Chapter Eleven
‘Wait, Vi, Viviane! I’ll walk with you, just for a bit. If that’s all right with you?’
Tiago’s determined, I’ll give him that. Secretly, I’m thrilled.
I’m quite capable of solving the Lucinda mystery myself, since my book club members aren’t taking it seriously, but having a sidekick is de rigueur in the genre.
And clearly my whodunnit senses twitched for very good reason, as this time there really is a mystery afoot.
I’m practically fizzing with excitement. We need to save Lucinda from herself. I’ll need a faithful sidekick and Tiago fits the bill. He’s thrown me with all the attention directed at me. I’ll be honest, it’s not every day this kind of carry-on happens off the page in my life.
I stop under the shade of an olive tree. First, for both our benefits I should address the situation at hand, the many starry-eyed glances Tiago threw my way did not go unnoticed. I copyedit for a bevy of highly acclaimed romance writers and have seen this played out in many a romantic comedy.
Tiago fits neatly into the guy-falls-first category as the loveable boy-next-door archetype, the cinnamon-roll hero who is casually overlooked by the heroine because she keeps choosing the alpha male.
And then much later realises the perfect man was there all along, in the shape of the floppy-haired, slouchy-clothed, nice guy who opens car doors and calls when he says he will.
Romance novels really paint life in the most heartwarming of ways.
It’s such a shame I can’t put this to the test with Tiago with his unironic wholesomeness.
I cannot let his crush on me scupper our investigations.
‘Tiago, my heart is a locked box. It’s closed for business.
’ He presses his lips together as he grapples with the terrible news.
How to soften the blow so we can team up to solve this knotty Lucinda problem and also continue meeting every Wednesday at precisely 4 p.m.?
‘You’ll find someone but sadly that someone is not me.
I only hope they care as much about your almond allergy as I do. ’
He fights a smile. At least, that’s what it looks like he’s doing. Perhaps, it’s just for show? ‘I understand. And thanks for caring about my almond allergy the way you do. It’s sweet.’ His face shines with what I’d call bemusement but how can that be? Isn’t he upset at my rejection?
‘You’re welcome. And again, I’m sorry. Take some time to process it. Sit with your feelings.’
‘You’ve done this before a lot then?’ Why does he grin like this? Men are such enigmas.
‘Broken hearts? I wouldn’t say I have a long, illustrious history of it, but there have been a few hopefuls who didn’t quite tick all the boxes on my checklist.’
‘I meant sit with your feelings.’
‘Oh.’
There’s a twinkle in his eye. An actual twinkle. Either he’s not taking my rejection at face value, or, or … he’s taken this as a challenge, poor infatuated fool.
‘You sound like you’ve had a bit of experience with that sort of thing,’ he says with a loose shrug and stares deep into my eyes like he really wants the answer. He actively listens, which is a rare trait, and one I admire, dammit.
‘I’ve had to learn how to exist in a world where people often misunderstand me.
I’ve learned how to advocate for myself, but I do have an interfering mother who is still very much front and centre when it comes to my life.
’ This feels suspiciously like I’m oversharing, which is wholly out of character.
I remind myself to remain on guard. He’s slowly crumbling my defences with his charm.
He gives me a warm smile, as if he understands, or at least can empathise. ‘Portuguese mothers, eh? Love their kids to death.’
I return his smile. ‘Well, I’m still alive to tell the tale but who knows how long for with all the ways in which my mother insists I need to fix my life …’ It’s fun to joke with someone who understands just what the mother–child relationship is like when you come from families like ours.
‘Does it need fixing?’ He lifts a questioning brow.
My life is adequate, is it not? Every human has challenges, mine are not special.
My mind drifts to the old woman who cries as she hangs out her washing each day.
To Chess Man, who tipsily croons love songs while he waits for a skilled opponent.
The one-eyed rambunctious dog who nips at heels.
I keep a close eye on all three of my Porto mysteries, as they all add something special to my life, they make me feel like I’m part of Porto again, or might be one day.
Even though I haven’t interacted with them.
It’s more that I sense all of us are going through something, I’m not alone.
‘My life is perfect as it is.’ It’s only a small lie. ‘So about Luci—’
‘Wow, you really are amazing.’ Tiago gives me a warm smile.
‘I envy you. You’re so self-assured. So certain about things.
I have no clue if I’m even doing life right, you know?
Like, what’s my purpose?’ When he speaks like this his features tighten, like he really does feel the weight of being lost. I understand how that feels too.
‘I doubt anyone knows for sure, Tiago.’ We’re wading too deep into oversharing, I’m keen to get this conversation on the right track. ‘So, about Luci—’
‘You’re enjoying book club? You’ve mentioned that you don’t always do well in group settings, but to me, you handle it with this quiet confidence.’ At that the apples of his cheeks colour.
I consider it from various angles. ‘I’m enjoying book club.’ More than I care to admit. ‘It has the added advantage of assuaging my mother’s fears that I will become part of the furniture if I don’t get outside enough.’
‘Ha! I can relate. My mother is always asking why I don’t settle down, like it’s as easy as that.
’ He scuffs the pavement with a shoe as if toying with throwing a grenade of a question into the conversation.
I brace for it. ‘Why have you thrown away the key to your heart, if I may be so bold to ask?’
Bold! That’s a step past bold, and I can see I’m not going to get very far with my Lucinda enquiries, because Tiago spends too long concerning himself over me and listening to my answers like they’re gospel. ‘You may not. Goodbye.’
‘Wait, Viviane.’
I pause. Take great delight in keeping my back to him for dramatic purposes like they do in the movies. Yes, this isn’t helping my quest to keep Lucinda’s husband alive but it’s still one of my bucket list objectives.
‘I loved every minute of today.’
This gets my attention and I begrudgingly turn. ‘Every single minute? Even when I rejected you?’
He lets out a cheeky laugh, his eyes glittering with … joy? When he’s composed again, he puts a hand to his chest and says sincerely, ‘Even that rejection gave me hope.’
‘Hope?’
‘One day you might open your heart.’
‘You poor fool.’ He really is a cinnamon roll.
But does that mean this is a love story?
No, of course not. He’s already wooing me, and I cannot be wooed, so he will inevitably learn the hard way that sadly life isn’t like a romance novel.
The boy doesn’t always get the girl. Still, we can team up to stop a crime before it happens, right?
‘Dinner tomorrow? As friends, of course!’ Tiago asks.
He’s got me over a barrel if I want to discuss the Lucinda mystery. ‘Fine. As friends only.’
‘You can choose the place.’
I don’t share with Tiago that I’ve already found the perfect tasca. It serves petiscos, small Portuguese share plates. But it can’t look like I had this planned all along. Which for the record, I did not.