I’m In No Mood For Love

“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 the first 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 he had 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 remembered her 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 what she said. She pushed up the corners of her lush mouth, and he didn’t believe she meant that either. Maybe because that perfect smile didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. “Your father must be thrilled.” She held out her hand and he took it. Her fingers were a little cold, but he could almost feel her palm sweat. “How long do you plan to be in town?” she asked, all polished politeness.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, and looked into her eyes. He couldn’t say how “thrilled” his father felt about his visit, but he could practically read Clare’s mind. She was wondering if he was going to spill the beans about the other night. He smiled and let her worry.

She tugged her hand, and he wondered what she’d do if he tightened his grasp, if she’d lose her composure. Instead he released her and she held out her arms for his father. “Hello, Leo. It’s been a while.”

The older man stepped forward and hugged her; his old hands patted her back as if she were a child. As they had Sebastian when he’d been a child. “You shouldn’t stay away so long,” Leo said.

“Sometimes I need a break.” Clare leaned back. “A long break.”

“Your mother isn’t that bad.”

“Not to you.” She took a few steps backward and her hands fell to her sides. “I suppose you couldn’t help but overhear my conversation about Lonny.” Her attention remained fixed on Leo, as if she had dismissed Sebastian. As if he wasn’t in the same room, standing so close he could see tiny stray wisps at her hairline.

“Yes. I’m not sorry he’s gone,” Leo said, lowering his voice a fraction and giving her a knowing look. “I always suspected there was something a little light in the loafers about him.”

If the old man had known that Clare’s fiance was gay, Sebastian wondered how it was that Clare hadn’t figured it out.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being…you know…funny that way, but if a man has a preference for…ahh…other men, he shouldn’t pretend he likes the ladies.” Leo placed a comforting hand on Clare’s shoulder. “That’s not right.”

“You knew too, Leo?” She shook her head and continued to ignore Sebastian. “Why was it so obvious to everyone but me?”

“Because you wanted to believe him, and some men are tricky. You have a kind heart and gentle nature, and he took advantage of that. You have a lot to offer the right man. You’re beautiful and successful, and someday you’ll find someone worthy of you.”

Sebastian hadn’t heard the old man string that many consecutive sentences together since he’d been in town. At least not when he’d been within hearing distance.

“Ahh.” Clare tilted her head to one side. “You are the sweetest man alive.”

Leo beamed, and Sebastian had a sudden overwhelming desire to knock Clare off her pins, to pull her perfect ponytail or throw mud on her and mess her up like he did when she used to irritate him when they were kids. “I told your mother and my father that I ran into you the other night at the Double Tree,” he said. “It was a real shame you had to leave and we didn’t get to, ahh…chat a little more.”

Clare finally turned her attention to Sebastian and, through the fake little smile curving her full pink lips, said, “Yes. Truly one of the biggest regrets of my life.” She looked back at Leo and asked, “How’s the latest carving?”

“It’s almost done. You should come and see it.”

Sebastian shoved his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. She’d changed the subject and dismissed him again. He’d let her change the subject, for now. But he’d be damned if he let her pretend he wasn’t in the room. He leaned his behind against the sideboard and asked, “What carving?”

“Leo carves the most fabulous wildlife.”

Sebastian hadn’t known that. Of course, he’d seen them around the carriage house, but he hadn’t known his father carved them.

“Last year he entered one of his ducks in the Western Idaho Fair and won. What kind of duck was it, Leo?”

“A shoveler drake.”

“It was beautiful.” Clare’s face lit up as if she’d carved it herself.

“What did you win?” Sebastian asked his father.

“Nothing.” Color rose up Leo’s neck above the collar of his beige shirt. “Just a blue ribbon, is all.”

“A huge blue ribbon. You’re too modest. The competition was stiff. Veni vidi vici.”

Sebastian watched the flush creep into his father’s cheeks. “I came, I saw, I kicked some bird-carving ass?”

“Well,” Leo said as he looked down at the carpet, “it wasn’t anything like the important awards you win, but it was nice.”

Sebastian had been unaware that his father knew about his journalistic awards. He didn’t recall mentioning