Forgive and Forget (6 page)

“I’m telling you, Joe, that man looks at you the way people look at your pies. He wants to take a bite out of you, and I sure do hope you let him.”

“That’s been my plan this whole time,” Joe whispered conspiratorially. “That’s why I’m rushing you out, because we’re going to sit on the couch like a couple of teenagers and you don’t want to be around when the groping starts.”

Bea arched an eyebrow. “No one likes a smartass.”

“But you love me, I know you do. Good night and thank you.” He kissed her cheek and gently shoved her out the door. Once the door was closed, he dropped his head against it with a heavy thud. Thank God, the worst was over.

“They’re really nice. A little… odd, but sweet.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Joe gave a start and spun away from the door, tripping over his own feet in the process. He was getting to know his carpet pretty well these days. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, his eyes shut tight, mostly because he felt Tom kneel down beside him, and he couldn’t find the nerve to face him just yet.

Why was it that when a guy tried his hardest not to look like a complete loon, fate decided to prove that’s just what he was? His life used to be so calm and uneventful. Now there was a tall, sinfully handsome man with no name and a magnetic force strong enough to pull in a cruise ship staying with him. Why did Joe get the feeling he was about to enter deep waters? Two words sprang to mind.

Man overboard!

“Joe? Are you all right?”

Tom’s voice was laced with genuine concern, and when Joe opened his eyes, Tom’s expression was overflowing with it.

“Mm?” was all Joe could muster. He was too enthralled by what he thought he saw to string coherent words together, not to mention Tom’s nearness was sending his pulse soaring like a rocket.

“Thank God. Sorry I scared you. You’re kind of jumpy, aren’t you?”

What was he supposed to say to that? Yes, yes he was. Heat rose to his face. He was blushing, which, thanks to his fair skin and freckles, would be a lot more obvious. Swell. He was grateful when Tom pulled him to his feet.

“Tom, I, um, I should probably warn you. I’m always like this. I’m fidgety, talk to myself, stick my head in ovens and trip over things because when I haven’t got my head stuck in an appliance, it’s up in the clouds somewhere. I run on coffee, and when the coffee’s run out, I still act like I’m running on coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Even when I’m sitting still, my mind’s going at full speed. I’m just telling you this so you don’t think you’re staying with some crazy twit. I’m not crazy or a twit. I know I probably sound like it right now, but I’m pretty certain Jules would have said something if I was certifiably ready for Bedlam, and if you haven’t guessed, I ramble too. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tom chuckled and led Joe over to the couch, pulling him down with him as he sat. He was grinning from ear to ear, and Joe couldn’t figure out what he’d done to be on the receiving end of such a smile. Now that the craziness had somewhat ebbed—or spread—it was too soon to tell—it was a little strange sitting here on his usually empty couch in the middle of his usually empty living room, holding hands with a complete stranger and liking it. Maybe Bea had whacked him a little too hard on the head and
he
was the one lying facedown with a concussion.

“Joe, you don’t have to explain yourself, or be anyone other than you. Not for anyone else and certainly not for me.”

Joe eyed him skeptically. “Yeah?”

“The way Elsie, Donnie, and Bea jump to your defense, shows how much they care about you. Even if you are a little crazy.” Tom laughed softly at Joe’s pout, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Lucky for both of us, I happen to be a guy who doesn’t mind a little crazy.”

“Ah, but you don’t know that,” Joe pointed out, tapping Tom lightly on the head. “You might not like it at all.”

Tom smiled warmly. “If that’s the case, you’re well on your way to changing my mind.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Joe looked down at his hands, still in Tom’s larger ones. Geez, was he really that pale? Next to Tom, he certainly looked it. Then again, the man was bronzed all over. Maybe he was a bouncer at a nightclub. Joe stifled a gasp. What if Tom was a hustler, one of those playboys who got paid to keep wealthy men… entertained? There wasn’t a shortage of naughty nightclubs around here. Then again, Tom wouldn’t have been so angry at the thought of Joe possibly wanting Tom to “repay” him for his kindness. Tom chuckled, and Joe snapped out of it. That had to be the worst idea he’d ever come up with. Bea was right. He was overdramatic.

“You’re drifting off again.”

