Never before have I wanted to open myself up, but now I want to.
I reach my hand out and touch his. An electric current of emotion tingles when our hands touch. Our gazes are locked, and time stands still as we stare into each other’s eyes.
A million words are spoken. Words that say that everything is about to change between us. I don’t know what this means, but I can no longer pretend that I don’t want to know him.
I don’t hate him. Not even a little. No. Instead, I want to learn everything. I want to see the man he became, and most of all, I want to know how he became that man.
Something tells me there is so much more to this story. My own pain seeps to the surface. My trauma and loss. I take a deep breath, and so does he, then he nods.
“It’s time to go.”
“Okay.”
He drops my hand, and then the look in his eyes change. The moment of vulnerability is gone. The hard façade of the walls he built drops down, and I am no longer the woman he almost confided in. Nope, now I’m a stranger.
I feel cold. It’s a feeling I don’t want to have. He starts to walk, and I hurry to catch up. A part of me wishes there was such a thing as a time machine, or maybe even a way to stop time. I would have frozen the moment for longer. Basked in his trust.
But now, seeing his icy façade, a part of me is afraid he’ll never finish. That he will think twice of what he tells me. Because I know why he stopped talking, but I don’t understand the look he’s giving me.
He looks angry, maybe he hates me again, and I don’t understand what I did. For a second, he must have forgotten himself and let me in, but now he remembers.
I hope that’s not the case because something tells me he needs me to hear his story. And the scariest part . . .
I think I need to as well.
27
Skye
It’s interesting. For weeks, I wanted Tobias to give me space, and now that he is, I don’t like it. Since we got back from Florida two days ago, he has told me not to come into his office.
It’s weird.
Almost all the paperwork is done for the purchase of the building, and we are only waiting on a few more things, but I still never anticipated our working together would be ending so fast.
But I guess it’s official. Or it will be official soon: Tobias Kosta, a legitimate businessman. Owning property all over the world. Investing money and living off the fruits of those investments, but it still seems weird. Why retire?
That question still lingers in the air. The answer feels unattainable, always out of reach. He’s dangling a piece of fruit in front of me but won’t let me take a bite. Thinking about it makes me think of how wrong about him I was. Yes, he’s not warm and fuzzy, but deep down, I know he has a good heart. Take what he did for me . . .
Had he not looked into my father’s health, I would never have known that my father is sick.
Speaking of which, I need to try to get him to talk to me again.
An hour later, I’m walking through his front door.
“Dad?” I call out, making my way through the foyer. I don’t have to go far before I find him.
He’s in the living room, and as per usual, he’s sitting in his favorite chair. Reclined back, clicker in hand.
A woman is talking loudly from the TV. It sounds like she’s bickering with someone. My head turns to see what he’s watching.
The news.
Local.
A brunette in her mid-forties seems to be arguing with some older man.
About what? Who knows?
But it’s obviously entertaining my dad because he has barely glanced my way.
“I brought dinner,” I tell him, lifting the bag up to show that I’m holding food from his favorite Italian restaurant in my hand.
He shuts off the TV and then is pivoting the recliner to face me. “Chicken parmigiana?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, I bought chicken parmigiana. Dad, who do you take me for?”
A flash of humor crosses his features. “Just making sure.” Standing from his chair, he inclines his head. “How did you know I hadn’t eaten?”
My shoulders lift. “I took a guess.”
Dark brown eyes meet mine, and I can tell right away he’s happy I’m here. They almost sparkle with amusement. “That was rather presumptuous of you,” he jokes.
“Dad . . .” I place my free hand on my hip and cock it. “It’s six o’clock. There was a very good chance you hadn’t eaten.”
He walks over to me, places his hand on my shoulder, and gives me a squeeze. “Am I that predictable?”