Patchwork Paradise(16)

“Jesus,” Thomas breathed. I didn’t think he noticed he was clutching my arm, and I didn’t draw his attention to it. When I turned to him to share the ecstasy of the view, I saw he was pale as a ghost.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?”

Sweat pearled on his lip and his suitcase slipped from his fingers.

“Yeah. I’m really . . .” His eyes flicked to mine and away again. “I’m a bit afraid of heights.”

“A bit? We’re not anywhere near the window!” I wanted to laugh, but he started to turn green. “Okay. Look at me.” His dark-chocolate eyes zeroed in on mine. “Are you fine with stairs?”

He laughed reluctantly. “Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go pick your bedroom, and I’ll see what I can do about these windows.”

He bit his lip. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

“No, man.” I gripped his shoulder and turned him around, dropping my own luggage so I could pick up his. “Everyone has something they’re afraid of.”

For a second I worried he’d ask me what my fear was, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t need to.

The staircase that led up from the kitchen to an open landing was a work of art, a spiral made of oak, sanded and stained with extreme precision. We found him a bedroom that faced the hill and the castle—it was actually the biggest and nicest one, but Imran and Cleo would have to deal. While he got settled, I hurried back downstairs and drew the huge voile curtains across the windows. We’d still be able to see the view, but it was less there. I grabbed my own suitcase and picked the smallest bedroom, since it was just me.

Above the bed hung a gorgeous painting of the view Thomas would be avoiding so desperately. Such an exact copy had most likely been painted by someone who’d stayed here at least.

Sam would’ve liked it, the rough oil brushstrokes from up close, the fragility of the leaves on the trees from afar.

I wish you were here, I thought.

I know, he said in my mind.

The room was nice, but hot, since it sat under the roof, and I opened one of the slanted windows. I unloaded my suitcase into the white double-doored closet, changed into a fresh T-shirt, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. The four-poster bed with its gently swaying curtains and thick yellow bedding looked really inviting, but instead of falling face-first into blissful oblivion, I made my way downstairs.

Cleo and Imran still weren’t there, but I found Thomas rummaging around in the kitchen.

“Not much here,” he said. “We have water and some cans, but nothing fresh.”

“Want to go find a store while we wait for the others?”

He emerged from the fridge. He’d wet his hair and pulled it back in a ponytail that sat low on his neck. A couple of strands stuck to his throat, and a droplet of water was running down his clavicle and into the V of his shirt. Thomas had the nicest body I’d ever seen on a guy, and it was easy to understand why he had no trouble going home with someone new whenever we went out.

“You look better,” I said.

“Yeah, I feel better. Want me to google a supermarket?”

“Let’s go out and walk until we find something.”

He clutched his heart. “No GPS?”

I laughed. “It’ll be an adventure.”





We wandered through Bouillon, and I felt that same sense of gentle happiness I’d experienced when I was eleven years old. Something about the water and the hills and the greenery called to me, along with the ever-present shadow of the protective castle reigning over it all.

“You’re smiling a lot,” Thomas said. When I glanced at him, I noticed his cheekbones were growing red. I needed to remember to buy some sunscreen.

“It’s good to get away for a bit.” The wind tugged at my hair and blew it in my eyes. I should get it cut soon, really. But Sam had always liked it longer.

Thomas shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Are you doing okay? I mean, I feel like we haven’t talked about . . . Sam.”

“I know. It’s still hard. I understand he’s not coming back, but sometimes I feel like he’s here. I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner and I’ll be ready to ask him something before I remember he’s not around anymore. And I miss—” Jesus. Was I really going to say this?

I averted my eyes. Kayakers made their way down the Semois. I wished I could join them, flow on the current of the river until there was nothing but me, the water, and the hills.

“What?” Thomas asked me gently. “What do you miss?” He drew me to a halt in front of an alcove between two old, tall houses. They were stately, huge, bricked sentinels, standing watch over the decades coming and going. A chocolatier to the right made the place smell like heaven.

I didn’t say anything, but the way I hugged myself must’ve given me away.

“Oh, Ollie,” Thomas whispered. He reached for me, but I stepped back. I didn’t even know why, really. A hug would have been better than the best piece of chocolate from next door, but something stopped me.

“I’m okay,” I said. His expression shuttered, and I was sorry for it. I squeezed his arm. “You’re a great friend, Thomas. It means a lot that you’re here.”

“Of course.” He smiled at me. “Always.”