Patchwork Paradise

by Indra Vaughn

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 1537

  Burnsville, NC 28714

  www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  Patchwork Paradise

  Copyright © 2016 by Indra Vaughn

  Cover art: Lou Harper, louharper.com/design.html

  Editors: Carole-ann Galloway, Kate De Groot

  Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-380-3

  First edition

  March, 2016

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-381-0

  ABOUT THE EBOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

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  Oliver and Samuel’s relationship is fairy-tale perfect. They share a gorgeous house in Antwerp, go out with their friends every weekend, and count down the days to their dream wedding. But their happy ending is shattered one late night, and just like that, Ollie is left alone and bereft.

  The months that follow are long and dark, but slowly Ollie emerges from his grief. He even braves the waters of online dating, though deep down he doesn’t believe he can find that connection again. He doesn’t think to look for love right in front of him: his bisexual friend Thomas, the gentle giant with a kind heart and sad eyes who’s wanted him all along.

  When Thomas suddenly discovers he has a son who needs him, he’s ill prepared. Ollie opens up his house—Sam’s house—and lets them in. Ollie doesn’t know what scares him more: the responsibility of caring for a baby, or the way Thomas is steadily winning his heart. It will take all the courage he has to discover whether or not fairy tales can happen for real.

  This is to everyone who has had their butts kicked by life, and who kept going anyway.

  About Patchwork Paradise

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Also by Indra Vaughn

  About the Author

  More like this

  Ever since we’d left high school, Saturday nights had been holy. Untouchable. All-night happy hour at the Nine Barrels was something none of us skipped. The bar was known for its paella and port wine, but we went there to drink cheap beer and gyrate to Latin music while hitting on anything that moved.

  Or, well, the others did the hitting. Not me. I’d found the love of my life when I was sixteen years old. He was being incredibly stubborn at the moment. Or maybe I was being a bit of a brat.

  “But it’s Saturday,” I complained for the tenth time that day.

  Sam sent me a look with a hint of annoyance, and I knew I was running out of brat-credit. “It’s one time, Ollie. It won’t hurt,” he said as he straightened his tie.

  “I don’t know about that.” I threw myself back on our perfectly made bed and luxuriated in the duvet with the ridiculous thread count. “I might injure myself. You know like how those marathon runners or professional cyclists can’t just stop doing exercise or their overlarge hearts will explode? I bet it’s the same with me. I stop drinking abruptly and—”

  “Your liver will explode?” Samuel smiled at me in our stripped and repainted mirror—an old piece of shit I’d found on one of my digs through Antwerp’s flea markets and that Samuel had completely turned into a work of art. “Now there’s a sight I’d like to see. Besides, there will be alcohol at this party. Better alcohol.”

  It was mostly his eyes that laughed at me. Samuel always laughed with his eyes. His dark eyelashes were so long. They’d lift as his eyes narrowed in mirth, and the pale blue of his irises would glint with mischief and promise.

  “But—”

  He spun on his heel, and I snapped my mouth shut. We’d known each other since we were ten. We’d started dating when we were sixteen, we’d had sex for the first time two weeks later, and we were getting married in one month. And still he took my breath away. Samuel always looked gorgeous, but Samuel in a suit threatened to melt my brain.

  “Hi,” he murmured as he walked up to the bed.

  “Hi,” I said. I sat up so I could touch him—his lapels, the white shirt underneath, the luscious burgundy tie. He kissed my nose.

  “Get dressed, Ollie. We go to the opening, I show my face, do some brownnosing, and then we’ll go to the Nine Barrels.”

  “Really?” I sprang up and hugged him—lightly, I didn’t want to crease him. “You’re the best.”

  “That’s why you love me.” He grinned, and his eyes crinkled.

  God. All mine.

  “I do,” I whispered and kissed him. He smelled of cinnamon toothpaste—which I thought was disgusting to brush with, but somehow on him it tasted divine—and of my favorite aftershave. His dark hair was carefully gelled away from his face, and I wanted to mess it up but didn’t. I knew how important hosting this event was to him, his first as manager of the gallery. So I let him go, lifted my own suit off the hanger, and began to dress.

  Samuel sat on the bed and watched me. I felt like making lewd jokes, but something fragile hung in the air, something to be treasured. A little moment in time I’d remember forever.

  “You look gorgeous,” he told me when I struggled with my tie. He rose to his feet, squeezed my hands, then gently moved them aside. With long, deft fingers, he did my tie for me. He stared into my eyes the entire time. It was sappy. I didn’t care.

