“You are exceptionally talented, Nora.”
I scrunched up my nose.
“It’s a shame people don’t get to see these.”
The last time my cheeks reddened in Skye’s was probably when my dad caught me kissing Tobias behind the Historical Fantasy shelf.
I grabbed the papers, placing them back in the drawer. “It’s just a bunch of sketches. Not the Mona Lisa, John.”
He looked troubled at my comment.
I looked at the windows. The rain had picked up further, and it was almost impossible to see the outline of John’s car parked across the street from here.
“It’s your parents, isn’t it? The reason you don’t do relationships?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I was in a serious relationship once. Tobias.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged. “He ticked all the boxes. Good looking. Had aspirations as a journalist. His family was well-off, and, well…Dad loved him. Tobias was the kind of guy who threw Sunday barbecues and wore sensible footwear.” I shook my head. “I thought it was love.” I turned my face toward the ceiling. “Then the accident happened. Me and dad…we came off the road.”
The lump in my throat came and went.
“We were going to move up to Milwaukee, can you believe it? He’d gotten a job at theDaily. He wanted kids, lots of them…”
“It took me three weeks to recover enough to go home.” I brushed my finger over my stomach. “Three weeks that Mom had to deal with everything on her own. Dad…passing.” I shook my head. “It broke her.”
John interlaced his fingers with mine.
“I told Tobias I needed more time. Told him to go ahead. I waited for her to get better. But…she didn’t.” I swallowed hard. Pressure built behind my eyes. “She was the same, day after day. Her heart just…didn’t heal.”
“I saw what was ahead of me. The prospect of spending my life with someone, intertwining myself so deeply with another person, that when that person is ultimately taken from you, you feel like you’ve been ripped in half. I couldn’t do it. Love so deeply that you’ll never feel whole again, being on your own.”
My voice had grown thick. I pulled on the frays of my jeans, avoided looking at John.
“So that’s why I don’t date. I don’t think the pain that ultimately follows is worth it.”
He didn’t speak for a long while. My legs became restless. I hopped off the counter.
“What about your parents?” I took the bottle of whiskey with me as I plopped myself onto the sofa.
His gaze darkened. He twiddled with his watch, seemingly fighting with himself.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s not a pretty story.”
“Most aren’t.” I patted the space beside me. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth telling.”
He took another large sip of whiskey, then sat beside me. The sofa dipped, moving me closer. “My father, well, he isn’t, actually. My father, that is. Mom…” He shook his head. Now it was his turn to be at a loss for words.
I patted his shoulder like a coach. “Try again, chap.”
“I’m adopted.”
“Ah.”
“My mother…” A shadow flitted over his face. “She wanted a child, but she couldn’t have her own. So my parents adopted me when I was seven. He never showed much interest in me and made it clear I was Mom’s responsibility. The thing to keep her occupied while he traveled.” A hollow laugh slipped from his lips. “Like a dog.”
