Page 112 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

His face darkens and my chest feels tight. “You were too focused on your own dreams to see that theirs didn’t match yours.”

“Yes.”

His thumb taps against the table again. A chaotic sort of rhythm, like he can’t make up his mind about which one he wants to play so he plays them all. Then I see it. The way it plays out across his face. Something happened to him. Something that causes him pain. Is that where his anger and darkness come from?

“That’s not all though, is it?” I ask softly.

Narrowing his eyes, he clasps his hands together.

“Something else happened. Something you feel guilty about.”

He scrunches his face up and leans away from me. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

“It’s where the anger comes from, isn’t it? The thing that haunts you.”

“I—” His ears turn pink and I can see a hint of moisture in his eyes. Maybe that was too close to home.

My heart starts to race in my chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push. You’re always free to not answer anything I ask.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’m just terrified that it’ll happen again,” he whispers.

I don’t hesitate. I reach across the table and grasp his hands, his calloused fingers gripping mine instantaneously. “You shouldn’t live your life consumed with the fear that things outside of your control will happen.”

The waitress comes at that moment to deliver our elk burgers, and he avoids my eyes as they’re placed in front of us. She must sense the tension between us, her eyes bouncing from the looks on our faces to the way we grip each other’s hands so tightly his knuckles are white. The waitress shifts uncomfortably, slowly asks, “Y’all need anything else?”

He lets go, then sniffs and smiles at her. “This looks great, thanks.”

I retract my hands, my heart dancing the samba in my chest as the waitress leaves us alone again.

“So,” Dave says with a small smile. “Elk burger?”

I smile back and grab the burger off my plate. “You don’t think it’ll moo at me, do you?”

“I don’t think elks moo.” He laughs.

“Grunt? Bleat?” I ask.

“I guess we’re about to find out.” He takes a bite and so do I. Surprisingly, it’s delicious.

I watch as he chews and swallows. “Verdict?”

“It’s . . . sweet. But really fucking good. Sadly, no bleating.”

“Hold on, let me get a picture,” I say, pulling my camera out of my bag.

“A picture?”

“To put in your box,” I say.

His eyes skip across my face before he lifts the burger and chomps down.

I laugh and raise the camera, capturing his face buried in the food. “Perfect.” Grinning, I take another bite and relish in the rich, sweet flavor of the meat.

“Why do they call it a hamburger if it’s not made from ham?”

I blink. “Huh?”

He picks up the burger and points to it. “Elk burger, bison burger, chicken burger . . . why hamburger? It’s made from beef.”

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