Patchwork Paradise(51)

“What were you going to ask, Ollie?” Thomas said, so softly I had to look up again.

“Oh, nothing that can’t wait. Night, Thomas.”

His fingers curled around my elbow, and suddenly he was very close.

“I don’t think it can wait.” He ran his hand through my hair, cupped my jaw, and thumbed my cheekbone before gently resting his hand at the back of my neck. I was caught in his gaze as I stared up at him, his face in shadow in the semidarkness of the hallway. He was so gorgeous, I thought my knees might give out. When he spoke again, I couldn’t look away from his full mouth. “I’ve always thought you were pretty amazing,” he murmured. “But today you just about blew my mind.”

“Likewise,” I managed.

“What were you going to ask?”

“If . . . if you wanted to go downstairs and watch some TV.” I swallowed hard and bit my lip. “And maybe cuddle.”

He broke into a slow smile. “Is that all?” He moved infinitesimally closer. He had faint freckles on his nose, a very small scar running through his left eyebrow that I’d never noticed before. Something inside me gave way.

“No,” I said and gripped his T-shirt. “No, it’s not.”

His hand tightened on the back of my neck and we shared—right there in front of the room where his child slept, in this house where I had dreamed of a future with Sam—a real first kiss I would never forget. We slipped together like lock and key. My mouth fit to his so perfectly, it was as if we’d been kissing our whole lives.

Without a second thought I opened up for him, and his arms tightened around me. All I could think was yes as, for a few blissful seconds, my body and mind let go of the grief. Sam was with me, for the briefest of moments, and then his warmth was gone. I didn’t need it anymore.

Thomas moaned softly as I shifted, pushing closer. That little sound nearly undid me, because I heard what it meant for him too. I felt how his large body trembled, and the happiness in me grew so huge I could hardly stand it.

When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to mine and petted my hair, running his fingers through the strands as if he’d wanted to do that for a long time.

“Wow, Ollie,” he whispered, laughing softly. “That was really . . .”

“Yeah,” I said, my mouth throbbing a little. “I would definitely be in favor of moving this to the couch and doing more of it. TV can be on or off, I don’t actually care.”

He gave me a look like he thought maybe the couch bit was optional too, and the carpet right here would do fine, thank you, but he angled his body in such a way that I immediately understood it wasn’t going to happen. He stroked my arms at the same time, so I tried not to feel rejected. He sighed.

“I really want to, Ollie. But for one thing—” he nodded at the baby monitor he’d dropped and I hadn’t even noticed “—and for another, I kind of want to take this slow right now. There’s too much . . .” He shook his head. “I’ve wanted this for too long,” he whispered. “I can’t f*ck this up.”

“Aw, Thomas.” I cupped his cheeks and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You’re not going to f*ck this up. But slow is good. You have enough change going on in your life right now.”

“Okay.” He pulled me against him and hugged me. “I meant it though. You’re amazing.”

I closed my eyes and smiled against his chest even as I reminded myself that letting my hands drift down to cop a little feel of his nice, pert ass would ruin the moment.

We parted in the hallway, and he went into his bedroom while I went down to wait for Mom.

She got back around ten and sat beside me on the couch. From the way she said nothing for a long time, I knew she actually had a lot to say, and I could sort of guess what direction her thoughts were taking.

Just as I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, she said, “If you do this, you can’t go into it without considering all the consequences. Not when there’s a child involved. You haven’t been in a relationship since Sam, and it might hurt in the beginning. So if you decide to go for it . . . make sure you know this is really what you want.” She took my hand in hers and squeezed it.

“He’s great though, isn’t he?” I asked.

When I looked at her, she had tears in her eyes, but they only made her smile shine even more. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got it bad,” she said, and laughed. “Go to bed, because tomorrow will be another long day.”

“Did Thomas ask you about the babysitting?”

“Yes, he did. And of course I’ll do it.” She kissed my temple and rose to her feet. “Night Oliver.”

“Night, Mom.”

Exhaustion seeped into my bones as I brushed my teeth and changed clothes. I sneaked between the covers, too tired to even do something about the hard-on I was carrying around.

Sometime during the night I did think I heard the baby crying, but I slipped right back into sleep until morning.



Milo woke up everyone at once early that Sunday morning. While I’d barely heard him during the night, that siren wail at 6 a.m. was unavoidable. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and ratty T-shirt to make coffee for whoever was on diaper duty—because it wouldn’t be me—and bumped into a bleary-eyed Thomas who was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a tiny baby pressed to his naked chest. If I had ovaries, I’d have been instantly pregnant.