Vincent's Thanksgiving Date (3 page)

That was worse than a stranger borrowing his car. Vincent thought of the two of them trapped in his car for the duration of the drive, the strained silence, the forced small talk, and put a hand to his stomach. He might be spared the need to make idle conversation once they went their separate ways in the store, but then there would be more small talk afterward. Then later, when they saw each other, he’d have to deal with looking into Cory’s face and seeing his disbelief that a grown man couldn’t talk about the weather for ten minutes.

Or, Vincent’s imagination kindly added, or he might manage it, just this once, and then maybe Cory would talk to him more from now on. Maybe they could even become friends. After all, Vincent knew his name now. They knew each other’s names, which was more than Vincent had managed in the last year.

“Your name is Cory,” Vincent blurted, belatedly remembering he’d never acknowledged it. Then he froze, wishing he could hide his head in his hands. He might as well have admitted to Cory he was going to imagine himself saying that name later, in embarrassingly intimate situations.

Cory took a moment, possibly to reassess Vincent’s sanity, but then he nodded. “And you’re Vincent. Nice to meet you,” he said, pointedly, and his tone went cool. “I didn’t think it would ever happen. I was going to take it personally,” he paused as if he could read the horror on Vincent’s face as Vincent wondered if his aversion to talking had come off as racist or in any way offensive. Then Cory rolled his shoulders and appeared chagrined. “But then I noticed you don’t really talk to anyone.”

He met Vincent’s gaze and held it until Vincent’s heart was racing. There was no easy way to explain being a grown man who was terrified of meaningless conversations and meeting new people. Saying small social embarrassments haunted him for years made him sound obsessive and weird. He
was
, but he didn’t want to his attractive neighbor to know it.

“I’m not good with new people.” He settled on that answer before finally glancing away.

That seemed to throw Cory. Maybe he suspected there was more to it than that. Or maybe he was thinking that he’d lived there for over a year, so he didn’t exactly qualify as new. Whatever he thought he didn’t say it. He only inhaled, and moved so that Vincent’s attention was again drawn to his face. He smiled, gently and cautiously. “So, did you want to take me to the store? Please? I know it’s a big imposition, but I really don’t want to spend the rest of the day going back and forth on my bike.”

Vincent’s throat was so dry. His stomach kept flipping with nerves and excitement. But Cory smiled at him, and he truly was pathetic because he didn’t want Cory to have a worse impression of him than he already did. And he did still need the stuff to make a pie. He could drive Cory to the store and then look up recipes and ingredients on his phone while he was there. That would give him an excuse
and
give him a safe topic of conversation. That should be okay. It could even be good for him… or the worst thing that would ever happen.

“It’s only a trip to the store,” he said aloud, more to calm himself than for any other reason, but surprise flickered across Cory’s expression. A simple trip to the store, Vincent mentally lied to himself, and then dragged in air before he gave his answer. “Okay.”

Across from him, Cory went still while that same surprise lit his face. Then he gave Vincent a new smile, warmly satisfied, that kept Vincent staring at him and wishing he knew ways to always have Cory looking like that.

He realized, after what could have been entire minutes, that he hadn’t moved, and slid backwards on the wood floor in his socks to find his shoes and his keys.

“Let me go get my reusable bags while you get ready,” Cory told him, and was gone when Vincent looked up. Which was good. It gave Vincent time to quietly panic to himself, but not enough time to change his mind.

If he were being paranoid, he’d say it was almost like Cory had done that on purpose.

The scent of flowers was even greater in his car with the windows rolled up, or perhaps that was due to his awareness of Cory. Cory was only about Vincent’s height, and thinner, but Vincent was so unused to people in his passenger seat that he seemed to fill up all the space. Vincent was acutely conscious of whenever Cory moved his arm or shifted his feet or glanced over at him.

He’d turned on the heat when he’d started the car, and was now so hot beneath his jacket from all his blushes that he felt like he was boiling. Cory, in contrast, seemed fine in his hoodie, although he’d zipped it up the rest of the way. But maybe he was still cold and that’s why he kept looking over.

