
