Patchwork Paradise(3)

“Maybe we’ll find an old crib,” I teased. “For all those babies we’re going to adopt when we’re married.”

He pretended to glare at me. “No babies. Not even furry ones.”

I squeezed his arm to let him know I was only teasing, and we walked on in silence. The streets grew busier, and when we neared the Nine Barrels, we could hear the music spilling out into the night.

As he always did before we went inside, Samuel pulled me close and kissed me lightly on the mouth. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too, Sam,” I said. If I’d known it’d be the last time he’d ever hear me say it, I would never have let go.



The Nine Barrels itself was a tiny place, but the front door didn’t open up straight into the restaurant. The building was old and gorgeous, with a little courtyard that had been covered with a concave glass roof two stories up. The owner had crammed in a few tables and chairs there, with small trees and flowerpots strategically positioned to give patrons the idea they were still outside.

The left and right of the courtyard held stores that had closed hours ago. Small groups of people were murmuring over their porto and tapas. We pushed our way past. As soon as we entered the restaurant, loud music assaulted our ears, and my eyes fell on Cleo dancing on top of the bar. Simultaneously we looked at each other and laughed.

“Night shifts?” I asked Samuel, and he grinned.

“Most likely.”

Cleo was an ER nurse with a brutal schedule, but she figured she needed to work the hardest while she was young and childless. Her boyfriend Imran stood in the corner of the restaurant, chatting with a bunch of people I didn’t know, but as soon as he saw us, he excused himself and made his way over.

“Where’s Thomas?” I asked as we hugged hello. Imran nodded toward the other end of the bar from where Cleo was dancing. Thomas was patiently waiting for the bartender’s attention. He turned and gave us a little wave, as if he had heard me.

“You want something to drink?” Samuel asked.

“Sure.” I dug for my wallet, but Samuel stilled my hand.

“I got it,” he said, and I bit my tongue. Money was the only real argument we’d ever had, and we’d only had it once, but that didn’t mean I could always keep a lid on the trickle of embarrassment I felt whenever he paid for me.

“What’s yours is mine,” he’d told me once, “and what’s mine is yours. We’re going to be married one day, so what difference does it make now?”

Since we’d only been eighteen at the time, that counterargument had shut me up effectively. But these days I had a decent wage of my own as a medical software consultant. He’d been asking to make our accounts joint since we moved into his grandmother’s house four years ago, but I wanted to wait until we really were married.

He winked at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking and then walked up to Thomas to take over the drink ordering.

Cleo and I had played naked together in the paddling pool when we were three, so she was pretty much considered my sister—and Samuel’s too. Imran had joined our little triumvirate when he began dating Cleo. Their affair had been the dirtiest gossip her nursing school had ever known. Imran had been a resident at the hospital where Cleo had started her first practical, and needless to say, the authorities were not pleased. They’d lasted, though, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he popped the question at our wedding. The thunder stealer.

Thomas de Ridder had been the last addition to our group of friends. He had slipped in almost unnoticed three years ago. As head of IT at one of the hospitals where I’d had to install new software and familiarize everyone with it, he’d spent a lot of time with me. When I’d asked him to join us for a drink after a really late night, he’d agreed. He’d been quiet, and I’d wondered if I’d made a mistake not warning him about my having a boyfriend. But he’d agreed to join us again the next time, and after that he never left.

I watched Sam and Thomas kiss each other on the cheek, then talk for a minute before Thomas grinned and lifted his hands. If you want to stand in line, be my guest. Or something like that. He scanned the crowd, spotted someone, looked in our direction, and winked before moving in for the kill.

My fears about Thomas being homophobic had long since proven to be grossly unfounded. As he wove through the crowd, I had no clue who his target would be. The gorgeous brick of a guy who looked like he could be a professional triathlete? Or the short girl with a blonde bob and an impressive—even to me—pair of boobs? It didn’t matter who it was. Thomas wouldn’t be joining us again for the rest of the night. He was an unapologetic, self-proclaimed slut who would “settle down when I find the one, and how can I possibly find the one unless I try them all?”

I shook my head and left him to it, watching as Samuel fought the crowd to the small table I’d been able to secure.

He put everyone’s beers on the laminated wood. Thomas’s drink would most likely go untouched, so I appropriated it with a cheeky smile. Sam kissed the top of my head and straddled a chair. “You going to join Cleo soon?”

“I need some liquid courage first,” I said and pushed the lime into one of my beers. Imran tapped the neck of his bottle to mine, and we drank. “Water, Sam?” I asked when I saw him sip his glass.

He smiled at me and ran a hand through my hair, tugging it lightly. “Yeah. Don’t feel like drinking tonight, but you go on. I know you’ve been looking forward to the weekend.”