good idea. Dammit, maybe he should have made the guy some toast. Get a hold of yourself, Joe. It’s just pie. “Something wrong?”
“No, it’s just… it tastes… warm. I mean, not temperature-wise, but like… warmth.” Tom looked straight at him, the glow of his smile enough to light up the darkness outside.
“The smell of cinnamon, vanilla… it makes me think of the seaside. Almost like a distant memory, something so far away it’s out of reach, but the feeling from it is still very much alive, and so full of love.” He looked down at his plate with a frown. “Guess that sounds pretty crazy, huh?” When there was no answer, he looked up at Joe, his eyes going wide. Probably due to the stunned expression on Joe’s face. “Joe?”
“My parents used to work a lot when I was a kid,” Joe confessed quietly. “They were farmers, born and raised, so they didn’t really have many options when they moved to the city. They moved here because they wanted me to have a better life than the one they’d had.” Joe shifted awkwardly in his seat and turned his attention back to the window. “On Sundays when they should have been resting, they’d spend every moment of the day with me, taking me all over New York. We’d go to a park or to the beach, Coney Island. We always had picnics with the most amazing pies, cakes, and muffins. The seaside was always my favorite.” He met Tom’s gaze, and smiled wistfully. “We always had apple and cinnamon pie at the seaside. I wonder what my mother would think of the subtle little changes I made to her recipe.” Tom gaped at him, and Joe couldn’t help his shy laugh.
“You… you made this?” The awe in Tom’s voice sent a little shudder through Joe.
“It’s just pie,” Joe said feeling embarrassed.
“It’s not just pie, Joe. I won’t let you get away with that. You’re sharing a little piece of yourself with the world, and it’s… amazing. Something this good that makes you feel something? That’s a gift.”
For a moment, Joe sat frozen to the spot, trying to figure out if Tom was just being kind, but the very serious expression on Tom’s handsome face told him he wasn’t. This was ridiculous. No one could taste what he had in his heart. Sure, he put everything into his baking, and when he did, he often lost himself in some happy childhood memory, something brief and faint and faraway he would never have or feel again. There was absolutely no possible way Tom—who knew absolutely nothing about Joe, who knew nothing about himself—could have been able to see that.
“Joe? What’s wrong?”
Joe gave a little start and shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a really, really long day. We’re both tired, and I think I just got a little caught up in some old memories. I’m fine.” No one had ever said anything like that to him before. No one he’d ever known understood him when he talked about tasting memories. They all thought it was him just being screwy again. Now that he was faced with someone who understood, he didn’t know what to do.
“Are you sure?”
Joe nodded. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. Tomorrow we can do some online searches, see what we can find. You finish up, and I’ll leave the lamp on so you won’t trip over anything.” Tom didn’t look convinced, and Joe was grateful when he didn’t push him on the matter.
He left the kitchen and made his way to the small but tidy bathroom. After closing the door, he leaned against the sink. Tomorrow, Jules would tell them how to help Tom, Joe would do it, send the man on his way, and his life would go back to the way it had been. Wouldn’t it? Yes, it would. It had to. After brushing his teeth, he was ready for some much-needed sleep. Joe quietly made his way back to the living room and turned off the lights, leaving just the warm glow of the lamp on the wood coffee table. Then he fluffed his pillow and snuggled under his blanket in the armchair. He’d drifted off
“No, it’s just… it tastes… warm. I mean, not temperature-wise, but like… warmth.” Tom looked straight at him, the glow of his smile enough to light up the darkness outside.
“The smell of cinnamon, vanilla… it makes me think of the seaside. Almost like a distant memory, something so far away it’s out of reach, but the feeling from it is still very much alive, and so full of love.” He looked down at his plate with a frown. “Guess that sounds pretty crazy, huh?” When there was no answer, he looked up at Joe, his eyes going wide. Probably due to the stunned expression on Joe’s face. “Joe?”
“My parents used to work a lot when I was a kid,” Joe confessed quietly. “They were farmers, born and raised, so they didn’t really have many options when they moved to the city. They moved here because they wanted me to have a better life than the one they’d had.” Joe shifted awkwardly in his seat and turned his attention back to the window. “On Sundays when they should have been resting, they’d spend every moment of the day with me, taking me all over New York. We’d go to a park or to the beach, Coney Island. We always had picnics with the most amazing pies, cakes, and muffins. The seaside was always my favorite.” He met Tom’s gaze, and smiled wistfully. “We always had apple and cinnamon pie at the seaside. I wonder what my mother would think of the subtle little changes I made to her recipe.” Tom gaped at him, and Joe couldn’t help his shy laugh.
“You… you made this?” The awe in Tom’s voice sent a little shudder through Joe.
“It’s just pie,” Joe said feeling embarrassed.
“It’s not just pie, Joe. I won’t let you get away with that. You’re sharing a little piece of yourself with the world, and it’s… amazing. Something this good that makes you feel something? That’s a gift.”
For a moment, Joe sat frozen to the spot, trying to figure out if Tom was just being kind, but the very serious expression on Tom’s handsome face told him he wasn’t. This was ridiculous. No one could taste what he had in his heart. Sure, he put everything into his baking, and when he did, he often lost himself in some happy childhood memory, something brief and faint and faraway he would never have or feel again. There was absolutely no possible way Tom—who knew absolutely nothing about Joe, who knew nothing about himself—could have been able to see that.
“Joe? What’s wrong?”
Joe gave a little start and shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a really, really long day. We’re both tired, and I think I just got a little caught up in some old memories. I’m fine.” No one had ever said anything like that to him before. No one he’d ever known understood him when he talked about tasting memories. They all thought it was him just being screwy again. Now that he was faced with someone who understood, he didn’t know what to do.
“Are you sure?”
Joe nodded. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. Tomorrow we can do some online searches, see what we can find. You finish up, and I’ll leave the lamp on so you won’t trip over anything.” Tom didn’t look convinced, and Joe was grateful when he didn’t push him on the matter.
He left the kitchen and made his way to the small but tidy bathroom. After closing the door, he leaned against the sink. Tomorrow, Jules would tell them how to help Tom, Joe would do it, send the man on his way, and his life would go back to the way it had been. Wouldn’t it? Yes, it would. It had to. After brushing his teeth, he was ready for some much-needed sleep. Joe quietly made his way back to the living room and turned off the lights, leaving just the warm glow of the lamp on the wood coffee table. Then he fluffed his pillow and snuggled under his blanket in the armchair. He’d drifted off
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