Chapter 13 #3
“What is it with you and these snobs? You hang out with the coolest, most laid-back people, and you always fall in love with weird guys who couldn’t be more different from you.”
“That’s not it, and who said anything about falling in love?”
“I am,” my brother interjected. “I’m saying something about being in love. Because if you just need someone for sex, you can handle it and don’t tell me about it. It’s only when feelings come into play that you suddenly get overwhelmed.”
“Ha, ha. I’m not in love.” At least, that’s what I thought.
Nash wasn’t listening to me. “Stay away from these guys. Find someone who accepts you for who you are. Not someone who tells you that you have to change yourself to meet his stupid standards.”
“He didn’t say that!” I protested. And at that moment, I wasn’t trying to convince Nash. Ruben had never said anything against my lifestyle. “On the contrary—he supports what I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Even if he didn’t say it out loud, at times I assumed that’s what he thought.”
My brother groaned loudly. “Assumed what? What does that mean?”
I ran my hand over my face. “Nothing. I’m being oversensitive.”
“But that’s exactly what I mean,” Nash says. “You’re not being overly sensitive. You don’t let people string you along. You speak your mind because it makes your life easier. For many people, that directness is difficult. But why are you letting this guy lead you on?”
“Ruben isn’t doing that. I just don’t know what he’s thinking.”
“Then ask him!”
“Sure. But I can’t force him to reply,” I muttered to myself. “So far, he’s been cleverly avoiding those answers.”
“Or you’re not asking the right questions,” Nash continued.
“Pfft. Is it the student’s fault, Teacher?”
Nash laughed out loud. “Don’t be such a wimp! What are you afraid of?”
Good question. “That I’ll get an answer I hate.”
“Still better than constantly groping in the dark, right?”
“I guess,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Then tell me about him.” At the other end of the line, Nash chewed on something.
I grinned. “No. I’m going to think about your wise words and then make a decision. And then . . . ”
“Oh! We’re coming the week after Thanksgiving. We could meet him then!”
“No!” I said automatically. “No. I’m not going to scare him off right away if he decides to choose me.”
After we ended the conversation, in my head I replayed what Nash said. Who was I to Ruben?
I didn’t know how much time had passed or how many videos I had watched on my phone when the opening of the bedroom door startled me.
With tired eyes, I watched as Ruben kicked off his boots, placed a bowl on the table, and fished a spoon and a bowl out of his jacket pocket.
“Oh. You’re awake.”
I stretched and eyed him wearily. “Yep. Just lazy.”
Ruben smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you were giving yourself the same treatment you gave me. Out in the woods and stuff.”
His gesture made me laugh. “No. No more outside and stuff for me today.”
“Good.” Ruben hung up his jacket and pointed indecisively at the table. “I brought you something.”
I swung my legs over the bed and went to the table. “What is it?”
Ruben pulled a white cloth out of his bag, laid it on the table, placed the spoon on top, put the bowl down and opened the lid of the bowl.
“My mother’s feel-good soup.”
He didn’t lift his head, but with red cheeks, he arranged the bowl, spoon, and napkin on the table.
The conversation with my brother popped into my head. Ask him!
The aroma of the soup wafted up to my nose. It smelled of hearty broth, tomatoes, and herbs. I peeked into the bowl and finally Ruben looked up.
“Do you want some?”
I nodded, and my stomach growled loudly. “No one can resist that smell.”
“I was hoping so. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here or if you were hungry.”
I quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it briefly. “This was the best idea ever.”
Ruben scanned the room and then shook his head. “Now I’ve forgotten a ladle.”
He immediately set about spooning the soup into the bowl with a tablespoon.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself. “It’ll be ice-cold by the time I’m done.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
When he was finally satisfied, I was allowed to dig in, and he sat next to me. He watched me with eagle eyes.
The first spoonful was an explosion of flavor. “Wow! That’s what I call feel-good!”
