Page 25 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

Albeit relieved he was taking the reins, she wasn’t sure how to answer. When was the last time she did something other than chores or work?

“My aunt and I go on walks most days. Sometimes I draw, it’s been a while though.”

His smile brightened. “What do you like to draw?”

“Landscapes, trees, the birds,” she said.

“That’s lovely. I’ve always enjoyed art. My family house is full of it. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting on the floor, staring at it. I tried to replicate a lot of it, with absolutely terrible results.” He laughed. “But I’d like to see your art. Something tells me it’s beautiful. What was the last piece you did?”

“I honestly can’t remember. There’s always more important things to get done.”

“Something that makes you happy should be important,” he said.

“Well.” She shifted in her seat. “When you put it that way, it sounds so straightforward and simple. But life isn’t simple. It’s messy and complicated. Sometimes temporary joy has to be pushed aside for responsibility.”

Thomas’s stare was unwavering, as if he could see into her soul, past her every pretense.

“What about you?” she deflected. “You work at your family business and spend your nights beating up bad guys and your days sitting in a diner.”

Thomas laughed. “When you put it that way, I sound unhinged.”

“For all I know, you are.” She deadpanned. To her surprise, he laughed harder. The sound vibrated through her chest, making her feel lighter.

“I sure hope not.”

“I think part of being unhinged is that you don’t know you’re unhinged.” She gave a small chuckle despite herself.

“When I’m not at work,” he said, “I enjoy outdoor sports.”

Well, that was a vague and odd thing for him to say. Typically, someone would elaborate with the specific activity.

“I also help take care of my family,” he said.

Take care of his family … The way he said it held a burdensome undertone, falling heavy from his lips. Clarissa instantly recognized there was so much more to that simple statement than what he’d said, similar to how she sounded when deflecting conversations about Rachel.

Was he a caretaker for a sick family member too? Or was he a surrogate father figure? No matter which it was, she felt an instant connection with him.

There were so few who understood the gravity, the constant crushing weight, of being a caretaker. Sure, everyone sympathized, but they could never truly understand. Perhaps having him in her life wouldn’t be so terrible after all. She didn’t have anyone she could talk to about this. Perhaps, but she still needed to be cautious.

“Taking care of family … it’s a lot to shoulder,” she whispered, pulling at the hem of her hoodie. Part of her was desperate to spill everything to him. To confide in him the depths of her despair and absolute loneliness of caring for Rachel. “Especially if you don’t have any help.”

“Hi, Clarissa.” Jordan came up to their table and she silently thanked him for the interruption. “You and your friend ready to order?”

“It’s on me, please.” Tom gestured for her to go first.

“Oh no, I’m not—” As she opened her mouth to protest, her stomach growled loud enough for the other two to hear. Grudgingly, she decided she would eat here and skip dinner. “Veggie omelet and a water.”

“Make that two omelets, please.” Tom handed over the menus.

“Thanks, Jordan.” She turned back to Tom. “You spend a lot of time with your family,” she said, not wanting to tell him about Rachel yet.

“I do. There’s a lot of them, as I said, but I guess you could say I’m an unofficial head of the family.”

“Isn’t that a little old school? Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude!”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not entirely wrong. They are very old-fashioned, well, not all of them, but enough of them to make it frustrating.”

“Is it like a religious thing?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t too personal as she was evading the more personal topics of her own life.