Patchwork Paradise(26)

“Oh, I didn’t think it was painfully awkward. I mean, you’re no Johnny Deep, but . . .”

He threw his head back and laughed again. It was a nice sound with a fluid move. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who laughed a lot.

“I’m going to get a beer,” he said. “Do you want one?”

“Oh, sure, yes. I’ll have whatever you’re having. And the next one’s on me.”

He gave me a shy little smile and rose to his feet. I took advantage of his distraction with the bartender and subjected him to some scrutiny. Tall, yes, absolutely. A cheap haircut. His hair was dark with rain now, but I knew from the photo on his profile that it was blonder than mine. He had very broad shoulders and thick thighs stuck in a pair of comfortable jeans. He wore an off-white woolly sweater that looked prickly. Nothing like Sam with his tailored suits and manicured hands. I imagined Peter’s hands would be rough and slightly callused, and oh my God, what was I doing thinking of his hands?

He came back with two Blonde Leffes and slid one over to me. “This okay?”

“Perfect.” We touched glasses and sipped. “So how does this go? Do I ask you to tell me a little bit about yourself or is that a job interview?”

He smiled and leaned forward. The firelight beside us caught his face, and oh dear, his eyes were very blue. “In a way this is a job interview, isn’t it? So yes, sure, ask away.”

“Okay.” I straightened my back, imagined what my boss had looked like all those years ago when I’d been interviewed, and asked him in a stern voice, “Well, Peter, why don’t you start with telling me why you think you’re perfect for this job.”

Peter snorted in his beer and had to reach for a napkin to dab his chin. “Nice,” he said. “Look what you made me do.” My face heated but I stuck with the moment and raised one eyebrow at him. “Okay. Jeez, um. I think I’m a catch, all right? I own a house with a veterinary practice attached to it, I have two dogs and a cat, no kids, no skeletons in my closet, and only a mildly nosy family.”

He looked so awkward I took pity on him. “What’s your family like?”

He relaxed a little. “I have two older sisters and one younger brother. My parents are still together and we get along really fine.” He shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What about you?”

“I work as a medical software consultant here in Antwerp.”

“Oh. What does that mean?”

“I install medical software and help nurses and doctors become familiar with it.” There was more to it than that, but I didn’t want to go into the boring details. “It’s fun, although I could do with less getting stuck in traffic.”

“Do you live around here?”

“Yes, I live on the south side, close to the hospital.”

“Nice. What about your family? Did you grow up in the neighborhood?”

“I did. I have a brother who’s ten years older,” I said. “My dad died when I was eighteen.”

His face softened. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.” A lull fell in the conversation, and we drank our beers. Now what? Did I tell him about Samuel? Was that a second-date discussion? A third one? I had no idea. He frowned a little. “What’s up?”

“I . . .” Well, this loss was part of me now. A big part. And while I didn’t know whether I’d ever see Peter again, I didn’t want to keep this a secret. The idea of talking about this to a stranger also appealed. I wouldn’t have to worry about making him feel sad by mentioning Sam, since he hadn’t known Sam and didn’t know me. “The thing is . . . my friends made me go on that dating site. I was in a relationship for a really long time. Since I was sixteen, actually.” My voice faltered a little, and I reached for my water.

“Wow, that’s a long time. You broke up?” he asked me gently.

Oh, he was a good guy. I could tell. He’d be gentle with animals, and he’d be a sweet boyfriend. My heart lurched uncomfortably, and I began to sweat.

“He died,” I said and wiped my palms on my too-tight jeans. “He was murdered six months ago.”

Peter gasped. “Oh my God. I read about that. On the docks? The parking lot?”

I nodded. “Yes.” Shit, I was about to lose it. I took a shuddery breath and wedged my hands between my knees. Behind him, the bar had started to fill up, and Peter looked around.

“Look, do you want to get out of here? Nothing . . . nothing like that,” he quickly added when I gave him a sharp look. “We can talk about this some other time, if you want. Or we can have coffee at my place. I live close. I promise I won’t try anything, but you look like you don’t want to be here anymore. I’d suggest going for a walk but—” He snapped his mouth shut, maybe realizing he was babbling. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” I thought about it for two seconds. The buzz of the other patrons grated on me. “Getting out of here sounds perfect. Tell me your address though, so I can warn my friends I might be ax-murdered tonight.”

He laughed and winced at the same time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t find that funny under the circumstances.” He rattled off his address, and I typed it in, sending it to Thomas instead of Cleo because I could count on him not to send me twenty squeeing messages.