I’m In No Mood For Love by Rachel Gibson

go gay? Out of the blue?”
    Sebastian looked at his father, who moved to the tea service and got busy arranging the silver sugar bowl and creamer.
    “A man doesn’t ‘go gay,’ Mother. In hindsight, the signs were all there.”
    “What signs? I didn’t see any signs.”
    “Looking back, he had an unnatural fondness for antique ramekins.”
    Ramekins? What the hell was a ramekin? Sebastian’s gaze returned to the empty doorway. Unlike the old man, he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. This was juicy stuff.
    “Lots of men love a beautiful ramekin.”
    And these two women didn’t know the guy was gay?
    “Name one man who loves ramekins,” Clare demanded.
    “That chef on television. I don’t recall his name.” There was a pause, and Joyce asked, “You’re sure it’s over, then?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s a shame. Lonny had such beautiful manners. I’ll miss his tomato aspic.”
    “Mother, I found him with another man. Having sex. In my closet. For God’s sake, screw the aspic!”
    Leo carried the tea service to the sideboard and for a fraction his gaze met Sebastian’s. For thefirst time since he’d arrived, he saw a spark of laughter in the older man’s green eyes.
    “Claresta, watch your language. There’s no need to yell profanities. We can discuss this without yelling.”
    “Can we? You’re acting as if I should have stayed with Lonny because he uses the right fork and chews with his mouth closed.”
    There was another pause, and then Joyce said, “Well, I suppose it was necessary to call off the wedding.”
    “You suppose? I knew you wouldn’t understand, and I debated about whether to even tell you. I only decided to tell you since I figured you’d notice him missing when he didn’t show up for Thanksgiving dinner.” Clare’s voice became more clear as she walked into the large open entryway. “I realize he was the perfect man for you mother, but he turned out not to be the perfect man for me.”
    Her hair was pulled back into one of those inside out ponytails, all sleek and polished like the mahogany sideboard. She wore a white suit with big lapels, a deep blue blouse, and a long string of pearls. The skirt hit her just above the knee, and she had on a pair of white shoes that covered the front of her feet. The heels of the shoes looked like silver balls. She was spit polished and buttoned up tighter than a nun. Quite a change from the last time hehad seen her, with her back pressed against a motel room door, falling out of that silly pink dress, black smudges beneath her eyes, and hangover hair.
    Just outside the dining room door she turned back to the room she’d exited. “I need a man who not only knows where his pickle fork is located, but wants to put it to use more than once on holidays.”
    There was a shocked gasp followed by, “That’s vulgar. You sound like a floozy.”
    Clare placed a hand on her chest. “Me? A floozy? I’ve been living with a gay man. I haven’t had sex in so long, I’m practically a virgin.”
    Sebastian laughed. He couldn’t help it. The memory of her stripping off her clothes didn’t quite square with the woman claiming to be “practically a virgin.” Clare turned at the sound and her gaze met Sebastian’s. For a few unguarded seconds confusion wrinkled the smooth skin between her brows, as if she’d discovered something where it wasn’t supposed to be. Like the sideboard on the wrong wall or the gardener’s son in the dining room. A faint pink blush spread across her cheeks and the wrinkle between her brow deepened. Then, as had happened the other morning when she’d turned around and seen him standing behind her wearing nothing but a hotel towel and a few drops of water, she recovered quickly and rememberedher manners. She pulled at the cuffs of her jacket and entered the dining room.
    “Hello, Sebastian. Isn’t this a wonderful surprise?” Her voice was pleasant enough, but he didn’t believe she meant a word of