Читать книгу Lost in You - Sommer Marsden - Страница 10

I wandered around the small restaurant and tried not to stare at him. He’d returned from his jaunt very fast, just as promised. He’d been sporting a grin and a black pullover hoodie that said NANTUCKET WOOD across the front.

I had yet to ask where that had come from, but seeing it reminded me of the fact that I was wearing his sweater. I tugged the sleeves down a bit and tucked my fingers inside the warmth. I tried to be sneaky about dipping my head and breathing in the scent of him from the soft fabric. Between wearing his clothes and that kiss – God, that kiss would not leave my mind – I was surrounded by Dorian’s scent. And it was potent, bringing out feelings of contentment and safety. Things I rarely let myself enjoy.

I always seemed to be on guard, ready to fight my way through the world. To a degree, that had always been my personality, but it had become worse since my mother left. Borrowing problems, kicking ass and taking names, as my grandmother often joked.

Thinking of her sent a spike of bright uncomfortable fear through me. I glanced up to see him watching me, half smiling because I still had my nose tucked inside the neck of his sweater.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, flipping the grilled sandwich he was making. It smelled heavenly. I’d had no idea how hungry I was until Dorian started cooking.

‘No. I mean, a little. It’s the …’ I shivered, shrugging my shoulders.

‘The dampness.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’

I’d already asked twice and been turned down both times, the answer a soft ‘Let someone do for you.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sure. Why not have a seat, have your drink. I bet if I dig around in the back, John and Nancy have a bottle of wine stashed somewhere. Or a box. They like their vino but they’re green. They like those boxes that hold about two big bottles of wine and there’s less waste. I never did get into wine much,’ he said, busying himself at the flat top.

‘Maybe later,’ I said, though part of me wanted to say yes right away. Yes, wine! Maybe it could distract me from how he seemed to be a magnet drawing me to him. I’d seen none of the cocky, entitled attitude I would have expected from someone like Dorian. And then I felt rather ashamed of my assumptions.

I walked the length of the restaurant studying the framed photos of what must be the couple who owned Soho’s Retreat. They were smiling and happy in every single shot. Often holding hands or draping arms around each other. In a more recent photo Nancy was toting a baby on her hip, and John gazing at his wife and child, looking very satisfied.

What was that like? That life? Being so connected to someone, enough to bring a life into the world.

‘You ever think about it?’

I jumped a little, but covered with a smile. Turning to Dorian, I steadied my voice before speaking. ‘Sure. I mean, I guess. Everyone thinks about it to a degree, right? I think we’re – especially girls, maybe – all pre-programmed to want that. Marriage and kids, right? What else is there?’ I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes.

I could hear that my voice was much more clipped and angry than I’d intended. I hadn’t meant to sound so … bitter.

He watched me without talking and stirred a big pot of canned soup. ‘I bet you’re right. Girls especially. But you sound like maybe …’ He stopped talking and slipped the grilled sandwiches on to two white dinner plates. Then very carefully, as if cooking was something he enjoyed – even if it was only heating – he cut them diagonally. Small soup bowls were placed on the plate and he ladled tomato soup into each. Finally he looked at me and finished his thought. ‘Maybe you don’t buy into that whole thing.’

Suddenly I was exhausted. The whole day weighed down on me so I was almost sure my knees would buckle. I took a seat at one of the tables, right beneath the photo of the happy family.

When he joined me, I smiled. ‘Thank you. This looks awesome. I appreciate you making me lunch. Dinner?’ I laughed. ‘What time is it anyway?’

‘Just about linner time.’

‘Linner time?’

‘That magical hour between lunch and dinner when you get hungry.’

‘Ah.’ I bit into a small pickle wedge he’d added to the plate along with some chips. ‘You thought of everything.’

He shrugged. ‘I never got to mess around in the kitchen as a kid. There were always people to do that for us. So, I never got to make the post-Thanksgiving disgusting leftover sandwich or incredibly messy but fun cookies. Now that no one can stop me, I like to mess around in the kitchen.’

I bit into my sandwich and groaned. The cured ham and cheese were in perfectly grilled bread with some kind of sauce. The bread had been frozen in one of the few freezer cabinets not switched off. The sandwich filling was gooey and fattening and wonderful. ‘Comfort food at its finest,’ I said. ‘You can mess around in my kitchen any time.’

I caught his glance, a hungry glance indeed that had zero to do with food. My stomach trembled with that free-fall feeling and I took a deep breath, averting my eyes before I did something like beg him to kiss me.

‘You know what I mean,’ I whispered, not looking at him.

Dorian chuckled and patted my hand. The touch, whether he knew it or not, was electric, sending a warmth over my skin. ‘I know what you mean. You can’t blame me for hoping you meant something else, though.’

I smiled. ‘I don’t blame you.’

‘So now, answer my question. You’re almost as good at being evasive as me. Ever thought about a family?’

‘No.’ I said it fast and blunt and immediately regretted it. I sipped some soup to give my stupid mouth something to do. ‘It doesn’t mean that one day I wouldn’t change my mind, but family doesn’t mean to me what it does to some.’

‘Neither does money, I see. I mean, the ham on here is Serrano. The cured ham is some damn pure-bred organic happy fucking ham that gets massages and beer and is twenty-two dollars a pound. The cheddar is forty dollars a pound. It’s all I could find. The perishables are long gone. I doubt you care?’

