Chapter 13 The address Tore had sent was a house. Once I'd looked it up, I'd second-guessed my decision to meet him. Why a house? Easier to trap me in? He couldn't exactly lock me up if we met in a public place. My brain liked going to dark places, but I was nothing if not pragmatic. Tore was too high profile to be a kidnapper. This could have been his first time, but I doubted I was special enough to make a man snap. At precisely seven p.m., I showed up on his doorstep. He'd offered to send a car, but I ordered my own rideshare. If I disappeared, at least there'd be evidence of my last known location. Though, honestly, Tore was probably capable of wiping my entire digital footprint. From the outside, the house wasn't a place I would have expected a young, single billionaire to live. Tudor style, it had to have been built in the 1930s or 1940s. With light bricks and dark wood trim, it was immaculately kept and could have been plucked directly from the English countryside. I wondered how Tore had ended up in a house like this. At least it didn't scream murder dungeon. Though that could have been the trap. He whipped open the door before I could retreat. "You're here." "I am." I peered around him to check for chains on the walls or human-sized cages. All I could see was an empty, brightly lit foyer. "Is this a good idea?" "You're asking me?" "You'd be honest if you were planning to dismember me, right?" "I would, but"-his mouth twitched-"if I were the type of man who dismembered women, I don't think you could trust my word." "I'd feel better if you lied." He cocked his head. "Would you?" Huffing, I stepped into the doorway. "No, probably not." I flicked my gaze over him, trying really hard not to be attracted. In dark, slim-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that looked soft and worn, his hair slightly mussed, it was impossible. "You're so handsome. It's really annoying." "Ah, sorry." He raked his fingers through his hair. "There's not much I can do about that. It's just...you know, my face. I could show you pictures of me in college. That might change your mind." "I doubt it. You were probably gawky and adorable." Since I'd flustered him, I took charge, closing and locking the door. "You could tell me I look nice. That might make up for it." He looked at me-really looked at me-and took his time doing it. Starting from the top, his eyes roved over my face and hair, which was swept back by a knotted scarf. His gaze slid along my shoulders and chest, taking extra time there, then moved to my stomach and thighs. When he reached my feet, he sighed. "No heels." I tapped the toe of my red Chuck on the hardwood. "In case I need to run from you." His eyes flared. "I wouldn't mind that. So long as I caught you in the end." Oh, this man. I gave him a light shove. "Don't flirt with me, Tore. I don't know why I'm even here, but it's not to let you catch me." "Of course. Not now." I shot him a sharp glare. "You're incredibly optimistic." Then I marched into the house, which was...empty. Not entirely, with a lone couch in the living room, but the rest of the room was bare, as was the dining room. With each room I found deserted, my heart rate ratcheted up. I'd been joking about the murder thing. Now, I wasn't so sure. A couple years ago, we'd shared a handful of intense, seemingly meaningful hours before he dropped off the face of the earth-what did I truly know about this man? "I'm in the process of moving." The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I turned my head, finding him closer than expected, his chest almost brushing my shoulders. "In or out?" "Out. I've already bought the new place. Just finishing up here. Some of the art requires specialty movers who can't come until next week." "You collect art?" "I do. Would you like me to show you?" I wanted that, but it would be too easy to get sidetracked. "Maybe another time." "Sure. Another time." His hand skimmed my upper back. "Let's go into the kitchen. I have wine or coffee and desserts, if you'd like. I could use a drink myself." The kitchen was light and bright, with white cabinets and expansive pale-gray marble countertops. The floors were warm hardwood-probably original to the house-and the ceilings were striped with heavy, exposed beams. On the peninsula was a platter of mini cakes, a bottle of white wine, two glasses, coffee mugs, and a pitcher of cream. Next to that was a vase holding a spray of wildflowers, and playing in the background was one of my favorite songs. "This is nice." I put my purse on the counter and leaned my hip against it. "You went to a lot of effort." "It was no trouble." He picked up the wine bottle and tilted it toward me. "Would you like a glass? It's sealed. Just in case you're concerned that I intend to drug you." A laugh burst out of me. "Honestly, that hadn't crossed my mind, but now it has. Dear god, you're terrible at putting a woman at ease." "Well..." he set the bottle down with a clunk, "I'm not good at this. I am trying, though." He brought his hands in front of him, fidgeting with his fingers. No, not his fingers. He was spinning the ring on his index finger. A wide, silver band, the center ridged. He'd bought himself a fidget ring. I bit down on my lip, forcing my gaze from his hands. "Good at what?" "Saying the right thing. Doing the right thing." His gaze flickered over me again, meandering and appreciative. "I haven't told you how beautiful you are yet, and that's a mistake. I like your hair that way. With the scarf pulling it back. It shows your face, and it's...nice." 