Page 25 of Fence

11

Ciera

Something had changed.I could feel it in the air. He was still warm, still chivalrous. He held the door open for me and pulled out my chair before the maître d’ could do it. He had managed to keep me from falling for a third time in two days, and his hands had been just as strong and sure as ever.

The look in his eye wasn’t the same. The note of intimacy in his voice hadn’t been there before. We weren’t just talking about generalities anymore. Our conversation turned to much more specific, much more important topics.

“I lost my parents when I was four years old,” I explained over a glass of wine. “A car accident. Seanmhair was babysitting me at the time. It became a life-long gig for her after that.”

“You were fortunate to have her,” he observed.

“You don’t need to tell me that,” I smiled.

He smiled back, and the candlelight danced over his features. His eyes were the color of black coffee and deep enough to drown in. He didn’t seem to mind that the restaurant I’d chosen to meet up in was a little more formal than the average pub—and a little more romantic.

The romance part had been a slip-up. I had no idea we’d be flanked by two pairs of lovers, holding hands across the table and staring adoringly at each other. I suddenly felt itchy and squirmed in my seat.

“What about you?” I asked as he poured me a second glass, and bit my tongue against the impulse to joke about him trying to get me drunk.

He wouldn’t do that, because he wasn’t interested in me that way.

Wasn’t he?

“What about me?” he asked as he settled back in his seat.

The collar of his white button-down was open at the throat, and his thick, dark hair was a mess of waves my fingers just begged to dance through. So sexy. Did he have any idea? Probably not.

“You made it sound as though you live with your brother and cousins. Right? You said the testosterone was like an ocean.”

He chuckled. “Yes. I remember saying that, and it’s true. We’ve gotten used to each other over the years.”

“You must get along very well. I don’t have any family, not anymore, but I can only imagine how difficult it must be sometimes. Do you share a house?”

“More like a compound,” he explained.

My eyes opened wide. “Wow, that sounds very fancy.”

He laughed—and easygoing laugh, warm and almost self-deprecating. “It has its good points, but I’d hardly call it fancy. There have been times I’ve wished I could live on my own, as long as we’re being honest.”

“And why wouldn’t we be?”

We shared a chuckle as our food arrived. My mouth watered at the scent of grilled beef, and I hoped I wouldn’t make too big a pig of myself. I had been so worked up over the idea of a dinner date with Fence that I hadn’t eaten lunch.

“So, why can’t you live on your own?” I asked as I sliced into my steak.

He winced.

If my eyes hadn’t been on him instead of my food, I would’ve missed it. My question had hit a nerve. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, since I did want to know about him but didn’t want him to feel as though I were pressing too hard.

“It’s a long story,” he murmured, cutting into his prime rib.

“Well, I have all night.”

“It’s a boring story, too,” he added, glancing up at me. There was humor in his eyes, at least. “Suffice it to say our parents wanted it that way.”

“Understood.”

Only I didn’t understand at all. Every time he answered a question, I ended up with three new questions in its wake. Why couldn’t he be straightforward? He had no problem asking me all sorts of things, after all.

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