Page 11 of From West, With Regret

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” Confused, I shake my head again and wipe at the tear sliding down my cheek. I look back down at the drawing of a clock tower. “I don’t know why. Half of my life is covered in darkness. I don’t even know if this has to do with it or not. It probably doesn’t, but for some reason, when I close my eyes, it’s the first thing I see.”

“You see a clock tower? Big Ben?”

I shrug, uncertain where our conversation is going. “I think that’s what it is, but it isn’t necessarily the clock itself. I don’t know, it’s fuzzy. The image of the clock is fuzzy every time.” I drop my shoulders. “Doesn’t matter anyway. You probably think I’m crazy and not making any sense.”

“I don’t think that.” He closes his mouth and looks down at the napkin. “You’re very talented. Are you an artist?” He lifts his gaze again, and my heart stops.

“I am.” My body hums with his touch and his breath and his voice. “But I’m not the best with pen. I usually go for charcoal or paint.”

“I want to hire you.”

My eyes shoot open, and my lips part. “What do you mean you want to hire me?”

“I don’t know if you’re still living in Boston or what yourplans were, but I need an artist to design pieces for my one of my bars.”

“Oneof your bars?”

“Yeah, I own The Veiled Door.”

“You own The Veiled Door?” I gape. Wow, this day just keeps getting better and better.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, and a few others scattered around the region.”

“How many others?”

He scrunches his nose. “A few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty?” I raise my eyebrows. “Twenty isn’t a few.”

“Technically, it was only a few until this past year.”

I’m suddenly noticing everything about him. The white, gold-plated rings on two of his fingers. The silver chains on one wrist, and the chrome watch on his other. The silken fabric of his suit jacket. Fuck, he even smells of money. Despite these small details, though, there’s still that warmth I felt radiating off him when we first met.

He didn’t flaunt his wealth, never revealing his hand from behind that bar.

“You want to hire me based on a mindless drawing I did on one of your napkins?” I ask, shifting back to the original topic of conversation.

“Yes.” He doesn’t offer any further explanation.

I eye him skeptically, but the feelings stirring inside me are impossible to ignore.

His hand is still cradling mine, warming me in the most dormant of places deep inside me. The oddly comforting sound of his voice. His scent surrounding me. The familiarity of his touch even though we’ve never touched before.

This feeling is dangerous. A feeling I want to run away fromyet stay rooted to. Right here where we’re standing, with my hand in his.

I look past his shoulder to the funeral behind him. The ceremony has continued without either of us. No one cares that I left. Not even Glenna.

I slide my hand out from his and pass the napkin back to him. He takes it, worry etched in his expression.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell him.

“Why? Because I was technically your brother-in-law?”

“Yes,” I choke out. “No.” I shake my head and blink. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I inhale another shaky breath. “And technically, you’re still my brother-in-law. My world is just kind of foggy and uncertain right now. I’m sorry. I really should go. I think I’ve been too honest for one day.”