'Nice' was the most tepid compliment, but from Tore, I felt it down to my toes. I knew he thought I was pretty, but I liked that he'd noticed details about me. I'd done my best not to dress up for tonight. No cleavage or high hemlines. I didn't want him thinking I'd made an effort-even if I had. I simply wasn't capable of throwing my hair in a pony, putting on sweats, and calling it good. My version of casual was cropped jeans, an off-the-shoulder top, pin curls, and a bandanna headband. I'd foregone the red lips for pale pink and based on the way he'd paused at my mouth, he'd taken note. "Thank you," I replied, more breathlessly than intended. "I think...yes, I'll have a glass of wine." Tore had a heavy pour, and the glass was oversized. If he wanted me drunk, this was a good start. Despite working in bars most of my adult life, I didn't have a high tolerance. I grabbed one of the mini cakes and perched on a stool. My stomach was churning, and my mind was going a mile a minute with ideas and possibilities. Tore wasn't putting me out of my misery either. He sipped his wine, watching me as he always did: slow and methodical, cataloging every bit of me. It was too much. This had to be over and done with so I could get out of here and move on. Once I had answers, I'd finally be able to put the questions I'd had for two years to rest. I placed my glass down and braced myself. "What happened?" He gulped his wine. His throat worked as he swallowed a few more times, rolling his ring with his thumb. "My sister was in an accident a few hours after I left you. She died that night." Oh no. Heat suffused my cheeks. Heavy pressure sank on top of my chest. "Your sister?" Of all the things I'd imagined he might say, this had never crossed my mind. His sister, my god... "Tia." He flinched, like saying her name inflicted a wound. "My older sister." Devastation. That was what this was. He'd brought me here to share his pure, utter devastation. I didn't know what to say. He thought he was bad at saying the right thing, but I was the one searching for words. "I'm sorry, Tore." That wasn't enough, but was there anything that would be? "That must have been hard." Such an understatement. He shoved his fingers into his hair, pain lashing at his features. "It was impossible. I did not handle her loss well. For weeks, there was nothing outside my grief. Sam and I had just signed the DoD contract, and I fell apart. He had to handle everything with Nox while I dropped out of life, and my dad took care of everything else." My hands twitched, needing to offer him comfort. Even now, he looked lost, adrift on the other side of the marble. "I'm sorry," I whispered. Bowing his head, he studied his hands on the counter. "I'm not proud of how I reacted. Everyone was grieving, everyone was sad, but I'd let it consume me. Nothing else mattered. And once I resurfaced, I had a lot to piece back together." "I understand." How could I not? My siblings were alive, but they were lost to me. I hadn't fallen apart when we were ripped away from each other, but I'd wanted to. If survival hadn't been on the line, I might have. He lifted his gaze. "By the time I'd started thinking straight again, you'd blocked me. Even if you hadn't, I didn't have anything to give to you. Not then, when I was figuring life out. But I would have liked to have been able to explain where I'd gone." I scrunched my nose. "I'm wishing I hadn't been so hasty with the block." "To be fair, it was weeks before I tried to contact you." I dug my teeth into my bottom lip. "I waited forty-eight hours before I blocked you." It had been out of self-preservation. If I hadn't, I would have been tempted to text again...and possibly again. That was how obsessed one date had made me. It would have gotten ugly and weird, and no one wanted that. He huffed a laugh. "As far as you knew, it was deserved. And maybe it was. If I were more normal-" "Don't say that." Normal was my least favorite word, and the last thing anyone needed to be more of. He nodded. "Right. I mean, if I'd had a better handle on my emotions, I would have been capable of grieving and sending a simple text. I regret that very much." Clearing his throat, his mouth turned up in the corners. "I appreciate you gave me forty-eight whole hours." I waved his appreciation away. "Two-years-ago-Bea was a starry-eyed little optimist. These days, men are blocked