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“What are you thinking about? Your dad?”

“Yes.” My voice is a broken whisper.

“How did he die?”

“A broken heart, I think.”

“He and your mom split?”

I sigh, as I think back to that time. I don’t know if they actually ever split up. “He lost his restaurant. It went under. After living in our car for three weeks because we’d lost everything, my mum took me and my brother back to England, to my aunt’s house. Dad stayed in New York, trying to get our life back. He had a heart attack two weeks after we left.” I gasp out a breath, as if getting the words out took physical effort.

“That’s so sad…” The sound of her voice trails off, as if she’s turning away from the wall to look back at me. But I can’t turn around. I don’t want to look at anyone right now.

Silence travels along the ceiling and the void is filled with some yelling and the struggling squeal of metal sliding against metal.

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispers. “Did your mom…how did she cope? Is she okay now?”

“She always says she moved forward, but not on. She remarried after Bray and I had come to New York. He’s a good guy who has a daughter, so we inherited a grown up sister, and although we’re not super-close, we look like a family at Christmas if you don’t look too closely.”

“That’s nice,” she says.

It is, but at the same time, every time I see mom with her husband, I’m reminded that he’s not my dad. That my dad died.

Her voice clears my head, and I take a breath.

I didn’t expect this to get as deep as it has. I don’t want either of us to be sad today.

“My turn,” I say. Before she can argue, I add, “Do you like my arse?”

Her diaphanous laugh echoes through the space. There’s no need for any architectural design to carry the sonorous notes. The sound lights a touchpaper of joy within me, lifting me a little higher in my shoes.

“You gotta be honest,” I remind her.

Now her laugh reaches me only because of the curve of the ceiling. It’s smaller, more intimate, but no less uplifting. “Yes, I like your ass,” she admits. “You don’t need to tell me whether or not you like mine. You’ve been checking me out since I got into my gym gear.”

“Guilty as charged,” I reply. “Your turn.”

“We’ve got to tell each other the truth, right? No ifs or buts?”

“Absolutely.”

“Were you telling the truth when you said you’d never brought a woman back to your apartment before? You know, after Aurora and Deacon’s engagement party, you said⁠—”

“I know what I said. And yes, it was the truth.”

“So how come I was the exception to your strictly enforced rule?”

It’s a question I don’t have an answer to. So I decide to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

More silence stretches between us.

God, I really like this woman.

“Come on,” I say. “I think we’ve both had more than six questions. Let’s go and eat.”

TWELVE

Avril