Ruben waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I took some vegetable stock from the kitchen. It’s better quality than my mother’s store-bought stuff, but it doesn’t taste quite right. I’m not sure. It’s okay. But . . . ”
I quickly raised my hand to put it on his shoulder, but I stroked his cheek with my fingertips instead, moving down his neck.
Ruben fell completely silent under my fingers and held his breath. I slowly pulled my arm back and finally let my hand rest on his forearm.
“It’s incredibly delicious. And I can’t thank you enough for doing all this work. For me.”
Ruben shrugged. “It’s no big deal. You seemed lost. And whenever I wasn’t feeling good as a kid, my mom would make this soup.
She’s not a great cook. But she put much love into it that it always helped me somehow.
I mean, soup can’t solve problems, but it makes you feel good, it fills you up and calms you down somehow.
” He let his gaze rest on my hand on his arm. “I think,” he added.
“It does. The fact that you went out of your way to cook it for me makes it special. And I can’t imagine how your mom made it, but to me it’s perfect. It’s fruity and salty and I don’t know, there’s something delicious in there.”
Ruben laughed. “It’s probably something in the vegetable stock that I didn’t add.”
“I don’t think so.” I put the next spoonful in my mouth. The soup warmed me from the inside out. The cold inside me that had taken hold regardless of the temperature outside vanished.
“Why did you run away in the summer?” I wanted to know.
Ruben furrowed his brow and shrugged. “Is that really important?”
Sighing, I put the spoon back and dabbed my mouth with the napkin.
“Yes. We’re here and . . . ”
He shrugged. “Can’t we forget what happened and look forward?”
He had lowered his head slightly and furrowed his dark eyebrows, which made him look frustrated and a bit angry. His long black eyelashes brushed against his white skin with every blink.
He had unbuttoned the blue shirt he was wearing so far that the light-colored shirt underneath was clearly visible.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. The wool sweater he had draped over his shoulders, as if he didn’t know whether he was warm enough, reminded me of an embrace.
Although I didn’t understand him. I wanted to hug him.
His whole manner, whether he was worrying about me with food or challenging me stark naked, attracted me.
But he wouldn’t let me get close to him.
I exhaled slowly and dragged my spoon through the soup. Or rather, the bowl I had eaten it from.
“Do you want some more? I could also bake some baguette, or what else do you usually eat your soup?” Ruben changed the subject.
I watched him. As soon as the conversation turned to food, he let down all his walls and blossomed.
What did I actually know about him? Not that much.
At first, I had thought he was another casual hookup.
Although I had realized after the first night that things with him were much more complex.
, I hadn’t made the effort to get to know him better.
Above all, I had thought I had much more time.
Not that he would disappear without a trace after one week.
“No, thank you. The potato pieces in the soup are filling. And I wouldn’t have thought that a Michelin-star restaurant as the resort’s would serve star-shaped pasta,” I joked.
I lifted a spoonful of soup and poured it into my bowl.
Ruben ran his free hand over his face. “We don’t actually have any.
” He laughed softly, his dark eyes sparkling behind his fingers.
“I had to get them from our plongeur, Madeleine, our kitchen assistant. She lives with her daughter in the family apartments. If necessary, I would’ve had to serve it without noodles.
But I’m glad I was able to add that special bling factor. ”
We both laughed, and I didn’t know why, but I felt more cared for than I ever had by any lover before. I ladled more soup with one hand and held his fingers, which were still resting on the tabletop, with the other.
This kind of calm between us was new. Since I had arrived, there had been tension between us. I had watched him with yearning I couldn’t hide. We had avoided each other and sized each other up from a distance.
Our walk had initiated a change. But where would it lead us?
Would Ruben run away again if I asked more questions? Could I prevent him from running if I held his hand tight enough? I wanted to know what problem he had with me.
He moved his fingers under my hand, but he didn’t pull them away. My eyes drifted to his face, and I followed his gaze. He was staring at our intertwined hands.
“Maybe we can be real friends, without the baggage from the summer,” he muttered.
Friends? Not what I had in mind.
“Maybe,” I conceded. But maybe that’s not enough for me either.