Page 10 of Vine (Island Love #3)

CHAPTER 9

MAX

I’m not obsessing. Pale cheeks. I’m not obsessing. Pale cheeks. I sorted through the day’s haul of empty oyster shells, searching for the nicest, telling myself it was good distraction, even though I was choosing a shell to paint for him. Which was okay because I was only painting one. Not five or ten or twenty or 100. Because that was not normal, just like making thirty rope pots was not normal or reciting the mean weight of every breed of dog.

I’m not obsessing, I’m not obsessing, pale cheeks, I’m not obsessing. Golden retriever 27.2 kilograms. Pale cheeks, I’m not obsessing. But, mon dieu, the urge was strong.

Colette had taught me a few handy tricks for moments like this. My favourite was to imagine I was steering a car down a narrow straight road with lots of side roads leading off. Each one looped back to a repetitive thought or idea or person. On this occasion, they circled back to Caspian, short-circuiting to his sad eyes and pale cheeks. Like a higher force determined to take a wrong turn, I craved to slip down each one, my brain fighting to override my hands on the wheel.

But I wasn’t going to take a wrong turn, because every side road I managed to drive past was a win, a score of ten points. I enjoyed counting. If I reached 100 points, the side roads petered out. I’d arrived at my destination. My boomerang brain had been defeated. I was strong.

Presenting him with one painted shell was quite normal, though, right? Caspian had presented me a gift, and so I could give him one in return. He’d picked up a painted shell and admired it. If it hadn’t been painted for éti, I’d have let him keep it. So now Caspian would have his own, with a twisting green vine, not a seahorse, decorating it. And it would be perfect.

I was peculiar, a well-established fact. I could assign myself a label. I could sit around with clever doctors debating where I sat on a spectrum , as though choosing the perfect shade of blue on a paint chart, but what was the point? I was still me, my mind was still mine, and a label wouldn’t change that. So what if I came armed with a unique set of skills turning any potentially romantic situation into an awkward one? And that I’d never captivate people like Florian, or charm them like Nico? I just had to work harder at it than most.

After all, a few things stood in my favour. An unshakeable belief in my own worth, for one, even if few others shared that belief with me. My parents had gifted me that. Furthermore, I had my own home, money, and good teeth. And I was attracted to Caspian and not obsessing about him even though every atom in my oddly wired brain demanded it.

Not obsessing. Fighting it. Pale cheeks. Only painting one shell.

Navigating other people’s sense of self, however, especially gauging their emotions, remained an ongoing challenge. Some people read other people’s feelings simply by studying their faces for a few seconds. When I tried this, all I saw was chins and noses and blackheads.

Fortunately, I was in the presence of two experts. Nico and Florian had invaded my secluded corner of L’Escale.

“How do I know if he likes me?” I tucked my bag of shells under the table, away from prying eyes.

“Who?”

“The television man. Sitting over there with his friend.”

Like a couple of screech owls, Nico and Flor swivelled their heads around and stared really obviously at Caspian. And everyone said I was the odd one? Fortunately, he was deep in conversation with his friend, Emma, and didn’t notice.

“He’s cute,” Florian observed. “Do you… erm… know him?”

They traded glances, which I’d learned stood for anxiety, and sighed. People forever watching out for you not to fuck up was nice, but also quite irritating.

“Of course I know him. He’s the one that banged his head. He bought me a nice present to say thank you.”

And he doesn’t pull away when I kiss him. I kept the kissing to myself, in case Nico suspected it was more than a simple au revoir . As my brother gave me a long hard stare, I counted my fingers with my thumbs and made my face a blank space. I must have passed the test.

“I’m sure he likes you,” said Florian warmly, because he wasn’t such a suspicious bugger. “What’s not to like?”

I deduced that was one of those questions not requiring a proper response entailing a list of my faults. “I showed him my whittling jack,” I said instead.

“I bet you did.” My brother smirked, not sure why, so I ignored him.

“He comes to visit my house and hangs around for a while.” And falls asleep.

“Of course he hangs around,” said Florian. “You know so much interesting stuff. I bet he welcomes the change. They must get bored at the vineyard day after day waiting for the vines to grow. What’s his job in the television company?”

I didn’t know. Caspian and I hadn’t got that far, mostly because my words still dried up around him. And anyway, they were missing the point. Yes, he hung around, and yes, he admired my whittling and my shells and my pots. But what did it all mean? Anything or nothing? If she were here, éti would have understood what I was driving at straight away. Seemed like I was going to have to spell it out to these two cretins. With all the thoughts buzzing in my ears, my skin itched around my collar. The barstool felt too small.

“How do I know he’s gay,” I blurted.

Sometimes, when I was nervous, questions came out wrong. Flat-sounding, like they weren’t questions at all. Fortunately, Nico and Florian were used to it.

“Don’t look at me,” said Nico, turning to Florian. “Isn’t there some secret sign you all have, Flor, to help you recognise each other?”

Draining the last few mouthfuls of his beer, Florian shook his head at my idiot brother, then gracefully vacated his stool. “Stay right where you are, mon ami. I’ll be back. An urgent trip to the little boys' room beckons.”

He retreated. Still smiling, Nico dropped his head to his phone and started scrolling through it. As if I wasn’t there.

“I asked you a question,” I said.

“I know.” Nico made a huff of amusement. “Florian knows too.”