I laughed out loud when he mentioned the ham and said, ‘Really? Massages?’

He grinned. ‘No, not really. I mean, the price, yes. But not all that. It’s just organic and farm-raised and slaughtered cruelty-free and yada yada yada.’

‘Anyway, you’re right,’ I hurried on, trying to take a bite of my meal while I gathered my thoughts. ‘Money doesn’t do anything for me. Look, my dad had lots of money and when he slept with my mother he started a family. He didn’t plan it, but then …’ I studied the paisley-painted table top and chewed my bottom lip.

Dorian touched my hand again briefly but said nothing. Just a warm pressure on my hand that only lasted a few moments.

‘My mom didn’t plan it either,’ I said. ‘But, funny, she was around and he wasn’t. Not so much. He had money coming out his – he had money,’ I amended, taking a deep breath. ‘But he was gone with the wind and my mom ended up a single mom working two jobs anyway. So family, conventional family, isn’t a big draw to me. And neither is money. No one with money has ever been my saviour.’ I ate a big bite before I started to cry but quickly said around a mouthful of food, ‘And I’m sorry I’m being so angry. I just learned very early on there’s a class structure, is all.’

He sat back and rubbed his face. With a groan and a half smile he said, ‘I’m sorry I keep poking you to tell me stuff. It’s none of my business.’ He waved his hands around. ‘We’re stuck here and I find you pretty damn fascinating.’ He looked me dead in the eye. ‘And attractive, let’s not forget that.’

He paused, then: ‘Is that what you think of us? That there’s a class structure between you and me?’

‘Well, isn’t there?’ Why was my throat so thick with emotion? It was damn embarrassing and I wanted this to end. ‘It’s OK, though,’ I said, trying to blow it off. ‘That’s life, isn’t it? If everyone were the same how boring life would be. Or similar bullshit.’ I laughed a bit wildly and hoped he didn’t notice.

Dorian looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. His eyes were kind. I wondered if this stupid conversation would be easier if they weren’t.

The bite I was swallowing seemed to double in size in my throat. I watched his hand cover mine and squeeze. Then he traced each finger with the tip of his own so that I could suddenly, miraculously feel my pulse in my temple, my ears, between my legs.

‘I don’t really think that at all,’ he said softly. ‘But I seem to be provoking you and I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m more that kind of girl,’ I said, pointing to his liberated sweatshirt.

‘A furniture-store girl?’ He took a huge bite of his sandwich and waited for me to explain.

‘A beach-food person. You can keep your fancy turkeys and cheddars. I just like to be on the sand with a plate of something yummy and easy.’

‘Or lobster.’

‘Lobster’s good,’ I said and laughed.

‘Good to know,’ he said and we went back to eating.

I was pretty sure I’d scared him. I wouldn’t blame him if I had.

* * *

Dorian had managed to get the TV working and had found that box of wine. We sat with our feet propped on extra chairs, sipping good boxed vino and watching storm coverage.

The newswoman who was talking was usually the early-morning hostess, so she’d likely been on the air all day. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen listed flooded areas, evacuation routes, shelters being opened for people who needed to leave their homes, reported fires. People were being advised to stay inside and off the roads to allow emergency personnel to get to their destinations with ease. Staying home could save many lives.

I gulped my wine and tried not to feel anxious, reminding myself that this was news, after all. And their job was not just to report but to get you to watch, so a small amount of sensationalism had to be factored in.

‘You holding up?’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘Your glass is starting to show stress fractures.’

I glanced, horrified, at one of the two short wine glasses he’d dug up. ‘I – it is not!’

Dorian laughed. ‘Yeah, but you are holding it a bit tight.’

‘I am not good at disasters. I tend to get agitated. I am a bit of a control freak, in case that escaped you.’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all.’

I snorted. ‘Anything that I have no control over such as a quote super-storm unquote makes me twitchy.’

‘There have been three deaths due to this super-storm,’ the newscaster said, and we both went silent. ‘The most recent being a woman in her eighties at the senior home on Mount –’

I stood up quickly and turned towards the doorway.

‘Clover! Wait, I’m coming with you.’

I walked outside the store and waited, regulating my breathing. I was embarrassed beyond belief at my reaction but couldn’t seem to help it. And then I got angry wondering what the fuck I was sorry for. Being scared?

‘I should have realised they’d be reporting –’

‘It’s fine. I just needed to get up and move. Where’s the wine?’

He raised an eyebrow at me and I nearly leaned in to recreate that kiss.

‘On the table. Want me to get it?’

‘That and some of the soda cups. Let’s go for a walk.’

‘Booze and cruise?’

‘Exactly. A little stroll, a little wine. Anything but sitting there listening to doom and disaster.’

‘Stay right here. We’ll be good to go in a second.’

I heard the TV go off and then him behind the counter. Within a moment he was back, a box of wine by his side. I held a cup under the spigot and poured. Then I handed it to him and poured myself one.

‘Ready?’ I asked. I was ready. Ready to slough off the panic that had settled over me while watching the updates.

‘I am. This is the best date ever,’ he said, laughing and toasting me with a plastic cup.

I didn’t react to the word date. I’d die first. I knew he didn’t mean it, it was just a figure of speech.