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Then, I beam up at him. “Well, it’s really good! Your chef is amazing. I can’t cook at all. I’m terrible at it. I once tried to boil pasta, and I set it on fire.”
His eyes widen, fractionally. “You set pasta on fire? In water?”
“Well, I put it in the water, and then I covered it like the book said and turned the stove on to full capacity.” I frown. “I don’t know what happened. I went to check on it an hour later, and it was on fire.”
The man looks like he is about to choke on his laughter and I wince. “I can boil an egg, but that’s about it.”
“How do you survive then?” he asks.
“Bryan is much better at cooking than me,” I admit, with a sheepish laugh.
He cocks his head, stilling. “Bryan?”
My smile falters at the thought of my missing twenty-one-year-old brother. “Yeah. Um, he’s my little brother. He lives with me.”
“Oh, what does he do?” the bartender asks, watching me intently.
A sharp pain hits my chest, and my voice comes out low, “He’s a medical student.”
His eyes narrow and he asks. “Are you okay?”
I nod my head, a jerky movement, and even I know that my smile is forced. “Ah, he’s been away for a while, so I just miss him.”
That isn’t completely a lie.
When he opens his mouth, I quickly ask, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
He gives me a warm smile that makes me feel all tingly inside. “Fergus.”
“That’s a nice name,” I find myself saying.
Mentally, I groan at how lame that sounded.
He grins at me. “Thanks.”
It is the way he watches me, his light blue eyes so focused on me that it makes me self-conscious. He seems to be aware of the effect he is having on me, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
I shift in my seat. “So, uh, do you have any siblings?”
Great. Go right for the personal questions.
I suck at this.
For a moment, he is silent, and I see the flash of grief on his face before he hides it under his friendly mask. “I used to. My sister. She passed away.”
Since I am still so scared of never being able to find my brother, his loss hits me particularly deep, and my eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
He looks alarmed to see me sniffling and gestures with his hands, “It was a long time ago.”
I rub my eyes, trying to convince myself that Bryan won’t meet the same fate and feeling bad for Fergus since he still seems to be hurting from his sister’s loss. “I don’t cry like this. I’m sorry.”
He looks uneasy, and when he moves to the other side of the bar, a part of me feels relieved. I don’t want him asking any questions about Bryan.
I still have some fries left, and my milkshake is untouched, so I chew on the fries and keep my eyes on the door. However, every few minutes, my eyes wander over to where Fergus is handling customers.
I haven’t dated for a long time.
The last man I went out with was one of the teachers at the previous school I worked at. But there was nothing between us, so we ended up remaining friends.
