“What kind of childhood did you have, exactly?” I asked.
“A complicated one.” He stared at his pasta for a moment. “Not unhappy, just different.”
“Different how?”
“Lots of expectations. Preparing for responsibilities I wasn’t sure I wanted.” He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully. “When I came here and met you, it occurred to me I could escape for a while. Figure out what I actually want.”
“And have you? Figured it out?”
His gray eyes met mine in the candlelight. The flame reflected in them, making them look almost gold.
“I’m getting closer.”
The way he said it made my stomach flip. We ate in comfortable silence after that, the storm still raging outside but feeling distant now. Irrelevant. Like we’d created our own world inside these walls.
“Tell me a secret,” I said, somewhere around my third glass of wine. We’d moved on from pasta to the bottle I’d been saving for a special occasion. This felt special enough.
“What kind of secret?”
“Anything. Something you don’t tell people.”
He was quiet for a moment, considering. The candlelight highlighted the angles of his cheekbones, the strength of his jaw.
“I haven’t told my family where I am.”
“What?”
“They know I’m in Lysmont. They don’t know I’mhere, not doing what I’m supposed to. They don’t know about...” He paused. “About you.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I told them, they’d want to interfere. They’d have opinions, expectations, plans.” He set down his wine glass. “I wanted this to be just mine. Before the rest of it caught up.”
“The rest of what?”
“Everything.” He turned to face me fully, his knee pressing against mine on the narrow couch. “My family isn’t like yours. We have traditions. Responsibilities. Ways things are supposed to happen. If they knew about you, it would all become very complicated very fast.”
“Complicated how?”
“Complicated in ways I’m not ready to explain yet.” His hand found mine in the candlelight. His fingers were warm, calloused, and the feeling of his skin on mine made butterflies fly wildly in my belly. “Is that okay? That I’m not ready?”
I should’ve pushed, maybe. Should’ve remembered all the reasons why mysterious men with secrets were red flags.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “That’s okay.”
“Thank you.” His thumb stroked across my knuckles. “I promise I’ll tell you when the time is right. When I figure out how to say it.”
“Tell me something else, then. Something less complicated.”
He thought about it. “I’m afraid of small spaces.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I don’t know why. Put me in a closet and I’ll lose my mind.” His thumb continued its gentle path across the back of my hand. “I got stuck in a storage room once when I was young. My brother had to break down the door.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It was. Still is.” He smiled slightly. “Your turn. Tell me a secret.”
