Patchwork Paradise(18)

“So do you prefer boys or girls?”

Thomas nearly dropped the fresh pasta he’d been about to toss in a boiling pot of water. “I . . . What?” He gave me a wide-eyed stare, and my cheeks heated.

“I’m sorry. That was super inappropriate. I was . . . curious. I mean, you obviously enjoy cooking, and I was wondering why you never had a steady relationship and—” Oh God, stop talking. “Never mind. Shit, can we pretend I didn’t say anything?”

I couldn’t read the look he gave me, but he laughed a little and turned back to the burner. “I don’t have a preference,” he said. “Sometimes I find myself attracted to a girl I meet, and sometimes it’s a boy. I don’t have any control over it. And I guess I’m not . . . ready for a relationship.”

I worried my lip. I’d offended him somehow, and I had to bite back another apology. I wished he’d meet my eyes. “That’s fine, obviously.” I cringed at my stupidity but pushed on. “I was wondering if that’s something you’d ever want, and who you’d want it with. But that’s none of my business.”

Thomas stopped stirring whatever he was stirring. “Well,” he said. “I certainly don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I haven’t been able to convince anyone to stick with me so far.”

You haven’t tried, I nearly said, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. “Food smells good,” I said weakly, and he laughed.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll lure someone in with my cooking.” He planted a plate in front of me. Fettuccine with snap peas, peanuts, and a delicate white sauce that made my nostrils flare. I took a bite as he watched me.

I moaned and closed my eyes. “Sold,” I said, and when I opened my eyes, he was staring at me like I’d said something wrong again. “Uh, it’s really nice, I mean.”

He nodded and turned away to plate his own food.

I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong, but it was something. “My dad was a good cook too,” I told him. “Mom did all the work around the house, but Dad was responsible for grocery shopping and cooking. We were a bit lost when he died. I think my mother ate scrambled eggs and toast for dinner for months.”

“Did you get on well with your parents?”

I shrugged. “We didn’t fight or hate each other or anything, but we weren’t close like Sam’s family.” Dull pain stabbed my chest, but I ignored it. “I actually have a brother who is ten years older than I am. I never see him or talk to him. I’m closer to my mom these days, though.” Maybe because she knew what it was like to lose the person you loved.

Thomas sat beside me at the kitchen island. “I had no idea. I thought you were an only child.”

“No, but I may as well have been. By the time I was seven, he was away at college, and I never really saw him much after that.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s an insurance broker or something. I’m not actually sure.”

“Why did you fall out?”

“I don’t think it was one specific thing. I remember he used to hate it when our parents paid attention to me. He kicked me once when I was a little baby.”

“Aw jeez, Ollie. That’s awful.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I remember it.”

I watched him take small bites from his food. As he bent forward, a thick strand of hair sprang loose from the tight bun. He reached behind him and undid it so a brown curtain covered his face. Without thinking, I lifted my hand and touched it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair this thick on a guy,” I said, and he went still.

“Yeah, I have my mother’s hair. Dad has thick hair too, but nothing like this.” He pulled his hair back again in a ponytail, and I let it slip from my fingers.

I squinted at him. “You ever think about cutting it?”

“All the time.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

How did I keep messing up? I was missing something, and I didn’t get it. Did he not want to be here alone with me? Did he feel awkward because of Sam’s death?

Or was I acting inappropriately?

I sat back and stirred my pasta. “The food’s really tasty,” I repeated lamely, and stopped trying to make conversation.



Imran and Cleo arrived sometime the next morning, but I wasn’t there to see them. If the world were a fair place, I’d have been at home right then. Probably tired after a nervous, sleepless night, but wired on adrenaline as I got dressed in a tuxedo for our big day, and Sam did the same.

The previous night with Thomas had unsettled me, made me question a friendship I’d counted on for years. I didn’t want to spend the morning with him moving awkwardly around me, not knowing what to say. So I’d risen bright and early, put on my hiking boots, and found a trail that led up to the castle and beyond it. I climbed the hill and found a peaceful spot where I could watch the town wake.

Had I counted on my friendships though? Or had I lived in a bubble of bliss with Samuel, only surfacing a few nights a week to socialize and have fun? I hadn’t been there for their troubled times.

Around nine my phone had buzzed, but I didn’t look at it until past ten.

You okay?

Thomas. I sighed and swiped my thumb across the screen. His profile photograph was an off-center picture of him, laughing at something to his right. He was really gorgeous, in a rugged way. Samuel had been distinguished and elegant, but a little unavailable looking to people who didn’t know him. Thomas, however, was lovely in a comforting, I-can’t-stop-looking-at-you sort of way.