  “You sure they’ll be okay with me being at the gallery?”

  Samuel shrugged one shoulder. “They all know.”

  “Knowing and seeing are two different things.”

  He’d been working for his current boss at a huge gallery for over three years, but this was the first time she’d let him organize an opening party, and he’d managed to snag one of Antwerp’s most up-and-coming talents. I’d been to the odd Christmas do, but this f
elt different.

  Samuel cupped my face. “It’s fine, Ollie. I’m not the only gay person who works at the gallery. This is Antwerp, after all.” The right side of his mouth lifted. “Stop looking for excuses.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay.”

  He opened his arms, and I walked right into them, sighing deeply. Samuel was taller than me by a good four inches, and broader—not that that was hard.

  “You make me feel so safe,” I murmured. His cheek lifted against my temple, and I smiled too.

  “That’s good to know,” he said and gently let go. “We need to leave soon. Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “You’ll be wonderful.”

  One last attempt to get out from under this. “But I won’t know anyone and I’ll look sad and pathetic.” I fluttered my eyelashes at him, knowing it wouldn’t work.

  “All the women will fawn over you as they always do because you look like a blue-eyed Labrador puppy.”

  “Thanks.” I pouted, and he laughed, ruffling my hair. Unlike his, mine didn’t have any gel in it, because while it was thick, it was straight as a pin.

  “Let’s get going.”

  We trudged down the marble steps of our ridiculously oversize home. We lived in a three-story house with a large garden right on the edge of Antwerp South, as the area was known. No twenty-six-year-olds should’ve been able to afford a place like this, but Samuel’s grandmother had been filthy rich and he’d been the only grandchild, so . . . lucky us.

  His parents had been less than happy with Grandma’s choice and had tried to talk Sam into giving up the house for a while, but the will had been solidly drawn up, and they quickly let go of any objections. Sam and his parents had gone through a tense couple of months after that, but everything seemed to be forgotten now. He didn’t talk to me about it all that much. I always felt he had a strange attachment to the house, an intense connection I didn’t entirely understand.

  We actually didn’t use a lot of the rooms. I’d suggested more than once that we should rent out a room or two to students, since we were close to a few colleges and a hospital, but Samuel didn’t like the idea.

  The early June evening was fresh but not cold when we stepped out, and we walked arm in arm toward the tram that would take us into the center. For once it didn’t look like rain, and I squeezed Samuel’s biceps. Despite my earlier little tantrum, there was nowhere I’d rather be.

  “You’ll be great tonight,” I told him, and he smiled down on me.

  I probably drank more at the gallery than I should have—but I managed to make small talk and be polite and appear interested in the women who descended on me, as Samuel had predicted.

  I was proud of my fiancé. He looked cool and competent as he guided guests inside, welcomed them, made sure they had something to drink while he chatted briefly here and there. He was always sending people off to see a particular piece of art. He checked on caterers, sufficiently calmed the artist—who looked one shattered glass away from a nervous breakdown—so the twitchy prodigy started chatting to potential buyers too. I noticed Sam managed to gather a collection of business cards along the way. His boss would be pleased.

  He was born for this. A true people person. While I, on the other hand, loved hanging out with our close group of friends, but needed downtime afterward to recharge. Events like this made my knees knock together.

  I kept my straight face going for most of the evening, but when it neared eleven and the party didn’t seem to be winding down, I began to worry. I really didn’t want to be stuck here all night. I was pretty sure two old ladies had squeezed my butt, and one scary bald guy with a scar through his top lip had given me his card in case I needed “a real man.”

  I shuddered as I wondered what someone like that was doing at an art gallery. I remembered Antwerp had its very own mix of Mafia and decided I didn’t want to know.

  As if my thoughts had summoned him, Samuel appeared by my side.

  “I need to talk to one more person,” he told me, “and then we can go.”

  “Really?” I tried not to look as happy as I sounded. I probably failed.

  “Really.” He grinned and touched my sleeve. “Angela can take over from here. Everyone’s getting drunk now and just talking. Hardly anyone is looking at the art, and the doors are locked, so no one new can come in. Why don’t you go get our coats and I’ll meet you at the back?”

  “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

  “Lies. Stijn is your favorite person in the world.”

  “Only for five minutes on Sunday mornings when I buy chocolate croissants from him. The rest of the time, I’m all yours.”

