Page 66 of A Bloom in Winter

“Answer me this,” Blade murmured. “Did you come back for your male?”

“Apex?” Callum frowned. “He’s not mine. I didn’t know he was here in Connelly.”

“Oh, it is fate, then.” Blade tilted forward. “How magical that you’ve reconnected.”

“We haven’t—”

“You will.” Thesymphathtoasted in Callum’s direction again. “And may I give you a little advice? You are going to be leaving at a dead run in about two minutes, so consider it dessert—and I promise it will be more useful than ice cream, even if it doesn’t taste as good.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Callum shook his head. “I still don’t understand how I even ended up having dinner with you.”

“Life is a mysterious trial, isn’t it.” Those eyes grew serious. “And here is my advice. Redecorate that male.”

“I’m sorry?”

“This room . . .” Thesymphathglanced around pointedly. “Is little different than your male.”

Callum tilted his head. “So you’re suggesting I turn him into an armchair? Wrap him in wallpaper?”

The shake of that head was grave. “No, I’m giving you permission to make new memories of him. With him. Think of him as a room you’re redesigning. You do not have to keep him draped in the past.”

Callum scrubbed his face.

“It’s all right,” thesymphathsaid. “You are allowed to move forward. You don’t have to stay where you’re stuck, with the pain.”

It was a while before Callum could find his voice. “Can I ask you something?”

Blade motioned around his face. “Why I am so captivating?”

“Why are you trying to help me.”

There was another long silence, and as the calming, elegant space sank into Callum, all the new decor suggested the male had a point.

“It’s a bit of a Catch-Twenty-two, isn’t it,” Blade said with a little laugh. “Good advice from asymphath. Do you trust it or not.”

“That isn’t an answer to my question.”

“Hmm. True. But I’ll tell you something else. You won’t believe whatever answer I give you, so I’m just going to keep my secrets. We are given only so many breaths, and I’m not going to waste any of mine on an inquiry that will never, ever be satisfied.”

Callum straightened. Walked over to one of the couches. Picked up the jacket he’d laid on its arm.

“Tell me your lie,symphath. Why are you trying to help me?”

That wineglass was set down with the kind of precision usually reserved for bombs that had pressure charges.

“I once did a terrible, terrible thing to someone who did not deserve it.” Blade touched his sternum. Then started rubbing things as if he had a pain there. “I was forgiven—and oddlyenough, over the ensuing decades . . . that grace has proven to be as unbearable as the guilt. Perhaps more so.”

The male stared off into the distance. “I am helping you as part of my atonement. I see you and your suffering, and I must do what I can to ease it. You might say . . . it is a calling for me now. The way I stay in my own skin.” Those eyes shifted over. And suddenly the pensive tone was gone, the sharpness returning. “Quite at odds with what wesymphathsare known for, isn’t it. And now you, dear male, shall have to decide whether to believe what I have told you. Or not. Whichever will you choose, I wonder.”

Callum drew on his jacket. Then he walked over to the table.

Looking down at the male, he waited. And sure enough, those eyes couldn’t stay on his own.

After they shifted away, he said, “Thanks for dinner.”

“It proves nothing, you know,” Blade cut in. As if he’d guessed the conclusion that had been arrived at.

“Worry not,symphath. Your secret pain is safe with me.”

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