Page 27 of Savannah Royals
“Where are you from, Katarina?”
I consider lying, but half the people in this room know where I’m from—his mother included—so what’s the point?
Better yet, why should I care?
“I’m from the Catacombs,” I answer, jutting out my chin, daring him to say something. I’ve heard it all before.
He blinks and lowers the cue.
“Not what you expected, huh?”
“Not quite,” he admits. “Your parents?”
“My mom died when I was six. I never met my father.” My voice is hard now. “That was a freebie.”
I wait for the inevitable “I’m so sorry” to begin. I’m already prepared to hate him for it, just like I do when everyone else says the empty words. But to my surprise, he doesn’t respond at all. Instead, he bends over to line up another shot. He has two options on the table—one straight shot into the corner pocket and a more challenging side-pocket option. He aims for the latter and chips it, missing.
“Your turn.” His fingers brush mine as he quietly hands off the stick.
My heart stutters as I recognize his subtle kindness. He’s giving me a temporary reprieve.
“I hope you’re not going easy on me,” I warn, accepting the pool cue.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. It was a tough shot.”
“Hooey,” I mutter, but I’m secretly pleased. Moments later, I drop my first stripe, and I turn to consider him. “When’syourbirthday?”
He flashes his dimples. “September 1, 1894. I just turned twenty-five.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised to realize he’s only a few months older than Paul. I wrinkle my nose, because for some reason, Matthew and Paul do not coexist well in my brain.
I lean over the table again, my mind swimming. Paul floats to the forefront as my stomach churns with an unfamiliar sensation: guilt. It unsettles me. Matthew is far from the first simp I’ve fed lines to. It’s harmless, always is. But I’m woefully distracted nonetheless, and I miss my next ball.
“My turn.” Matthew lines up his shot and another solid slides into the pocket. He rises slowly, victorious. “Where is your apprenticeship?”
“At Raymond’s in downtown Savannah.”
“The jeweler?ThatRaymond?”
I’ve surprised him again. “Yes. Are you familiar with him?”
“Of course. My mom’s engagement and wedding bands are Raymond’s. Along with half her jewelry collection. It’s a very prestigious place to apprentice.”
“Well, I work mostly in the back,” I admit. “Examining shipments, tracking inventory, and…making things.”
“You’ve made pieces that have sold at Raymond’s?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, hair flopping over his eyes again as he bends over. “That’s impressive, Katarina. Raymond’s standards are incredibly high.”
Matthew stands right beside me as he aims. I let my gaze wander over his grip on the pool cue and the angle of his jaw. Fresh blond stubble coats his chin and cheeks. I splay my fingers on the table as he shoots. Unsurprisingly, it’s another strike.
He thinks hard before he speaks. I tap my fingers on the table, waiting not-so-patiently for his question. He looks down, then points to my fingers. All ten are bejeweled, as usual.
“Did you make your rings?”
“All but this one,” I admit, pointing to Paul’s thick silver band on my right hand. Thank goodness the tattoo is fully hidden because he examines my fingers closely. Each one. It feels like an eternity when he stares at Paul’s ring.
