Page 108 of Falling for the Enemy

“You, on a date.” Her eyes creased as she sipped her wine. “I expect to get your best moves tonight.”

“I don’t have moves.”

“Bullshit. All of this is a move.”

He reached for her hand, brushing his fingers softly over hers. “Did you ever consider I might just enjoy spending time with you?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Well, I do. And the food here is spectacular.”

Considering they started with oysters drenched in a champagne beurre blanc and caviar, she had to believe him.

“Since this is a real date, you have to tell me something about yourself,” she explained.

“You know everything.”

“No, I don’t. Tell me a secret. Something juicy and personal no one else knows.”

He considered her request over a slow sip of wine. She wasn’t sure if he would share something real or give her something safe and superficial.

When he set down his glass, his gaze turned distant as if reaching for some far-away memory, then he nodded. “I wrote my father a letter when I was little, about a year after my mom died. Took me three days. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember my hand shaking as I put it on his desk. He never mentioned it. I found it in his study after he died—still sealed, unopened.”

A cold chill spread through her chest. “He didn’t read it?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

But it did. It mattered that a little boy wanted his father to know something so badly that he took the time to write it down, even when it scared him.

Jocelyn had only ever had one conversation with Magnus Hawthorne. It was at the end, but even in a withered state of demise, he’d been an intimidating presence.

Before he died, he told his sons exactly how he felt about them. It had been Christmas, and in front of others. They had no choice but to hear his final grievances, and now they would carry the memory of his cruel words forever.

Her hand folded around his. “Your father was a coward, Soren.”

He let out a breath and met her gaze. “I know.”

The truth had a way of shifting energy. Sometimes it was so heavy the air itself became laden with the weight of bearing such reality. Sometimes, painful truths were heavier than gravity.

“What are your parents like?” he asked, and for the first time it occurred to her that this was a part of her life that he knew nothing about.

She drew in a long, galvanizing breath, her lungs filling every depth of her chest as she pulled her hands free, folding them tightly on her lap. “They’re regular people.”

A small V formed between his brows. “What does that mean?”

“My mom always wanted a simple life, which was why we moved to Hideaway Bay. She has a thing for small towns.” She shrugged. “Tight communities.”

“And your dad?”

“He…does whatever makes her happy.”

“Are you close?”

“No.”

“Do you⁠—”

“I really don’t like talking about them.”