Patchwork Paradise(70)

“Oh.” He rested his head on my shoulder. “Fuck, I really missed you. I’m not used to being at my own house by myself anymore.” He nuzzled my neck, and I had trouble focusing. “Your mom has Milo for the whole weekend, and Cleo is going to keep her company tonight. Cleo called your mom to see if that was okay, since she didn’t want to do it by herself. Did she tell you she broke up with Imran?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s sad. But maybe for the best.”

“I think so too. And then I thought we’d probably be more comfortable in your house since mine is an epic mess right now.” He laughed reluctantly. “I survived with Milo, but that’s pretty much it.”

“That’s . . . that’s fine with me.” I ran my fingers gently through his hair. “So you did okay these last few days?”

“I . . . Yeah.” He lifted his head and looked at me, then cupped my face and kissed me lightly. “I wanted to see if I could do it alone. Be with Milo all by myself. And I could. It was exhausting, but doable. But I kept wondering why I was alone in my house while you were alone in your house, and I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” I whispered, and we stood there, foreheads pressed together in silence for a long time.

“I gave my landlord my notice,” he said. “So if you changed your mind about us moving in here, please tell me now so I can get the panicking out of the way.”

“Are you serious?” I straightened and nearly brained him. “I pretty much decided to sell this place and move wherever you wanted.” I paused. “Within reason. I don’t do rural life.”

Thomas laughed, and he sounded as giddy as I felt. “You’d sell the house?”

“Yes. You were right. I was hung up on the idea of this place meaning something because of Sam. But it’s you and me now. You and me and Milo.”

Thomas closed his eyes and crushed me tight. “This place does mean something,” he said. “And it’s a beautiful house. I want to live here. Together we can take care of the mortgage easily. If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course I’m okay with that. Oh my God. Really?” I sobered. “You’re not feeling obliged to help me pay for this house, are you? We can wait. Not too long, though. I missed you like crazy. But we could if you wanted to.”

“I’m doing it because I love you and I missed you like crazy too. And so did Milo. So what do you say? Roomies?”

“Roomies,” I whispered, and then, because I wanted him to know exactly what I meant by that, “Joint homeowners.”

He grinned at me. “Boyfriends.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“I’m pretty tempted to just stay here,” Thomas said. “But you look so good, it’d be a real waste.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” I ran my hands down his chest, felt the rise and fall of his pecs, the bumps of his nipples. “We could totally stay in.”

“I want to have that date.” He caught my hands and held them before they could trail too low. “A real first date, like we were meant to have.”

My knees still felt a little weak. “That sounds nice.” I squirmed against him, then bit the bullet. “I guess we should talk about expectations.” He frowned at me, and I waved a hand in the air. “You know. Sex-wise. I mean . . . I’ve topped once or twice in my life, but I could, you know. Live without it. You?”

He leaned so close I saw the striations in his irises. “Can I live with f*cking you?” he murmured, and lightly pressed his lips to mine. “Oh f*ck yeah.”



Thomas took me to Het Gerecht, a restaurant where Sam and I used to go for special occasions, but I didn’t tell him that. In a way that made it even nicer to be there, as if Sam were looking down on us and giving his blessing. I sent him some kind thoughts and then gently pushed him from my mind.

The interior was crisp and clean, but warmed through with a dark wooden floor and vibrant red paintings on the white walls. We drank excellent wine and ate even better food. The dishes were deliberately small, with the intention that the diner would choose four or five, and we shared baby lobster with asparagus, lamb with beans, beets and aubergines, trout with hummus, an assortment of breads and cheeses that was to die for, and in the end a delicate vanilla ice cream with red fruits. Every plate was presented so beautifully, it was almost a shame to touch it.

We tried talking about lots of things, but kept coming back to Milo, and that was okay. We were a family. And families talk about their kids.

When Thomas led me to his car, he held me close and kissed my temple. “Did you have a good time?”

“The best,” I said. I tried not to watch the shadows as we walked, but felt relief when we climbed into his car regardless. I wondered if that was a fear I was going to carry for the rest of my life. Maybe it would be, but I wasn’t about to let it stop me from living my life.

“You okay?” Thomas asked. He took his hand off the gear stick for a second and squeezed my knee.

“Yeah. Just remembering things.” I smiled to make sure he knew I wasn’t hurting.

“It’s okay to think about him, you know.”

“I know.”

We drove home in silence, and nervous anticipation about how the night would continue tickled my spine. Until now we’d always sort of landed on the couch in desperation when we thought we had a moment to ourselves. This deliberate drive toward an empty house, with only one plausible outcome, was something else altogether.