Page 39 of A Bond with the Dark

“I think we’re good, love, thank you.” He gives her a courteous smile. “Looks delicious,” he says, picking up the A1 and unscrewing the lid.

I can sense he doesn’t want to talk anymore about the mysterious death of the girl he once loved.

Deciding to brush past it, I say, “And your parents? Are they still married?”

“They are. They’ve been together for eons, it seems. Still happy and all that, too.”

“Wow. That’s so unheard of these days.”

“How’s the steak?” he asks, pointing at mine with his knife.

“It’s delicious. How’s yours?”

“Wonderful,” he says, forking some lobster. “Well, now that you heard a bit of my darkness, can I bring up a bit of yours?”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” I reply tenderly, chewing on a bite of lobster. “Which dark are you referring to?”

“Cancer.”

“Ah, that. It’s a bit of a long, sad story.”

“I’ve got time,” he says, smiling.

I can’t get over how easy it is to talk to him. I go on to explain everything—the chemo, the awful bone marrow biopsies, blood transfusions that took all day that Mama would accompany me to, the spinal taps, being hospitalized three times—all of it.

“Where was the ex?” Dominic asks.

“He had to work. Or he was home with Gauge. He only came to the bone marrow biopsies because those were my worst fear.”

“He should have been there for you for all of it,” Dominic retorts, his voice drawing a bit of anger behind it. “I would have been.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say. It was hard, though. We had to keep the roof over our heads since I couldn’t work. And Gauge couldn’t come with me to much of it, so he would have to stay with him.”

“I would have found a way. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It was okay. I had my mom,” I say, and the sting in the memory bites at me more than I like at this dinner.

“I’m glad you had your mama,” he says, plucking the word from my mind.

“Me too,” I reply, cutting a bite of the steak, putting it in my mouth, and chewing slowly.

“I’m sorry for bringing that up. When you mentioned you had cancer last night, I was curious about it. I knew it would dredge up hard memories for you. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind talking about my mom. Or my cancer.”

“Did you lose your hair?”

“Yep. Full-on baldie. But I rocked that shit.” I laugh at the memory.

“I bet you did,” he responds, smiling back. “So much pain you carry.”

“I’m so sorry I have been going on and on; you are probably bored to death.”

“On the contrary, I think you are one of the most fascinating women I have ever been to dinner with,” he replies with a reflective smile.

My heart flutters again at this.

The sensation lingers like a dream hanging on the edge of my consciousness, ready to dissipate with waking. This handsome man leans in, his genuine interest in me evident as he savors every word of my story.

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