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The waiter's arrival with a tray loaded down with small glasses and a single bottle stopped that bumpy trip down memory lane.
“Thanks, you always know what I want," Isaac said to the waiter before turning his attention back to Tamara. “Sake?"
She hesitated. It was her last night in Fort Worth. One glass of rice wine wouldn't hurt. Right? "Sure."
The waiter sat the porcelain flask down on the table, a set of two small cups next to it, nodded at Isaac, and then hustled away.
"This is Junmai Ginjo sake." He poured about six ounces of clear liquid into the cup and held it out to her.
"What's that mean?" she asked as she accepted the drink.
"It's been polished—that's when they mill the rice to get rid of the outer layer—to at least sixty percent, and the brewer uses special yeast and fermenting techniques to give it a light, fruity and complex flavor. Smell."
She brought the small cup up to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes. Icy flowers with a hint of nuts that was both familiar and exotic. "That smells delicious."
"Wait until you taste it." He nudged the ceramic flask toward her. "But first you have to pour for me. It's tradition."
The man was Texas and testosterone personified, and here he was giving her a master class in sake at one of the most exclusive Japanese restaurants in Fort Worth as if he was detailing the value of special teams on the field or how to rebuild a carburetor.
"Isaac Camacho, who are you hiding underneath all that man's man exterior?"
"Darlin', I'm the best of both worlds." He winked at her.
She couldn't help but laugh, an easy camaraderie settling between them. "You are a horrible flirt."
"It's come in handy more times than I can count."
She leaned forward, dying to know more. "Tell
me."
And so he did, telling her about backpacking in Peru, an eating tour of Japan, and his stay at an ice hotel in Sweden. Whether it was the sake or the stories, by the time she finished the last small ball of mochito-dusted mochi ice cream, she was as relaxed as she'd been since before her sister had made that fateful call that had led to this quiet moment before she had to go underground again.
"Your face got all serious." Isaac reached across the table and took her hand, circling his thumb over her knuckles. "I swear I didn't really eat the frog raw."
"No, I was just thinking about how I haven't felt this good in a long time." And that it would be the last time for the foreseeable future went unsaid but it sat in the middle of the table between them.
"Being on the run will do that to you."
He wasn't wrong there. "When my sister called, I hadn't talked to her in years. The number showed up as unknown on my phone. How's that for you?"
Hot shame made her skin prickle. She'd been in her latest sugar daddy's Las Vegas hotel suite, staring at the man thirty years older than her as he snored and wondering how in the hell she'd gotten there. As much as she'd fought against her mother, she'd still grown into the exact cold-hearted opportunistic bitch she'd promised herself she'd never be—to the point that she'd barely fought to maintain contact with her sister after Jarrod had weaseled his way into her life.
"You weren't close?" Isaac asked, his voice too carefully neutral.
"That's the thing, despite everything we were close. Growing up, our mom always tried to make us competitors instead of sisters. I don't know why mom did that and I don't care enough at this point to figure it out because it never worked. Amelia was the only one who thought there was more in me than ice."
"So what happened?"
"Jarrod Fane happened. He swept her off her feet, took her back to Idaho, and little by little, he isolated her. In the beginning I tried to keep in touch, but I failed." Unanswered phone calls. Unreturned emails. Texts that went into the void. All of it combined to make a boulder of guilt and regret in the pit of her belly. "For more than ten years there was nothing but silence. By the time she'd finally had enough of Jarrod's bullshit and made a break for it, she was already dying of ovarian cancer and Essie was sixteen. When that call came from Amelia, there wasn't time for anything but making sure Essie was safe."
He squeezed her hand. "She will be."
Emotion clogged her throat, which was ridiculous—a realization that only made the situation worse.
Damn it, Tamara, don't you dare break down in public. You smile. You march forward. You don't ever let them see the cracks.
"Enough of that, my sad story is no way to end such a beautiful meal." She lifted her chin and held up her sake cup. "To no more sad stories."
