“I don’t—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a poor showing. Unfortunately, life rarely offers a second chance for a first impression.”
Memories flashed through me like lightning. Eyes the color of the sky peeking through the forest, that time behind a domino of the same coloring. My heart stopped and suddenly I could taste the caramel burn of scotch, smell the remnants of a dying fire, hear the faint chords of the quartet.Him.
“Tom…” I breathed, incapable of anything more significant. My heart began again, the rhythm faltering, unsteady.
Those damned beautiful eyes widened and his tongue dipped out to wet that plump lower lip.
It was obvious. So obvious. Blatant to anyone paying the tiniest bit of attention.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice a silken caress. It could have been brushed aside as a question. But we both knew it was a confirmation. “Yes.”
“You…”
“Yes.” He didn’t explain. Didn’t clarify his meaning. It was entirely unnecessary. We both knew what it meant. Yes, it was him. Yes, he meant it then. Yes, he meant it now. Yes, he wanted what I wanted. Whatever I wanted, if the way his gaze flicked over my form was any indication.
“How? Why?”
“I cannot answer the how. Except to say that I made a pitiful first impression. You thought my name was Tim Gregerson, if I recall correctly. As far as the why? That night… It was perfect. Or the closest thing to it I’ve ever touched. But it was anintermission. A reprieve. We both knew that. And sans mask, I returned to the usual, embarrassing form when faced with you.”
This time, when he brought the cup to his lips, his eyes held mine.
“It wasn’t—there was nothing embarrassing about it,” I protested.
One side of his mouth curled up in a self-deprecating smirk.
Rather than respond to that assurance, he forged ahead. “So, Scotland.”
It was somehow so much harder to force out the single syllable. “Y-yes.” It caught in my throat for a moment before freeing itself.
“When do you leave?” His voice had the same strained quality as mine.
“July, weather allowing.”
His silence was heavy, accompanied by a single, solemn nod.
“It was you, actually, who gave the idea form.”
A bitter huff escaped. “I’d gathered that. I cannot decide if it would have been better for the idea not to have taken root at all. But that would erase that night. I don’t, I cannot regret that for the world.”
“I don’t regret it either. It is just… time.”
“Well, for what it’s worth—which is probably nothing—I will miss your company.”
My heart gave a jolt, rapturous even over the ache. “That is worth far more than nothing.”
His answering expression was inscrutable, merely a tightening of his mouth. Whatever thoughts lay hidden behind that motion, he shook them away. “Tell me. About your home there. What is it like?”
“I have… absolutely no idea. I’ve never been. Gabriel, my elder brother, won it in a game of hazard. And, well, I was the second son. I suppose he wanted me to have something ofmy own. It was a half-considered gesture, of course, but it was possibly the nicest thing he ever did for me. I think he knew that I would need…”
“Somewhere quiet?” he supplied.
“I suppose. And now, well, it has been my haven—if only in my head—for a great many years. My expectations are modest though. I cannot imagine it will exceed them.”
Something dark settled across his face, though I could not account for it.
“Uncle Tom!” A feminine voice cried out—startling us both out of our moment. A stout, ruddy-cheeked woman materialized beside Tom, a suspiciously babe-shaped bundle in her arms. Her fiery hair, now peppered with grey, was tucked back under a cap.
