Forgive and Forget(15)

Tom smiled warmly. “If that’s the case, you’re well on your way to changing my mind.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Joe looked down at his hands, still in Tom’s larger ones. Geez, was he really that pale? Next to Tom, he certainly looked it. Then again, the man was bronzed all over. Maybe he was a bouncer at a nightclub. Joe stifled a gasp. What if Tom was a hustler, one of those playboys who got paid to keep wealthy men… entertained? There wasn’t a shortage of naughty nightclubs around here. Then again, Tom wouldn’t have been so angry at the thought of Joe possibly wanting Tom to “repay” him for his kindness. Tom chuckled, and Joe snapped out of it. That had to be the worst idea he’d ever come up with. Bea was right. He was overdramatic.

“You’re drifting off again.”

“Sorry. Started wondering who you might be.” Should he pull his hands out of Tom’s? This was a little strange. Wasn’t it? Yes. Maybe. He discreetly pulled his hand away to scratch a pretend itch on his jaw.

“Conclusion?”

“Uh, you don’t want to know.”

Tom sat back, his eyes alight with amusement. “Try me.”

This should be interesting. “Um, high-end rent boy.”

Tom’s jaw went slack. “A prostitute?”

Well, when you say it like that, of course it sounds bad. “Which is why I said you didn’t want to know.”

Tom stared at him before bursting into laughter. “Joe, you are something else.”

Joe didn’t quite know what to say to that. This was uncharted territory for him, and he was lost in the woods without so much as a matchstick to light his way. Blake had been enough of an experience, thanks very much, and what had it gotten him? A whole lot more than just heartache, that’s what. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Joe stood quicker than he should have and backed away from the couch.

“Um, I’m going to grab another blanket for you. Be right back.” He spun around and all but sprinted to his room, cursing himself for being such a coward.

No, he wasn’t a coward; he was sensible. He had to focus on helping Tom regain his memory and then… then what? Say good-bye, he supposed. He tried not to think about that as he swiftly changed into his own pajamas, then grabbed an extra blanket for Tom, along with some of his own bedding. He went back into the living room, where he found Tom sitting right where he left him, still smiling. The guy sure did smile a lot. Not that Joe was complaining. It was preferable to whatever had led to Tom’s bruised knuckles.

Dropping his pillow and blanket on the armchair to his right, Joe handed over the remaining blanket to Tom, who took it with a “thank you,” his gaze going to Joe’s armchair.

“You’re not planning on sleeping there, are you?” Tom asked.

“How else am I going to keep an eye on you? It’s far more comfortable than the floor. Jules said you needed to be observed, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll wake you up regularly through the night to check you’re okay.”

“Won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ve slept there plenty of times when Bea and the kids have stayed over.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t let you do that, Joe. You’ve done enough for me already. I won’t have you sleeping so uncomfortably in your own home because of me.”

“You’re right,” Joe said with a smile and put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “This is my home, and I’ve decided you need to rest and I’m going to keep an eye on you.”

“Okay,” Tom sighed, giving in. Though Joe could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s a bit late for a meal, but how do you feel about some apple and cinnamon pie, and some milk?” Joe asked.

Tom’s eyes lit up and he looked about ready to salivate. “That sounds great.”

Joe motioned for Tom to follow him and he headed into the kitchen. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous about having Tom try his pie. He pointed to the breakfast nook tucked against the corner in his cozy little country-style kitchen and got busy warming up some pie and milk. As he did, he noticed the way Tom took in every inch of the kitchen. Tom did that a lot, it seemed. It was more than curiosity, and a little odd, but he could hardly fault the poor guy for feeling mindful of his surroundings.

Joe’s kitchen wasn’t the biggest, but it was a decent size, warm and bright with its subdued yellows and reds, the white refrigerator, sink, and appliances all matching. The most expensive and well-used appliance was, of course, his oven.

He walked the pie and milk over to Tom and poured a mugful of juice for himself. “It’s not state of the art or anything, but it’s got everything I need. My favorite is this nook. There’s nothing more relaxing than looking out at the garden in the morning with a fresh cup of coffee, watching the sun shine down on the world.” He sat opposite Tom and turned his attention out the window, pretending like he wasn’t about to break out into a cold sweat.

Halfway through, Joe noticed Tom’s brows had drawn together, and he was staring down at his plate. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Dammit, maybe he should have made the guy some toast. Get a hold of yourself, Joe. It’s just pie. “Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… it tastes… warm. I mean, not temperature-wise, but like… warmth.” Tom looked straight at him, the glow of his smile enough to light up the darkness outside.