Patchwork Paradise(17)

We continued on our way in a not exactly comfortable, but easy enough silence.

“There.” I pointed toward the end of the road. “That looks like a little outdoor market.”

“Let’s check it out.”

We wandered the market stalls as the day wound down. The fresh produce was nearly gone, but it was nice to walk through stands and inhale the relaxed atmosphere, so different from Antwerp’s beehive madness. On the way back, we stopped in a little grocery store and got some more essentials. By the time we made it to the apartment, I deeply regretted not taking the car. The sharp plastic handles of the shopping bags dug into my palms, and I was pretty out of breath when we reached the third floor.

“Next time Imran and Cleo can do the shopping,” I said, and Thomas laughed.

“Speaking of, where are they?”

“I’m going to call Cleo.”

Thomas began to put the groceries away, and I ran upstairs to find my charging phone in the bedroom. I had two missed calls from Cleo but no voice mails, so I figured whatever had happened wasn’t too urgent. She answered on the second ring.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but we’re not going to get there until tomorrow, Ollie.”

“Oh, is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine. We had a little, uh, complication.”

I sat down on the bed and stared out of the window. The sun was beginning to set over Bouillon, casting the hills and trees in a rosy glow. “What kind of complication?”

“I’ll have to owe you an explanation. For now. I’m sorry.”

“Okay . . .” I waited, but the silence thickened and turned awkward. “Are you sure you’re all right? I mean . . . Thomas told me what happened between you two. You’re not breaking up, are you?”

“No.” Cleo’s voice softened. “No, we’re not breaking up.”

“Okay, well, that’s good. So we’ll see you guys tomorrow? It’s gorgeous here. We already picked our rooms, by the way, but I left you the middle one. Did you know Thomas is afraid of heights?”

Cleo was silent for a moment. Then she slowly said, “Yes, Oliver. I knew that. We all knew that. How did you not?”

“It . . . never came up? How did you know?”

“From when we went to Walibi? And he refused to go on the Dalton Terror?”

“Oh. I think I was . . . a bit distracted that day.”

Cleo laughed. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Only Sam could make a marriage proposal at a theme park romantic.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” I asked with a grin on my face.

“Yes, it really was.”

I thought we’d say good-bye, but Cleo went on. “Ollie? You know how Thomas never really got into a relationship with anyone?”

I frowned a little, still too caught up on the memory of Sam, my beautiful, sophisticated Sam, kneeling in the middle of a roller coaster ride queue of all places. “Yeah?”

“Well . . .” She sighed. “Never mind.”

“What? You think he found someone?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Probably around eleven.”

“Okay. If we’re not here, I’ll leave the key under the doormat.”

“Yeah, because no burglar ever thinks to look there.”

“Oh, shush.”

Cleo laughed and hung up. I stayed where I was for a minute, running the conversation through my head. Had Thomas met someone? And how had I missed the fear-of-heights thing? My stomach felt strange and unsettled when I left my room. Thomas sat on the far-end couch, away from the window, and I could see him from the top of the stairs.

“It’s just us for tonight,” I said. “Want to go out for dinner?”

He looked up at me, head resting against the couch. His eyes were obsidian and unfathomable in the semidarkness. “Just you and me?”

“Um.” I faltered halfway down the steps. “Yeah. Do you mind?”

“No.” He shifted in the seat, and I could see his face better. He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Not at all. But we bought all that food. I could make the fettuccine?”

“Sure.”

“So why are they not coming down today?”

I shrugged. “Something came up.”

I joined him in the kitchen and nursed a glass of white wine as he rolled turkey meatballs. I offered to help him, but he declined with a wicked little smile and started to chop shallots and garlic like a pro.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I dated a chef for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “There’s something very hot about a woman who knows her way around a set of knives.” I watched his hands as he worked the knife. They were strong, but oddly slender for a man his size. His fingernails were clean, broad, and blunt. “She taught me.”

“Well, you can be the designated cook for the weekend.”

“Sure. I don’t mind. You don’t cook at all?”

“I do, but Sam used to say cleaning kitchens was a waste of time when all we did was work during the day. So I usually made really simple meals.”

“That makes sense,” Thomas said mildly.

He grabbed a cast-iron pan, heated it, and tossed in a bunch of chopped peanuts. While those toasted, he snapped the ends of the peas and rinsed them. He removed the peanuts from the pan. He poured olive oil into it, waited while it heated, and tossed in the shallots and garlic. I was mesmerized. Within minutes the kitchen smelled so fragrant, my stomach gave an impatient growl. I was happy the noise of the exhaust fan drowned it out. I watched as he moved with spare grace and confidence. His shoulder muscles bunched under his T-shirt as he stirred the garlic, and just like that my mouth ran away with me.