“Sorry. Started wondering who you might be.” Should he pull his hands out of Tom’s? This was a little strange. Wasn’t it? Yes. Maybe. He discreetly pulled his hand away to scratch a pretend itch on his jaw.

“Conclusion?”

“Uh, you don’t want to know.”

Tom sat back, his eyes alight with amusement. “Try me.”

This should be interesting. “Um, high-end rent boy.”

Tom’s jaw went slack. “A prostitute?”

Well, when you say it like that, of course it sounds bad. “Which is why I said you didn’t want to know.”

Tom stared at him before bursting into laughter. “Joe, you are something else.”

Joe didn’t quite know what to say to that. This was uncharted territory for him, and he was lost in the woods without so much as a matchstick to light his way. Blake had been enough of an experience, thanks very much, and what had it gotten him? A whole lot more than just heartache, that’s what. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Joe stood quicker than he should have and backed away from the couch.

“Um, I’m going to grab another blanket for you. Be right back.” He spun around and all but sprinted to his room, cursing himself for being such a coward.

No, he wasn’t a coward; he was sensible. He had to focus on helping Tom regain his memory and then… then what? Say good-bye, he supposed. He tried not to think about that as he swiftly changed into his own pajamas, then grabbed an extra blanket for Tom, along with some of his own bedding. He went back into the living room, where he found Tom sitting right where he left him, still smiling. The guy sure did smile a lot. Not that Joe was complaining. It was preferable to whatever had led to Tom’s bruised knuckles.

Dropping his pillow and blanket on the armchair to his right, Joe handed over the remaining blanket to Tom, who took it with a “thank you,” his gaze going to Joe’s armchair.

“You’re not planning on sleeping there, are you?” Tom asked.

“How else am I going to keep an eye on you? It’s far more comfortable than the floor. Jules said you needed to be observed, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll wake you up regularly through the night to check you’re okay.”

“Won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ve slept there plenty of times when Bea and the kids have stayed over.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t let you do that, Joe. You’ve done enough for me already. I won’t have you sleeping so uncomfortably in your own home because of me.”

“You’re right,” Joe said with a smile and put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “This
is
my home, and I’ve decided you need to rest and I’m going to keep an eye on you.”

“Okay,” Tom sighed, giving in. Though Joe could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s a bit late for a meal, but how do you feel about some apple and cinnamon pie, and some milk?” Joe asked.

Tom’s eyes lit up and he looked about ready to salivate. “That sounds great.”

Joe motioned for Tom to follow him and he headed into the kitchen. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous about having Tom try his pie. He pointed to the breakfast nook tucked against the corner in his cozy little country-style kitchen and got busy warming up some pie and milk. As he did, he noticed the way Tom took in every inch of the kitchen. Tom did that a lot, it seemed. It was more than curiosity, and a little odd, but he could hardly fault the poor guy for feeling mindful of his surroundings.

Joe’s kitchen wasn’t the biggest, but it was a decent size, warm and bright with its subdued yellows and reds, the white refrigerator, sink, and appliances all matching. The most expensive and well-used appliance was, of course, his oven.

He walked the pie and milk over to Tom and poured a mugful of juice for himself. “It’s not state of the art or anything, but it’s got everything I need. My favorite is this nook. There’s nothing more relaxing than looking out at the garden in the morning with a fresh cup of coffee, watching the sun shine down on the world.” He sat opposite Tom and turned his attention out the window, pretending like he wasn’t about to break out into a cold sweat.

Halfway through, Joe noticed Tom’s brows had drawn together, and he was staring down at his plate. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Dammit, maybe he should have made the guy some toast.
Get a hold of yourself, Joe. It’s just pie.
“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… it tastes… warm. I mean, not temperature-wise, but like… warmth.” Tom looked straight at him, the glow of his smile enough to light up the darkness outside.

“The smell of cinnamon, vanilla… it makes me think of the seaside. Almost like a distant memory, something so far away it’s out of reach, but the feeling from it is still very much alive, and so full of love.” He looked down at his plate with a frown. “Guess that sounds pretty crazy, huh?” When there was no answer, he looked up at Joe, his eyes going wide. Probably due to the stunned expression on Joe’s face. “Joe?”