  He smiled and his eyes twinkled, and suddenly I was reminded of the first time he’d looked at me that way, after our very first kiss in my bedroom. It had been a fraught moment because I didn’t know what I was doing or if he wanted it too or what it meant that I wanted it with him and not Cleo, our other best friend. His mouth had met mine. He’d opened me up from the inside out. And just like that, the world had stopped being a scary place.

  “I won’t be long,” he said, and I nodded. The coat check was on the other side of the building, but I lingered a minute so I could watch him walk away. Damn.

  When I looked up, one of the old ladies gave me a lavish wink. I offered her a little wave before scurrying away.

  “Why do elderly women like me?” I lamented as we walked toward the Nine Barrels. The walk was maybe three miles or so and the air had turned chilly at last, but I didn’t mind. Antwerp was gorgeous at night, the traffic negligible, and we held hands as we crossed the cobblestone streets on our way to the harbor.

  “It’s your personal charm,” Samuel said. He glanced down and smirked, and I knew what was coming. “Or maybe it’s the fact that you look like a mildly underfed young boy. You bring out their mothering instincts.”

  “Since two of them copped a feel, that’s gross.”

  Samuel burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it; I laughed too. “Well, it’s because you’re so beautiful they just can’t help themselves.”

  I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said.

  “No, stop with the praise. It’s too much. I can’t take it.”

  We walked down the Hoogstraat, which meant we were almost at the bar. I loved this whole area, but mostly the small antique stores that lined the streets. They sold everything from absolute junk to the most gorgeous pieces of furniture I’d ever seen.

  “We should come back on Sunday,” I said to Samuel as I tried to peer through one shop’s gated-up doors. “We could get breakfast and go shopping.”

  “We don’t need any more stuff,” he said. There was mirth in his voice, and I knew he’d come with me anyway. Partially to keep me company, but also because he liked strolling the Antwerp streets as much as I did. There could be something magical about this place. There was ugliness too, as in any city. Mostly it was pretty easy to ignore. Its seaport brought with it an industrial coldness, cranes standing out like silent monsters in the night. In contrast, the fashion, the art, and the students lent it a vibrancy that made my blood thrum.

  “Maybe we’ll find an old crib,” I teased. “For all those babies we’re going to adopt when we’re married.”

  He pretended to glare at me. “No babies. Not even furry ones.”

  I squeezed his arm to let him know I was only teasing, and we walked on in silence. The streets grew busier, and when we neared the Nine Barrels, we could hear the music spilling out into the night.

  As he always did before we went inside, Samuel pulled me close and kissed me lightly on the mouth. “I love you,” he murmured.

  “I love you too, Sam,” I said. If I’d known it’d be the last time he’d ever hear me say it, I would never have let go.

  The Nine Barrels itself was a tiny place, but the front door didn’t open up straight into the restaurant. The building was old and gorgeous, with a little c
ourtyard that had been covered with a concave glass roof two stories up. The owner had crammed in a few tables and chairs there, with small trees and flowerpots strategically positioned to give patrons the idea they were still outside.

  The left and right of the courtyard held stores that had closed hours ago. Small groups of people were murmuring over their porto and tapas. We pushed our way past. As soon as we entered the restaurant, loud music assaulted our ears, and my eyes fell on Cleo dancing on top of the bar. Simultaneously we looked at each other and laughed.

  “Night shifts?” I asked Samuel, and he grinned.

  “Most likely.”

  Cleo was an ER nurse with a brutal schedule, but she figured she needed to work the hardest while she was young and childless. Her boyfriend Imran stood in the corner of the restaurant, chatting with a bunch of people I didn’t know, but as soon as he saw us, he excused himself and made his way over.

  “Where’s Thomas?” I asked as we hugged hello. Imran nodded toward the other end of the bar from where Cleo was dancing. Thomas was patiently waiting for the bartender’s attention. He turned and gave us a little wave, as if he had heard me.

  “You want something to drink?” Samuel asked.

  “Sure.” I dug for my wallet, but Samuel stilled my hand.

  “I got it,” he said, and I bit my tongue. Money was the only real argument we’d ever had, and we’d only had it once, but that didn’t mean I could always keep a lid on the trickle of embarrassment I felt whenever he paid for me.

  “What’s yours is mine,” he’d told me once, “and what’s mine is yours. We’re going to be married one day, so what difference does it make now?”

  Since we’d only been eighteen at the time, that counterargument had shut me up effectively. But these days I had a decent wage of my own as a medical software consultant. He’d been asking to make our accounts joint since we moved into his grandmother’s house four years ago, but I wanted to wait until we really were married.

  He winked at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking and then walked up to Thomas to take over the drink ordering.