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When he finally did, it was with his forehead on the table and both hands holding his stomach.
He righted himself, still smiling and just stared at her.
“You okay?” she asked, looking just as pleased as she should with herself.
He nodded. He was very okay.
“My dad says I got my eyes from his mom’s side. She was from Brazil,” she said, answering his original question.
“Your dad doesn’t have the gold eyes?”
“Nope.” She thought about it for a moment. “I think I have a second cousin with eyes like mine. It’s hard to remember.”
“Did your dad grow up in Brazil?”
“No.” She propped her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table. “He was born in Italy. That’s where his dad is from. They moved to New Jersey when he was twelve or thirteen. After he graduated from high school, his dad passed away and his mom moved back to Brazil. I don’t know anything about my grandparents on my mom’s side.”
Asa arched his eyebrows.
“You’re a little Italian too, right?” she guessed.
“A bit. My dad is Italian and my mom is…” He snorted because he almost said, “crazy.” Instead he just shook his head. “What about your mom?” he asked.
Zara hummed and dropped her hands into her lap. “My mom is white. I don’t know much else. We don’t have any contact.”
Ah. So they had the mom thing in common.
“The only contact I have with my mom is through text,” he said. “And that’s just because it’s easier to ignore her that way.” It wasn’t until the words had finished exiting his mouth that he actually heard them.
His gaze darted to hers, hoping she didn’t assume that’s what he’d done to her. Even though that was exactly what he’d done to her. But for a completely different reason.
Her lips parted and her head tilted in question.
He waited for her to ask about the unanswered text messages. If she did, he would tell her; he wouldn’t lie. Even though it wasn’t a conversation he ever wanted to have.
After a beat she rubbed her palms on her thighs. “Are you still working at the piano bar you told me about?” she asked.
Guess she wasn’t going to ask about the one-sided texts. He should have felt relief but it only twisted the guilt deeper into his gut. Especially since he’d already decided not to lie to her and then she asked about the one thing he’d been keeping a secret from everyone else.
“No,” he answered slowly, gaze drifting to the table. “I quit there a couple months ago.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding sad if he wasn’t mistaken. “Can I ask why?”
He took a deep breath and thought about how to answer. His quitting was very closely related to why he’d never texted her back. And how was he supposed to give his reasons without sounding like he was blaming her?
Because it wasn’t her fault. It was just the circumstances that came along with being near her.
Andthathad him feeling even worse about his reasons.
How was he supposed to say that he shut himself off from music because it justhurttoo much at the time? It sounded as cowardly as it felt.
“Ask me again later,” he said.
She held his gaze for a beat before nodding once.
He stood and gathered their trash. “It’s probably a good time for us to head back.”
She stood as well and put her jacket back on. “Asa?” she asked, stopping near him after he’d thrown the garbage away.
