Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(29)

“Did I ever,” Chris said bitterly, still not looking at her. “But I have no more luck being g*y than I did being straight.”

“Chris … hardly anyone ends up with the first person they love.”

“Some people don’t end up with anyone at all. I don’t want to be one of those.”

“Justine says if you never find Mr. Right, you should have as much fun as possible with a lot of Mr. Wrongs.”

He let out a bleak laugh. “That sounds like Justine.”

“And she says you learn something from every relationship.”

“What have I learned?” he asked glumly.

Zoë held her hand over the pan, testing the heat as it rose against her palm. When it felt right, she poured the eggs into the pan and began to work them with a fork. “You’ve learned more about who you are,” she said eventually. “And what kind of love you want.”

She broke the rich curdles of the egg as they formed, and shook the pan with deft flicks of her wrist, working with the eggs, swirling until the mixture set firmly. Turning the flame on high, she gave the omelet a last caress of high heat, imparting a faint toasted finish to the delicate surface. Tipping the pan over a plate, she let the omelet roll out into a pristine sun-colored cylinder.

She garnished the plate with orange slices and fresh lavender petals, and set the plate in front of Chris.

“That looks amazing,” Chris said, “but I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“Try just a bite or two.”

Looking resigned, Chris sectioned a bite of the omelet and put it into his mouth. His teeth closed on the combination of textures—tender eggs, the subtle pungency of the herbs, the kiss of sea salt, and a smoky pinch of ground black pepper. Without a word, he took another bite, and another. A slight flush rose in his cheeks as he ate with focused pleasure.

“If I were straight,” he said after a moment, “I’d marry you again.”

Zoë smiled and poured more coffee into his cup.

While Chris ate, Zoë made apricot lemon teacakes for the afternoon tea that was set out daily for the guests. She mixed the ingredients and poured the batter into a minimuffin pan. As she worked, she told Chris about her grandmother’s deteriorating health. He listened with quiet sympathy.

“It’s going to be tough on you,” he said. “I’ve known some people who’ve taken care of relatives with dementia.”

“I’ll handle it,” she said.

“How can you be sure?”

“There’s no other choice. My plan is to rise to the occasion, whatever the occasion turns out to be.”

“Have you talked to your dad about your decision?”

A wry smile crossed Zoë’s lips as she sat at the table. “He and I don’t talk. We e-mail. He says he’s going to visit us once I get Emma settled at the lakeside cottage.”

“Oh, joy.” Chris had met Zoë’s father, James, on a handful of occasions, and the only thing they’d had in common was that, as males, they both possessed the XY chromosome. After the wedding, Chris had quipped that Zoë’s father had walked her down the aisle with all the tenderness of a man mailing a package at the UPS store.

“I don’t think Emma will look forward to it any more than I do,” Zoë admitted. “They haven’t communicated at all since the divorce.”

“Our divorce?” Chris asked incredulously. “Why?”

“He’s against divorce for any reason.”

“But he had one.”

“He didn’t, actually. My mother abandoned us, but there was never a divorce.” Zoë smiled as she added ruefully, “He told me I should have tried to be a better wife, and taken you to counseling, and then you wouldn’t have turned g*y.”

“I didn’t turn g*y, I was g*y. Am.” Chris shook his head with a perturbed laugh. ”Counseling wouldn’t have changed that any more than it could have changed the shape of my nose or the color of my eyes. Look, do you want me to talk to him about this? I never dreamed that he would have blamed you for something like—”

“No. That’s incredibly sweet of you, but it’s not necessary. I don’t think my father really blamed me, in his heart. He just takes every chance he gets to be critical. He can’t help it. Because blaming other people is easier than thinking about what he might have to blame himself for.” She reached over and put her hand on his. “But thank you.”

Chris turned his hand palm up and squeezed hers before letting go. “What else is going on in your life?” he asked after a moment. “Is there a Mr. Right in the picture? Or a Mr. Wrong?”

Zoë shook her head. “No time for a love life. My work keeps me busy. And on top of that I’m getting the house ready for my grandmother.”

Chris stood to take his plate to the sink. “You’ll let me know if you need help, I hope.”

“Yes.” Zoë stood as well. She felt relieved, as if their relationship had finally become what it was ultimately supposed to be. Friendship … nothing more, nothing less.

“Thank you,” Chris said simply. “You’re a beautiful woman, Zoë, and I’m not just talking about the outside. I hope to God you find the right guy someday. I’m sorry I got in the way of that.” He reached out for her, and she went into his arms and hugged him. “I needed to find out if you still hated me,” Chris said above her head. “I’m so glad you don’t.”