Piers looked down at the table. “Um…”
“Certainly. One check, please.” Wycke had seen enough of people to understand when they might not be able to afford what someone offered. In finance matters, Wycke chose to spend the king’s money generously.
After the server filled their glasses and left, Piers asked, “One check? You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I asked you out, remember, so I expect to pay.”
The stiff set of Piers’ shoulders relaxed. He took a tentative sip of the wine and moaned. “Oh, this is good.”
King Broen’s kitchens served better vintages. Probably not the time to mention the perks of Wycke’s position back home.
The server returned. Wycke studied the menu. “I’m not sure I know what any of this is.”
“Would you like me to order something for you?” Piers asked.
Wycke smiled and nodded his gratitude. He thought he managed to blend in pretty well in this realm now, unlike his first attempt, when the sight of a car sent him screaming. Still, he’d so much more to learn—like Italian food.
Piers ordered, and the server departed. “So, you said you’re only in town a few days. Where are you from?”
How much could Wycke safely say? “Where there’s way too much sand, the wind never ceases, the weather fluctuates between hot and dry to hot, muggy, and wet. What about you?”
Piers shrugged. “I mostly grew up around Asheville, but my uncle said we weren’t originally from here.”
So, not born and raised here after all. “Your uncle?”
Piers gave a curt nod and took another sip of wine. “Yeah. My mom died when I was a baby. I’ve never met my father.”
Prickles trailed along Wycke’s spine. Why, he couldn’t say. He adopted Saris’s best sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry.”
Piers shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t remember my parents, just my awesome uncle. How about you?”
Wycke knew all about a childhood without parents, thanks to the damnable war. “I lost my parents young as well. My older sister more or less raised me.”
“I wish I had a brother or sister.” Piers gave a fond smile. “But I’ve got Jess. She’s like a sister—nosy, annoying, but has my back.”
“I have a brother,” Wycke admitted. “We don’t talk much.” Which used to hurt. Young Wycke worked hard to gain his brother’s approval since he’d never known his father’s. He’d abandoned hope long ago. Over the many seasons, Radre only contacted his siblings when he wanted something, mainly to use Saris’s influence with the high king.
“That’s too bad.” Piers twirled his wine glass with long, elegant fingers.
Wycke took a break from the conversation by focusing on his wine. By the third sip, the vintage had definitely grown on him. “So, your uncle raised you? Does he live around here?”
“No. He died when I was a kid. I grew up in foster care, where I met Jess.”
Though he’d spent time here, Wycke didn’t understand all Piers said. “Foster care?” Once more, something flickered in his memory, dancing away before he could decipher what.
Piers gave a dry laugh. “Don’t they have foster care where you’re from? Families, or group homes, that take care of kids without families of their own or who were taken away from their parents for… reasons.”
Wow. Wycke thoughthisupbringing sucked. “How’d you find yourself working at a club if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I dunno. I worked at a diner, wished I made more money for a better apartment, and then my boss announced his retirement. Max, my boss at the club, came in that night, and he offered me a job out of the blue.”
“Do you like it?” Waiting on people, being unable to leave? Not Wycke’s idea of fun.
Piers shrugged. “Yeah, I do. Beats washing dishes. Tips are usually good too. I like my coworkers. A customer occasionally turns out to be an asshole, but we have security.” He grinned, that wonderful, light-up-a-room grin, complete with a dimple in one cheek. “At least Jess and I managed the better apartment.”
They paused the conversation while their server delivered their meals.
As he studied Piers’ face, something nearly connected in Wycke’s brain again, a thought on the tip of his mind, the feeling of familiarity. Gone in an instant. The sensation left him reeling.