Vincent tugged at his collar, and exhaled at the brief hint of cooler air. Cory turned to him again. Vincent glanced back, then swallowed and kept his eyes on the road. “Is the heat okay?”

That was great. They were almost at the store and he finally spoke.

Cory lifted his head without taking his gaze from Vincent. “It’s fine. But I’ve always liked fall, and the crisp air.”

“Me too.” Vincent hesitated, then turned off the heater. “You want to open a window?” The cold would feel heavenly, even if it would make his nose run.

But Cory gave a little laugh. “We’ll feel it enough when we’re in it. I like it in small amounts.”

“Like the smell,” Vincent agreed, then thought he should probably explain. “People say I’m making it up, but fall has a scent.”

“It does!” Of all things to get Cory excited, it was the weather, but this didn’t feel like small talk. “I’ve lived a few different places, but fall has always had a distinct presence in the air. The leaves must do it, although it doesn’t get nearly as orange and red out here as it does back east.”

“Yeah. The leaves here barely turn. Summer becomes winter without much in between.” The fairly mild weather was one of the reasons Vincent liked living where he did, but sometimes he thought dramatic seasonal changes might be nice to witness.

“Oh,” Cory broke into his thoughts. “Oh, wait, were you politely hinting the flower smell was bothering you? If it is, you can open a window. Sorry.”

“Huh?” Vincent pulled into the store lot, which was so crowded he couldn’t focus on Cory for a few minutes. When he finally parked, way in the back of the lot, he made himself study Cory. Cory was measuring him again. Vincent didn’t think he was imagining it this time.

“I bring my work home with me.” Cory smiled ruefully. “Some people don’t like the smell. It can be overpowering.”

“The flowers?” Vincent couldn’t hide his surprise. “No, I like it. You smell good.” Oh god. He was an idiot. “Like a lot of roses, and lilies, sometimes.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t be self-conscious about it,” he added, as if he hadn’t just said all the things he had just said. “What I mean is, of things to be embarrassed about, that’s nothing.” He knew what he was talking about on that one, not that he was going to list his every humiliating trait right now. They were readily apparent as it was, but this was about Cory. Vincent didn’t want him to feel self-conscious about anything. “My first job I worked in a pizza place, in the back. I smelled like tomato sauce and pepperoni every night. I couldn’t eat pizza for the longest time after that.”

“I bet.” Cory lowered his head to stare at his hands, then cleared his throat. “And now? What do you do?”

Vincent stopped fiddling with his seat belt. “I work for a non-profit. I do boring office work. I’m not… not good with people.” That was lamentably clear. He tried to shrug it off. “But it has benefits, and I like the cause—we advocate for developmentally disabled adults. If I was there all day, on the forefront, I’d probably burn out. The things you hear, the way they are mistreated or neglected… I needed something to take my mind off it.” He paused there, because this was a subject he had mentioned to new people before and gotten some truly horrifying reactions, but Cory appeared to be listened intently, even sympathetically. He didn’t seem to be one of those people who condemned the disabled as better off where they were, underfunded, ignored, abused, and he seemed to understand that someone could burn out in a field like that as many did. Vincent had seen many social workers come and go in his time there.

“I’m very good at dealing with mindless forms and tangled bureaucracy,” he tacked on after a few moments, hoping he hadn’t made things too serious. He considered talking about how he’d turned to writing to unwind, but telling strangers he wrote meant comments about the bestseller list, which they all expected him to be on, and how he must have so much money, which he obviously he didn’t, and then he would have to explain that by real writing standards he was probably a failure. He was a genre fiction writer in a small, niche market, that was all. “Do you like working with flowers?” He changed the subject desperately and then got out of the car.