So why did they fucking ignore me? I must have missed something. Mind you, watching Florian’s rear view as he sauntered away was no hardship, especially as his walk was extra sexy tonight. The toilets were in the direction of Caspian and his friend, so I got to peek at both beautiful men from around the edges of my hair.

An announcement on the boules league noticeboard caught Florian’s eye. As he reached it, a metre from Caspian’s table, he slowed to a stop and peered forward to read. Absently, he scratched his belly. He had a great belly, tanned and taut, and as his T-shirt rode up a little under his palm, I got a glimpse. It must have been a long announcement; Flor stood there awhile.

“I’m homosexual,” I informed my brother.

“Yeah?” Nico continued scrolling, unperturbed. Had he suddenly gone deaf? Maybe I said it in my head, not out loud. I do that sometimes; I frequently have whole conversations with myself.

“I said I’m homosexual.”

I spoke a little louder, but not too loud, because, frankly, it wasn’t the business of the barman and the butcher, nor the baker. Finally, Nico looked up at me and winked, as though I was still a child. “So you are.”

“And I asked how I could tell if Caspian was gay, and even though I didn’t get the question right, that must have been a clue. You must have known why I asked it.”

That was an exhaustingly long sentence.

“I did,” he agreed, and his lips curled up into a half smile. “You asked it because you are interested in him.”

“Yes. Because I’m a homosexual.”

Putting the phone down, he leaned into me, enough that I could smell the nice cologne éti chose for him. She had tested it on me last time I watched her play soccer in Paris. A clean scent of aromatic woodsy notes interwoven with oakmoss, lavender, and other carefully selected ingredients. His mouth found my ear; his hand ruffled my hair. Still as if I was a child. “Hate to break it to you, Maxi, old boy, but that’s stale news. You’ve been ogling Flor since you were fourteen. Dad knows, Zo? knows, even Mum suspected.”

My heart clenched. “Did she. Did she mind.” My mother had died before I’d ascertained her beliefs regarding homosexuality.

Nico laughed and scrubbed his hand in my hair a second time. If he did it once more, I’d do it back. He was quite vain about his hair. “Why would she mind? She just wanted you to be happy. To find someone special enough to… um… appreciate your little foibles.”

My little foibles . I knew what he meant. The reason I couldn’t work out if Caspian was gay or not. And why I had never had a boyfriend. I knew I was special and unique; I always had been, but only in an inconvenient way. So Nico’s answer made me happy and sad simultaneously.

Florian darted in and out of the bathroom in under three minutes. Though the conversation with my brother seemed endless, it actually only lasted about forty-five seconds. Florian’s trip to the loo couldn’t have been that urgent a need. In his absence, as well as informing me my entire immediate family was abreast of my sexual orientation, even the deceased member, Nico ordered them both another beer.

Florian took a satisfied gulp before retaking his seat. “Yep,” he said, wiping foam from his mouth. “As I suspected. Gay as a badger.”

Sometimes, I thought Nico and Florian had their own language. Badgers weren’t gay. Not all of them, anyhow. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any left. Nonetheless, Florian had confirmed my suspicions.

“Go on then,” urged Nico. “Go over and say hello. He keeps looking over here.”

“I’m homosexual,” I explained to Florian. He’d missed an important part of the conversation.

“No shit.” He treated me to the killer smile. “Welcome to the family.”

I felt bolder in the pub than in my own home, so I got up. Which was the wrong way around, though two pints of Warsteiner might have had something to do with it. Beer lubricated my throat and often helped my voice work better. Also, Caspian was smiling at me with his eyes and his lovely pale cheeks. His whole face, in fact.

“I was hoping you’d come and say hi,” he said in greeting. “I was just telling Emma all about the amazing objects you craft out of the bits and pieces you find on the beach.”

Compliments were a strong sign someone was interested in you. A basic flirting technique; I’d read about it in Perfect Peach . An appropriate response would be to compliment him in return.

“You have perfectly shaped earlobes.” To back up my words, I showed him my good teeth.

The woman, Emma, took a noisy slurp of her wine and coughed on it.

“Thank you.” Caspian smiled back, and we stayed that way for a few seconds. He also had a perfectly shaped head, I noticed, but decided to save that one for another day. Appearing too keen was a no-no, according to Perfect Peach, and, also, I didn’t trust my voice; it was a lot of words.

“Goodness, is it that late already?” Emma checked the time on her phone after speaking, which was a pretty neat trick. “Early night for me. Stay and have another one, Caspian, with… um… Max, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is Emma your girlfriend,” I asked after she’d gone. Trust but verify was my motto as far as Nico and Florian were concerned. They’d enjoyed tricking me into saying and doing plenty of daft things when I was younger.

“No.” A small smile played on his lips. “She’s in a very long-distance relationship with a woman in Sydney. We were just talking about that, too. They’re meeting up soon in Amsterdam.”

“So she’s homosexual,” I clarified. “I’m homosexual, too,”

Caspian lifted his mostly empty glass of brandy to his mouth, pausing before he took a sip. Which was problematic. Now I had to split my attention between his left ear, his eyes, and his mouth. Oh, and his smooth throat, because when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved up and down and I’d never found anyone’s Adam’s apple attractive before, but now I suddenly did. Perfect Peach hadn’t warned me about that .

“Good for you.” He threw me a look even I managed to interpret as hungry. “Seems like there’s quite a few of us drinking in here tonight.”