10
THORNE
When I agreed to meet tonight, I thought we’d go for a walk and chat or maybe slide into a diner or a booth in the back of a bar, but that wasn’t what we were doing. One second we were on the sidewalk, the next he was leading me into a place that was many levels above my pay grade.
“What are you doing?” I said as quietly as I could, while still making sure he could hear me. “I’m not dressed for this.” Nor did I think I had anything that would be appropriate if I’d known we were coming here.
Now that I was looking at him, his clothing suited the place and he looked good, like if this had been any other setting, I’d have been ogling him. I’d initially been so nervous about our conversation, I hadn’t even noticed what he wore. He looked amazing… and I was wearing jeans.
Wait, he didn’t think this was a date, did he? This was very much a date place. But no, that didn’t make sense. He wanted my secret, nothing more. Right?
“It’s fine. You look great.”
That was such a lie.
His hand slipped into mine, and he pulled me the rest of the way inside. I was so shocked by the warmth of his skin, I didn’t respond, just followed him through the doors.
I shouldn’t have been walking hand in hand with him, especially not with these secrets between us. But if I pulled it away, wouldn’t that mean I was starting the night off on a bad foot? Who was I fooling? I was grasping at straws, trying to find a reason to keep it there, because as much as I hated to admit it to myself, I liked my hand in his. There was this sense of safety to it.
The place was fancy, like full-on fancy. The only thing missing was a doorman, but this town didn't have a doorman kind of vibe, so that wasn’t surprising. The restaurant used linen tablecloths not supplied by the common company everyone else used, the table we passed had some of the best silverware I had seen, and the waitstaff wore impeccable attire.
Even though I’d gone to school to be a chef, never had I been in a place like this. The highest-end I’d been in was a steakhouse, and it was great. The chef let me work side by side with him for a couple of days, learning how they did things there. But this was beyond a $100 steak dinner. This was a whole new level, and we were being led into a private room.
The room itself was cute and small. This space wasn’t designed for business meetings where you brought your coworkers out after a project was done well. This space accommodated four people. Maybe you could fit six in here, but no more than that. There was no denying it had a romantic vibe to it. There would be no romance tonight. I was about to shake Raff’s world. Even if this had been his attempt at a date, which it wasn’t, I’d ruin the mood in the next few minutes.
I sat down as the host held the seat for me and let the two of us know our server would be in shortly. The two of us were across from each other with the candlelight intensifying the date-like atmosphere. I had so many questions about why we were here of all places, but the server had arrived. The questions would have to wait.
The server told us the chef’s choice for the evening and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. Did I? Yes, probably an entire bottle, but I just asked for a glass of water. I needed to keep my head clear if I was going to do this. Not to mention that a bottle of wine here probably cost my month’s salary.
My messenger bag sat on my lap, and I clutched it.
When the server left and we were all alone, I slowly took out the items I had brought for him to look at, including a small photo album and a folder.
“I don’t really have the words to say what I need to say, so I’m just going to give you this. Please know that I never meant for this to go on this long. Just see it, and I hope you’ll understand.”
I handed the folder to him and watched as he opened it and pulled out the papers. The first one was a copy of the picture of my brother that I loved the most, one where he was blissfully pregnant with Rupert. I needed him to be able to put a face to the paper he was going to see next.
“Who is this in the picture?”
“That was my brother.” I took the papers from him and put the news article on top, the one that talked about his death. His obituary was printed on the back side of it.
“I don’t think I can make it through my brother’s story, but the article is pretty accurate.”
It told how my brother was walking home and saw someone on the ground surrounded by bystanders, and went to help. And on his way there, he didn’t see a car whiz around the corner—one that was driving far too fast, with a driver who was far too intoxicated. They claimed the death was quick, and I could only hope that was the case. He wasn’t the only casualty that day, the person he’d gone to help had also been hit, as well as two bystanders.
Raff looked up at me, his eyes filled with an understanding that only a loss like this could give. He understood my pain the same way I understood his. “Was your brother pregnant when he died?” He choked on the words.
I took the article and flipped it over to the obituary.
He read it, mouthing the words.
“Rupert,” he said.
I snagged the final paper in this pile, a collage I’d made on my laptop and printed. I had an entire photo album to show him, but this was a start.
“This was my nephew when he was born. He’s seven now.” I needed him to know he was alive, without saying too much, because I didn’t trust myself to hold it together through this conversation. “This one is from his second birthday. It was supposed to be at the park, but we had thunderstorms. My brother took him to the library instead. They always liked the library, and Rupert still does.”
He ran his finger over each of the photos, and I explained them one by one.