much quicker for far, far less." "I drove you to pessimism?" "I'm not a pessimist-I'm a realist with a low tolerance for bullshit." I sighed. "I'm very sorry you lost your sister, Tore. I can only imagine all the ways your life was flipped upside down. I don't hold anything that happened after against you." All of him rose. His spine straightened, and his eyebrows lifted. Even his ears seemed to sit a little higher. "Thank you. I didn't expect that of you." He moved around the counter, coming to stand in front of me, and took my hand in his. For a heartbeat, I was back on my rock, staring up at the stars with him. Then he stroked his thumb across my knuckles, where I had a scar that hadn't been there before. He paused over it, and I pulled my hand away, wrapping it around the stem of my glass. It was a stark reminder of how much life had happened between then and now. "I'm not a monster. You went through hell. Of course I don't blame you for reacting the way you did." I took a sip to steady myself. "I'm glad we cleared the air." He lowered his chin. "Tonight was about clearing the air, yes, but not just that. I would like to pick up where we left off." My pulse thundered in my ears. I'd known he would ask that. He'd made his intentions known when we'd spoken at Nox. But hearing him say it in no uncertain terms panicked me. I set my glass down. "Tore..." I started then stopped. Struggling with words wasn't a common occurrence for me, but this man had continued to scramble my brain all evening. Rejecting someone was never easy. Well, that wasn't strictly true-sometimes it was a delight. But this felt nearly impossible. Probably because I didn't want to reject him. My reckless side was ready to dive headfirst into an affair with this gorgeous, interesting man. But the chances I'd end up devastated were too damn high for me to risk it. I might've been my mother's daughter, but I'd learned a lot from her about what not to do. He waited, patient as ever, hopeful as I mulled over my words. "I'm not the same girl who lay on the rock with you two years ago." His brow pulled tight. "I know that. I don't expect you to be the same." "I don't think you really do. Picking up where we left off isn't an option. I'm not in that place anymore. My reckless streak has been whittled down. I'm far more careful than I once was. I haven't even been back to the rock since that night...or gone stargazing. I don't pursue things that feel good but aren't safe anymore. That's not me." If I hadn't been watching him closely, I would have missed the ripple of tension through his shoulders. Otherwise, he remained stoic, implacable...only that slight movement giving him away to anything else. "Then we'll start fresh," he offered, twisting his ring. "I can't pretend." "Neither can I." He reached for my hand again, and silly me, I let him take it. "What happened here?" I glanced down at the faint scar as he stroked it. It was small. No more than two inches long and only slightly raised, but Tore was all about the details. "Nothing exciting. An incident with a knife when I first started assisting Daisy. I'm much better at slicing cheese these days." "There are a million things I don't know about you, Bea-and I don't just mean everything that's happened in the last two years. I want all of it." Oh, if I could let myself believe that. To be known that way...it was far too tempting for my own good. "And I want to feel safe, Tore. I don't. Not right now." He exhaled slowly, squeezing my hand. "This is a no?" "It's a not right now." I slipped my hand from his and grabbed my purse. "Maybe not ever. I don't know." He nodded. Once. Then again. Like he had to keep doing it to accept the answer. "Okay. This isn't what I'd been hoping for, but I get it." He sounded resolved. "I'll wait. I'll chase you. I'll prove myself to you. As long as it takes." He followed me to the door where I paused with my hand on the knob. "Thank you for tonight. Even if nothing more happens between us, I'm relieved I can look back on our night together and know it was real." "It absolutely was. Every second." I let my eyes fall closed. Heaviness weighed on my shoulders, and I wished, not for the first time, I was a little easier-that I could let go of old hurts and grab onto all the good right in front of me. But my past had taught me to be cautious. To tread lightly. Even if the ground seemed solid, there was always a chance it would give way and send me falling. "You should know, I'm not easy to catch anymore," I warned. He was so close, the warmth of his body radiated at my back. If I were the Bea of two years ago, I would have leaned back and soaked it up. As it was, I had to hold on tight to the knob to stop myself. His fingers grazed my shoulder, so featherlight I might have imagined it. "I don't mind hard work." "Good night, Tore." As I stepped outside, his soft promise floated into the night with me. "To the chase, Bea." Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!