Page 63 of Risky Obsession

“Of course. Antiques have always been a passion of mine.”

“Always?” She scrunched her nose, like her next comment was a delicate one. “Or because your grandfather left you an antique store?”

“No. Well before then. When I was a kid, I spent all my holidays with Pops in his antique shop. He made it fun. Like we were going on treasure hunts.” I leaned back and sipped the wine. “He had so many stories of all the places he went around the world and the relics he brought back.”

“Wow. Sounds amazing.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“He taught me everything I know about history and relics. You must be the same, right? You said it was your dad that was the treasure hunter. Did he share his treasure hunting stories too?”

She stiffened.

“Sorry. I forgot you said your father passed away.”

Clenching her jaw, she nodded.

“How long ago was that?”

Her knuckles seemed to bulge around the wine stem. “A few years ago.”

“Oh jeez, Tory. I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze drifted to the fire. “It’s okay. I’mokay.”

The weight of her sorrow matched my own. “We’re a good pair, aren’t we?”

She cocked her head at me. “How so?”

“Because of the loss of our treasure hunting bloodlines, we have a fascination for objects that have survived through the ages.”

A melancholy smile tugged at her lips. “I guess so.”

She sipped her wine.

The dancing flames in the fire seemed to mesmerize her, and I imagined she was thinking about her father. I wanted to ask her about him, but I sensed she wouldn’t tell me anyway.

Tory took a long sip of her wine, then turned to me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just so hard to talk about.”

The sadness in her eyes tore my fucking heart out.

I wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her until all her aches went away. Instead, I edged forward in the seat and rested my hand on her forearm. “It’s okay. I know exactly what you’re going through.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and she turned back to the fire. When she swept a tear from her eyes, I shuffled my chair closer and pulled her toward me. She fell into my arms like all the air had deflated from her body.

She let me hold her with her cheek against my chest and my arms around her body.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.

Grief was a burden that didn’t need words.

She pulled back from me, wiping her eyes. “Sorry.”

“No need to be.” I attempted a smile. “Shall we go to bed?”

She giggled and raised her finger. “No touching though.”

I showed her my palms. “No touchy. No feely.”

She giggled some more, and it was so sweet my heart swelled.