“My parents used to work a lot when I was a kid,” Joe confessed quietly. “They were farmers, born and raised, so they didn’t really have many options when they moved to the city. They moved here because they wanted me to have a better life than the one they’d had.” Joe shifted awkwardly in his seat and turned his attention back to the window. “On Sundays when they should have been resting, they’d spend every moment of the day with me, taking me all over New York. We’d go to a park or to the beach, Coney Island. We always had picnics with the most amazing pies, cakes, and muffins. The seaside was always my favorite.” He met Tom’s gaze, and smiled wistfully. “We always had apple and cinnamon pie at the seaside. I wonder what my mother would think of the subtle little changes I made to her recipe.” Tom gaped at him, and Joe couldn’t help his shy laugh.

“You…
you
made this?” The awe in Tom’s voice sent a little shudder through Joe.

“It’s just pie,” Joe said feeling embarrassed.

“It’s not just pie, Joe. I won’t let you get away with that. You’re sharing a little piece of yourself with the world, and it’s… amazing. Something this good that makes you feel something? That’s a gift.”

For a moment, Joe sat frozen to the spot, trying to figure out if Tom was just being kind, but the very serious expression on Tom’s handsome face told him he wasn’t. This was ridiculous. No one could
taste
what he had in his heart. Sure, he put everything into his baking, and when he did, he often lost himself in some happy childhood memory, something brief and faint and faraway he would never have or feel again. There was absolutely no possible way Tom—who knew absolutely nothing about Joe, who knew nothing about himself—could have been able to
see
that.

“Joe? What’s wrong?”

Joe gave a little start and shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a really,
really
long day. We’re both tired, and I think I just got a little caught up in some old memories. I’m fine.” No one had ever said anything like that to him before. No one he’d ever known understood him when he talked about tasting memories. They all thought it was him just being screwy again. Now that he was faced with someone who understood, he didn’t know what to do.

“Are you sure?”

Joe nodded. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. Tomorrow we can do some online searches, see what we can find. You finish up, and I’ll leave the lamp on so you won’t trip over anything.” Tom didn’t look convinced, and Joe was grateful when he didn’t push him on the matter.

He left the kitchen and made his way to the small but tidy bathroom. After closing the door, he leaned against the sink. Tomorrow, Jules would tell them how to help Tom, Joe would do it, send the man on his way, and his life would go back to the way it had been. Wouldn’t it? Yes, it would. It had to. After brushing his teeth, he was ready for some much-needed sleep. Joe quietly made his way back to the living room and turned off the lights, leaving just the warm glow of the lamp on the wood coffee table. Then he fluffed his pillow and snuggled under his blanket in the armchair. He’d drifted off to sleep when he dazedly heard his name being called.

“Joe? Are you asleep?”

Damn. He must have been really tired. The room was dark with only the glow of the moon filtering in through the window. Tom must have turned off the lamp at some point, but instead of sleeping, he sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around him while he watched Joe. Here Joe was supposed to be keeping an eye on Tom, not the other way around.
Nice job, Joe.
“Not yet.”

“I meant what I said earlier. You’ve got a gift, Joe. You might not see it, but I do.”

Not entirely sure what he was meant to say to that, Joe still smiled. “Thanks, Tom. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“You’re welcome, Joe. I will. Good night.”

A few seconds later, Joe fell asleep, a smile still on his face.

DARKNESS.

He lay in wait in the shadows, silently listening. There was something he had to do, something important. His life was on the line. Why couldn’t he remember? A sharp pain exploded in the back of his skull, and he fell to his knees, wheezing, and feeling sick to his stomach. They knew! They had to. A heavy weight barreled on top of him, and he struggled with what strength remained, his blood running cold, knowing they had every intention of killing him. They wanted him dead. Why? His head was fuzzy, and the darkness was growing inside, threatening to take over. He couldn’t let them… couldn’t….

Someone called out, reached out for him, but he couldn’t tell if it was someone else looking to put an end to his life. What was happening? The pain was crippling, and his muscles tensed, his body prepared to defend itself. He wouldn’t die, not here, not now, not after everything he’d done. A fierce cry escaped him, and he sprang up, knocking the mass off him and wrestling it to the ground. He pinned strong arms beneath him, surprised when the body stilled, and he heard a soft, lulling voice that had a strange, calming effect on him.