Chapter Nine #2
Tiago finally senses my silent cry for attention and gives me a look that is almost a rebuke – well, I can’t exactly complain since I am the person responsible for asking him to respect the silent part of book club, but still, this could very well be an emergency and he’s not aware when it matters.
Typical Tiago behaviour, the guy doesn’t even pay attention when Lucinda’s husband’s life is probably hanging in the balance because the mysterious spouse doesn’t read instruction manuals, probably squeezes the toothpaste tube from the middle, and who knows what other crimes.
How to get my point across without him then bellowing anything across the pastelaria? He’s not exactly the subtle sort. I widen my eyes and motion with my head in Lucinda’s direction. Look! I communicate with my eyes.
‘What?’ he mouths. He then does the unthinkable and puts a finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet.
Now, of all times, he respects the silence when we have a potential murder plot afoot!
That, or we have a woman with romance on her mind, looking to change things up when it comes to kissing technique.
Still, I need confirmation, so I try again and exaggeratedly motion my head to Lucinda’s notebook while Tiago tuts. My frustration builds.
I mouth back, Kill or kiss? I couldn’t be any clearer.
His eyes widen. Now he understands the gravity of the situation. He points to his own chest as if to say me? Who else would I be talking to? I’m making direct eye contact with him.
I nod and point, you! He gives me a fluttery smile and drops his gaze as if he’s suddenly shy. Doesn’t he know time is of the essence here? What is he playing at?
‘You want to kiss me?’ his hiss whispers.
What? How did he misunderstand such an obvious request? ‘NO!’ My voice is too high and drops like a bomb into the silence.
Tiago startles, his novel flies out of his hands and lands on the floor. The rest of the book club throw confused gazes my way. Irritatingly, Lucinda flips her notebook face down.
‘Sorry,’ I say, fire heats my cheeks as all eyes are trained on me.
I quickly produce my book as tangible proof.
‘I – ah did not see that plot twist coming.’ My heart stutters but I still manage to send a cool appraisal Lucinda’s way, expecting her to shrink in her seat, show some outward tell, but she doesn’t.
She simply gazes at me half-heartedly like her mind is occupied elsewhere. Probably on her kill list.
Unfortunately, I can’t just demand answers because what if it is a kiss list? Then I’ve just gone and made yet another spectacle of myself at yet another club.
Tiago blushes and fumbles and goes back to book four in The Quill Chronicles.
It’s only on my next glance that I observe that he’s holding it upside down.
This time I do not gesture to him, lest the poor fool think I’m propositioning him again.
Honestly! I make a mental note to bring this up with him when we’re alone, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea about my interest in him.
I catch what I can best describe as fleeting adoration in Tiago’s eyes.
Is it possible that Tiago’s feelings for me are stronger in nature than that of a book club friend?
These things are relatively easy to deduce when the man has such an expressive face.
Now he sends a warm look my way, full of soft intensity that stops me in my tracks.
I see this in romance books all the time. The switch has been flipped.
I’m not usually the type who is admired from afar like this.
I’m in unchartered territory. My heart skips a beat like it does for heroines in romance novels; why, I’m not certain.
Likely because there’s a lot going on, what with a possible murder being plotted beside me and the fact it’s been one hell of a day if you count the tumble outside and everything that has happened since.
Next my mum will come striding into the pastelaria wearing a disguise just to top off this already fraught book club meeting.
So this is socialising in Porto! Part of me wants to escape home and hide under the covers, the other part is intrigued by this new life and all its twists and turns.
Tiago blushes when it dawns on him that he’s been holding his book upside down for the last few minutes.
The tips of his ears pinken as he quickly turns it the right way.
Really, he does have all the right characteristics for boyfriend material: sweet, charming, wholesome, safe. Yet, it can’t happen.
I can only give Tiago an apologetic smile that I hope implies if he attempts to woo me, he will only face rejection.
It’s a shame because he has been graced with the kind of affable looks that draw many admiring gazes.
Aside from how aesthetically pleasing he is, his literary tastes are exceptional.
Alas, the only love I’ll bear witness to is on the page of the romance novels I edit.
Tiago cocks his head and frowns as if he’s trying to solve a complex equation.
He’s probably not used to being rejected with just a downturned smile but inevitably we must all face this one day.
The torment of a love unrequited. I only wish I could share this startling development with my interfering mother – the circumstances I find myself in are rather exceptional, look at me now with a handful of friends and an eager paramour!
Perhaps Porto is the new beginning she so hoped for – but I can’t share it with her.
Mum doesn’t know I’ve renounced love forevermore.
And she can’t find out. Wily minx that she is, she would march me to a therapist to delve into my complex psyche, which as you can imagine, I abhor doing.
A lifetime of interventions had their place, sure, but now that I’m a twenty-nine-year-old adult, I have therapy fatigue.
Once upon a time I loved being centre stage, having a hush-voiced expert reassure me my feelings were valid.
Now it just feels like dredging up old hurts when I’d prefer they stay airless, in a lockbox in my cold, steely, closed-for-business heart.
Are the book club’s members’ minds skipping down memory lane too?
Lucinda’s attention is obviously not on Agatha Christie, I don’t need to be a detective to figure that out since the book sits closed on her table.
And Tiago spends more time with his gaze directed to me than his page.
The others, though, are glued to their novels, especially sad-eyed Thomas, who turns the pages of his book exceptionally slowly.
In fact, he doesn’t turn them at all. Yet he’s moistening a finger and then there is the unmistakable sound of a page flipping.
Ah! It must be his ‘bookmark’ novel, the paperback secreted inside the Crimean War hardback.
How interesting. What could he possibly be reading that he doesn’t want anyone to see?
A risqué novel? From what little I know of him, he just doesn’t appear to be that type of reader.
Perhaps a young adult book? A lot of people hide the fact they read books aimed at teen readers and I have no idea why they would.
The mystery is intriguing, but it’s clear Thomas likes his privacy and that I can respect.
I get back to my own book but find it hard to concentrate when there are so many unanswered questions floating about.
My eye is drawn to Lucinda once more, her frown is so pronounced, she looks downright murderous.
Am I here to prevent her from making a serious mistake?
After all, there are no coincidences in life, if you’re paying attention.