Sharing information that would hurt someone and change their world forever . . . that would destroy their dreams . . . seemed harsh.

Yet did masking the truth do anyone any favors?

She could feel Brent scrutinizing her as she tried to organize her thoughts. “In theory, I do. I’m just concerned about what this will do to Meg. She pinned all her hopes on Steve, built her future around this marriage, and if it goes away . . . she could fold.” Eve exhaled. “I realize that may seem melodramatic, but being disillusioned about someone you love . . . maybe losing them . . . could shatter some people.”

“I know.”

At the subtle anguish in his quiet response, she squinted at him. The car was too dark to distinguish his features, and his face was in profile, but his rigid posture spoke volumes.

He was speaking from personal experience. Thinking about Karen, no doubt.

Dare she ask a few questions?

She stroked a thumb over the smooth aluminum of the insulated mug, the cool exterior masking the heat within, as she mulled over that option.

It was possible he’d feel safe revealing a few tidbits under the cover of darkness, where she wouldn’t be able to read his eyes or discern his expressions. Yet much as she wanted to know why Brent had written off romance, she ought to let him choose the timing for that explanation.

Why not respond with a comment that allowed him to decide whether he wanted to share details or move on to another topic?

“I expect you deal with difficult situations on a regular basis.”

“Yeah, I do. Disillusioning Meg will be one of them. I’ve seen someone shatter when a romance goes south, and it’s not pretty.”

O-kay.

That sounded like an opening to her.

Eve readjusted her seat belt and angled toward him. “Are you talking about Karen?”

He groped for his mug. Took a sip. “Yes.”

“Whatever happened must have been traumatic.” A simple yes would suffice if he didn’t want to expound on the subject—but why would he bring it up unless he’d decided to tell her the story?

“It was—for both of us.” He signaled for another turn.

He didn’t pick up the account as he accelerated, and she risked another question that wasn’t too probing. “When did this happen?”

“We broke up three years ago.”

She waited—but he offered nothing more.

Hmm.

Brent could be one of those guys who had to be taken by the hand and led through emotion-centered discussions that pushed them beyond their comfort level.

Fine. She was up to the challenge.

“I take it the relationship was serious?”

“Yes—but also a bit of a whirlwind.” He executed another turn. “We met at a Christmas party a mutual friend was hosting, and by Valentine’s Day she was beginning to drop hints about a proposal.”

“Wow. That is fast.” And from what she’d observed, not this man’s style.