• • •
The restaurant is a hidden gem in Brooklyn, tucked between a laundromat and a bakery. There’s no sign out front, just a wooden door with a brass number. Inside, it’s all exposed brick, candlelight, and tables tucked into cozy corners. The host leads us to a booth in the back, and I slide in across from Tori, trying to memorize the way she looks in this light.
“This place is beautiful,” she says, looking around. “How did you find it?”
“Archer told me about it. He brought Bree here for their anniversary.” I open the menu, then set it down. “I’ve been saving it.”
“Saving it?”
“For someone worth bringing.”
She ducks her head, but I catch the smile. “That’s very smooth, Bishop.”
“I have my moments.”
The waiter arrives, and we order wine—a red she chooses because I tell her I trust her judgment—and way too much food. Neither of us seems to care. When he leaves, Tori props her chin on her hand and studies me.
“I just realized something weird.”
“Weird?” I lift an eyebrow.
She nods. “We’ve done everything out of order. I’ve seen your medical history. I know your resting heart rate. I’ve met your daughter.” She pauses. “But I don’t know where you grew up or if you have siblings. Basic stuff.”
“I was born in Montreal. A little suburb outside the city.” I take a sip of wine. “Moved to Colorado when I was ten for my dad’s job—he was an engineer and got transferred. I did one year of college in Minnesota before getting drafted.”
“So you’re barely Canadian.”
“Don’t ever say that to my mother. She’d disown me.” I smile, but it fades a little. “She’s back in Montreal now, actually. Moved home a few years ago after my dad passed.”
Tori’s expression softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Heart attack. It was quick, which I guess is a blessing, but...” I shrug. “Maisie was only two when it happened. She doesn’t remember him at all.”
“That’s hard.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, my mom wanted to be near her sisters, so she went back. My older sister Elise lives there too—she’s got twin boys, so Mom’s busy being the world’s most devoted grandmother.”
“You have a sister?”
“She’s three years older. Bossy as hell. Calls me every Sunday to make sure I’m eating my vegetables and not letting Maisie watch too much TV.” I grin. “You’d like her. She doesn’t take any of my crap either.”
Tori laughs. “I already like her.”
“What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“Connecticut. Suburbs. Very white picket fence.” She takes a sip of wine. “My parents are still married. My dad’s an accountant, and my mom teaches third grade. I have two older brothers who made my life hell until I learned to fight back.”
“Two brothers?”
She nods. “They’re both married now, with kids. I’m the cool aunt who shows up at Christmas and teaches their children bad words.”
I laugh. “Oh, you’re very cool.”
“Well, not according to my mother. Apparently, I’m not getting any younger, and she has started asking about my love life on almost every phone call. ‘Meet any nice boys, Victoria? You’re not getting any younger, Victoria.’” She rolls her eyes. “I’m twenty-six. She acts like I’m running out of time.”
“My mom’s the same way. Except she’s less subtle. Last time I visited, she literally handed me a newspaper clipping about alocal girl who was ‘very nice and looking for a good Catholic boy.’”
“Did you call her?”
