Page 21 of Born in Fire

“Modest, too.”

“Modesty is overrated.” His smile is infectious. “Truth is more interesting.”

The conversation flows easily through appetizers—local oysters that Dorian insists I try despite my skepticism.

“Would you believe Caleb can’t stand them?” He tips his head back and empties a shell into his mouth. I watch as the strong column of his throat works as he swallows, then feel my cheeks heating when he looks down and catches me staring.

“He’s your twin, right?” I state the obvious.

“Yeah. Although that’s where the resemblance stops. In every other way, we’re polar opposites.” He gives a wry smile. “Caleb irons his underpants, I swear to God.”

I snort-laugh in response and then cover my mouth with my hand, embarrassed, although he just grins.

“What about you?” he asks as our main courses arrive. “Any siblings?”

“No, just me.” I focus on cutting my salmon into precise pieces. “My parents wanted more children, but it never happened.”

“You were close with them.” Not a question.

I look up, surprised by his perception. “Yes. Very.”

Something in his expression encourages me to continue. I take another sip of wine, weighing how much to share.

“They died three years ago.” The words still catch in my throat. “Plane crash. They were flying to a conference in Denver.”

Dorian’s face softens with genuine empathy. “I’m sorry, Juno. That’s a hell of a thing to go through.”

“It was… unexpected.” An understatement so vast it’s almost laughable. “They were everything to me. We were really close.”

“I’m so sorry.” The words should sound trite, but somehow they don’t.

“My dad died on impact, but Mom made it to the hospital before…” I trail off, not sure why I’m telling him so much. I never talk about this. “Anyhow, it’s why I hate them, I guess. Hospitals, I mean.” I shrug, but there’s nothing careless about the gesture.

His hand moves across the table, not quite touching mine but close enough that I could close the gap if I wanted. “My mother died when I was born,” he says quietly. “I never knew her.”

The simple admission creates a bridge between us. “That’s its own kind of loss.”

He nods, something indecipherable in his eyes. “My father died about ten years ago. Heart attack at his desk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was considered… dishonorable in our family.” His mouth twists. “Dragons are supposed to die in battle, not from cholesterol.”

“Dragons?” I feel my brow furrow. Did he saydragons?

“Family metaphor.” He waves it away. “My father was obsessed with legacy, with appearing strong. He saw himself as an apex predator in the business world. Dying at his desk was the ultimate failure in his eyes.”

I consider this. “I think there’s honor in working for what you believe in, even if it kills you.”

“That’s a generous interpretation.” His fingers brush mine as he reaches for his wineglass. The contact sends a small shiver up my arm, but not the anxious kind I’ve grown accustomed to. This is… different. Pleasant.

“What were they like?” he asks. “Your parents.”

No one has asked me this in a long time. Most people avoid the topic of my parents, afraid to trigger grief. But Dorian asks directly, with genuine interest.

“My father was brilliant but absentminded. Always looking at the stars when he should be watching the sidewalk.” I smile at the memory. “My mother was more practical but just as passionate about astronomy. They met at an observatory studying Jupiter’s moons, like I told you.”

“Hence your name.”

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