That she hasn’t shied away from answering any of my questions is a good sign. She’s engaging as well as enchanting. She replies, “I think even the most injured hearts have the capacity for love. It comes through forgiveness, but if the person can find the strength, they can move on. Not everyone can.”

“Can you?” God, I hope so.

“I hope so.” Her gaze extends through the windshield as she adds, “My dad didn’t.”

The knot that had been eased years ago upon my return to the States rolls across my chest, picking up everything I had left untouched—the truth of her scholarship, why I left, and even the way I found her at the restaurant earlier tonight. The details could make things worse or bring us together, but I won’t take the gamble. Not with her. Not with this chance. “Why not?”

“He couldn’t forgive my mom. He’s spent his life hurt to the bone.” She turns to look at me, a hand covering her mouth under wider eyes, like the similarity just struck her. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life trapped by the pain of the past.”

“I would never want that for you.”

Her hand lowers, and there’s the smallest of knowing smiles along with a roll of her eyes. “I bet.”

“I will bet. I’ll bet destiny hasn’t played her hand when it comes to us.” Okay, resorting to what I know she believes in might be considered shady, but what’s the point of having inside information if you don’t use it?

Her smile blooms, and I’m not fucking upset about it. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much are you wagering on destiny?” I love seeing a mischievous gleam in her eyes. She’s invested. How much remains to be seen.

“Everything.”

“Everything?” She sits upright. “The car and the answers you’ve never given? The—”

“The house, the condo, my heart,” I say, sneaking that in.

Renewed energy flows through the car as the weight of earlier finally dissipates.

She asks, “How will we know if we win or lose?”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait to find out.” The city looms in the distance, and by the time we’re crossing the Washington Bridge again, dread sets in. I’m not ready to say goodbye or good night to her.

I hear her swallow, making me believe she feels the same.

I know her address, though I’ve never been in the area. Still, this is about what she wants, so I ask, “Where would you like me to drop you off?”

“You can drive me home. Thank you.”

I’m inventing scenarios to justify why she’d give up that information so easily to me—like her not wanting to walk in those heels or it being dark—she says, “I trust you, Harbor. You have always looked out for me. I know you never hurt me on purpose. I can see that now. You left me to protect me. Maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me why.”