“Yes, actually.” Cory followed his lead and shivered when the chill hit him. “Originally it was just a job, but I really like it. I learn new things all the time. Our customers are generally friendly, and if they’re distressed or panicked, we help calm them down and find what they want. It’s different from most other places I’ve worked. Of course, we still get to deal with some terrible people, but,” he looked like he was searching for the right words, “It’s different. I enjoy it, even during wedding and prom season. Knowing what different arrangements can mean, and seeing the beautiful things I’ve created… it isn’t,” he shot Vincent a confusingly hesitant glance, “it isn’t anything professional.”

Vincent frowned while he unzipped his jacket, then handed it over. “But you like it, right?”

Cory stared at his offered jacket as he gave another full body shiver, then reached for it right as Vincent was calling himself an idiot for thinking he needed it in the first place. Cory slipped it on, suddenly bulky with his hoodie underneath it, but at least he wouldn’t be shivering anymore.

“I’ve got my own insulation,” Vincent pointed out, patting his stomach to show it was a joke. “Are you ready for this?” he asked a second later, when his heart once again went crazy for the way Cory was looking at him, as though he had no idea what to do with Vincent and was vexed that he couldn’t decide.

Which was the kind of description Lando might have used, and which only proved that Vincent had been spending too much time in his own head. He started walking quickly away, but then slowed to let Cory catch up. When Cory grabbed a cart and tried to keep pace with him, he slowed even more.

He turned when they were inside the store, both of them frozen amid all the harried-looking shoppers darting back and forth. Vincent expected to be waved away because surely Cory had had enough of his company by now. Vincent would have asked him directly, but being alone among this many people sounded terrifying now that he was witnessing the shopping frenzy, and anyway, Cory seemed no in hurry to leave his side. He gave Vincent a glance before pulling a piece of paper from his pocket with a long list on it.

“Suggestions on where we should start?” he asked innocently, leaving Vincent to blink a few times in bemused wonder that someone was asking him for help,
again
. Someone who already knew Vincent was a train wreck and who was probably far more capable than Vincent would ever be. 

He swallowed. “We could pick a side to start, work our way down every aisle?” It was inefficient, but Vincent didn’t really know how to best bargain ship among aggressive holiday hunter-gatherers.

As if that was all it took, Cory took off in the suggested direction, and Vincent found himself nudging the cart forward alongside him.

“So,” Cory began after they’d made it through the fresh fruits and vegetables section, where Vincent had picked out apples for an apple pie he’d impulsively decided to make, and Cory had grabbed onions, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and green beans, and clucked his tongue, understandably, over the prices. He’d stopped to consult his list so Vincent had stopped to look up pies, assuming Cory had forgotten something. Cory did indeed hold up the list for him again, and this time Vincent noticed all the question marks next to each item. Cory was complaining. “I don’t like not knowing details. People telling me they might come, or not telling me if they have allergies. They say they will bring a dish and don’t tell me what it is. It’s impossible.” He
wa
s a planner. That hadn’t been Vincent’s imagination. But Vincent didn’t get to reflect on it, because Cory tapped the paper.

“Tell me something.” Cory sounded so serious, Vincent tensed in anticipation of a personal question. “Would you prefer store-bought sourdough rolls or homemade cornbread at your Thanksgiving dinner?”

There was no right answer, Vincent reminded himself, as his therapist would have told him to. “Store bought is easier,” he answered, to be safe, but that got him a dismissive huff so he had to keep going. “I, I once had cornbread with butter and honey with some chili. I never thought something so simple could taste so good.” He could have said more, but talking about food while being overweight was yet another thing that made him self-conscious. “Though I’ve never had it with turkey. Maybe it wouldn’t go with whatever you have planned. I overthink things. Sorry. I know there is no right answer.”

Cory leveled another one of those assessing looks at him, then leaned close in order to reach the endcap display at Vincent’s shoulder. He tipped a box of cornmeal into the cart and then smoothly turned so that Vincent could only see part of his face. “I can make some cornbread later if I don’t make any on Thursday,” he remarked, with Vincent staring at him wide-eyed and dry-mouthed. Then he curled his hand around the side of the cart and pulled it along, neatly avoiding everyone but the oblivious or rude. “Who made you cornbread?” Cory flicked his shopping list out with a snap of his wrist.