Patchwork Paradise(34)

“Why did you come to see me?” he asked softly.

“I thought maybe we should talk.”

He looked at me steadily, and I found it hard to keep his gaze. “We don’t have to, you know. I understand.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” I said. “Because I have no clue what’s going on. Cleo told me—” I faltered.

“What?”

I said nothing and he nudged me.

“It’s okay. You can tell me. What did she say?”

“That you’ve been in love with me for years,” I managed to croak, blood rising to my cheeks.

He smiled serenely at the sky. “I’m surprised she kept it a secret for this long. I never wanted you to know or feel awkward about it. But yes, she’s right.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

He gently squeezed my shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s not on you. It never was. It was my problem and mine alone. I never expected anything of you, Ollie. Especially after . . . after Sam died.”

I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not, but I wanted to touch him somehow, so I took his hand and held it. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?” His fingers tightened on mine. My hands were cold, and the heat of his felt so good I never wanted to let go. “We’ve been good friends. Great friends, even. I don’t want that to change.”

“But you’re leaving.” I was mortified when my voice broke on the last word.

“Ah, Ollie.” He gently worked his hand loose and hugged me close. I wondered if I should be the one comforting him. “I’m not leaving you. I’m taking a little bit of the dream you offered when you gave me that map. And we’ll talk, won’t we? Whenever we can. I don’t want this to change anything.”

“Me neither,” I whispered. I pressed my face into his shoulder for a moment and then sat up and looked at him. He was so young with his hair short, so much more vulnerable. I reached out and ran my hands through it. He closed his eyes. “I was pretty drunk that night. But I really liked that kiss.”

His eyes flew open. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I’ve been beating myself up about it all week.”

“I’m not. I’m telling the truth.” My heart began to race, and I realized I wanted to kiss him again. It would be an incredibly selfish thing to do though, because I had no idea what I could offer him, if this was me responding only to being wanted. It hung in the air between us. The tension crackled. I could tell he knew what I was thinking. His eyes darkened to pools of liquid heat, and a jolt of desire I hadn’t experienced since I was with Sam awakened me from the inside out.

“I liked it too,” he whispered. He cupped my face in his big hands and pressed his forehead to mine. “So much. But I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

I made a breathy sound. He kissed my temple, my eyelids. I tilted my chin, still not really knowing what I wanted, apart from him here, close. He hesitated, then let me go, and it felt like I was falling.

“I should finish packing up.”

Unable to speak, I nodded. We stood in silence and walked the rickety iron suspension bridge that crossed the narrow part of the lake. When we reached his house again, I was cold to the bone. I had no idea what to say to him, so I hugged him tight instead. His arms wrapped around me like a warm security blanket.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured into my hair.

“I’ll miss you too. Be safe. And call me.”

He nodded and took a step back, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “Bye, Ollie,” he said and walked into his house.

Suddenly I wanted to rush after him, beg him not to go, because I feared he’d come back a different person. But I didn’t have the right to do that, wasn’t in a place where I could, so I got in my car and drove home.





“Is he still pining?”

“I’m not pining.” I drew a heart in the condensation ring of my beer. Oh my God, I was pining. I sat up. “It’s all this Valentine’s rubbish, okay? It’s been going on since the beginning of January. Christmas decorations go down, and suddenly wild hearts appear everywhere. I’m sick of it.”

“Aw, honey. You’ve never been alone for Valentine’s, have you?”

“No.” I propped my cheek up with my fist and continued drawing in the condensation.

“So, what, are you . . . in love with Thomas now?” Imran eyed me warily, like I might bite his nose off. For a second I wanted to, but I just sighed. My stomach felt tight with confusion. I couldn’t seem to find any peace, torn one minute between missing Thomas and feeling guilty about it the next.

I hadn’t heard from Sam’s parents either, and every time I thought about Thomas and how much I wanted him near, I wondered if I even deserved to keep the house. And yet every morning I woke up, and every evening I came home from work, the place felt a little more mine. Sam was still there, in the furniture and the walls and the empty spaces in between. But his presence was an afterthought now, part of the building, like the touch of the architect who’d built it.

“I don’t know. I guess I miss him, and whenever we talk on the phone, it’s for hours and I feel happy.”

“Sounds like love to me,” Cleo mumbled. Imran elbowed her, and she sniggered. They’d been getting along a lot better since their little fallout at my house.