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“He may surprise us,” Harris said, but his grin belied his words; he obviously thought his brother was going to crash and burn. “I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”
The statement surprised her and made her immediately uneasy. The butterflies fled and the vultures returned. She didn’t want to talk about anything else; discussing the other couple was safe and easy. Delving into any other conversational territory could very soon become sticky and uncomfortable.
“I’d rather know how you’d like your steak cooked?” he elaborated, and Tina breathed a soft sigh of relief. Well . . . that wasn’t too bad.
“Um . . . medium rare.” She retreated to one of the mismatched tall stools at the breakfast bar and clambered up onto it. It wobbled but thankfully held her weight, despite its less-than-stable appearance. She watched him competently move around the kitchen, cleaning and washing the spuds before readying them to go into the oven. He hummed softly beneath his breath as he worked. The tune was very familiar, but because his humming was so off key, she couldn’t quite place it. The title hovered on the edge of her brain.
“Ugh, what is the name of that song? It’s driving me crazy!”
He looked up, startled. “What song?”
“The one you’re humming.”
“I’m not sure. Wait . . .” He hummed again and then breathed a few lyrics in a falsetto voice that reduced Tina to stitches. He repeated the same two words over and over again. And the words, combined with the seriously off-key tune, were definitely familiar to her.
He shook his head before saying, “I’m not sure what that song’s called—hey, stop laughing. I know for a fact your singing voice isn’t much better.” His offended observation just made her laugh harder. “Do you know the song title?”
“It’s . . .” She gasped for breath, then broke down into gales of laughter again when she glanced up into his expectant face. She folded her arms on the countertop and dropped her head for a moment as she tried to bring her giggles under control. Once the laughter abated, she lifted her gaze to his smiling eyes—he didn’t really look offended at all, just gently amused. “I’m sorry. It’s not your singing . . . okay, it kind of is. But I think I found it funnier that you were asking for the song’s title when you k-kept . . .” She inhaled deeply when it felt like the laughter was threatening again. “Kept singing it in that godawful voice.”
“What do you mean?”
“The song’s called ‘No One,’ Harris. By Alicia Keys.”
“Oh.” He twisted his face into a sheepish grimace before chuckling, the sound deep and masculine. “That makes sense. I like that song.”
She did too. In fact . . .
“We danced to that song. On my twentieth birthday,” he said, his voice quietly reminiscent. She nodded, surprised that he remembered the song, considering the state he had been in that night.
“I know.” Danced. And then kissed. Her very first kiss. The song had come to mean so much more to her, but she determinedly tamped down those particular memories.
Amusement fled, and they exchanged an uncomfortable look before both averted their eyes. Silence descended, their troubled history once again asserting itself between them. Tina nervously drummed her fingers on the Formica countertop.
“Tina.” His voice sounded anguished. “If I could do it all over again . . .”
She stopped tapping and lifted her hand to prevent him from saying anything further.
“Let’s not go into this again, Harris.” She watched him screw his eyes shut as he battled with what looked like some pretty powerful emotions.
“Fuck.” The word was soft and fierce and sounded like a prayer.
“Why don’t we . . .” She paused as she considered the words she was about to utter. No matter which way she phrased them, they would seem like an olive branch. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to extend one yet. Or ever. Still, she was in his—temporary—home, about to break bread with him, so to speak, and maybe, for her emotional health, it would be best. “Why don’t we set this aside? For today at least.”
She watched his throat move as he swallowed and then shifted her gaze to his navy-blue eyes, which were alight with gratitude.
“I’d like that,” he said gruffly, offering her the tiniest of smiles.
Tina heaved a relieved sigh, feeling lighter than she had in months. Possibly years.
“Good. Now, how about you get those steaks on? I’m starving.”
Chapter Seven
“Oh my God, that was amazing,” Tina raved an hour later, leaning back in her chair with a contented groan. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
The last hour had been surprisingly stress-free. Once they’d made the mutual decision to leave the past alone, they’d relaxed into a companionable rhythm. Harris had cooked, Tina had kept the glasses filled, and they had chatted about nonsensically safe topics, like the weather, sports—both enjoyed watching cricket and tennis—and television shows. Harris didn’t have time to watch much, so he’d been asking her to fill him in on current shows he’d heard about but had never watched.
