Page 22 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘Oh.’

There’s a twinkle in his eye. An actual twinkle. Either he’s not taking my rejection at face value, or, or … he’s taken this as a challenge, poor infatuated fool.

‘You sound like you’ve had a bit of experience with that sort of thing,’ he says with a loose shrug and stares deep into my eyes like he really wants the answer. He actively listens, which is a rare trait, and one I admire, dammit.

‘I’ve had to learn how to exist in a world where people often misunderstand me. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself, but I do have an interfering mother who is still very much front and centre when it comes to my life.’ This feels suspiciously like I’m oversharing, which is wholly out of character. I remind myself to remain on guard. He’s slowly crumbling my defences with his charm.

He gives me a warm smile, as if he understands, or at least can empathise. ‘Portuguese mothers, eh? Love their kids to death.’

I return his smile. ‘Well, I’m still alive to tell the tale but who knows how long for with all the ways in which my mother insists I need to fix my life …’ It’s fun to joke with someone who understands just what the mother–child relationship is like when you come from families like ours.

‘Does it need fixing?’ He lifts a questioning brow.

My life is adequate, is it not? Every human has challenges, mine are not special. My mind drifts to the old woman who cries as she hangs out her washing each day. To Chess Man, who tipsily croons love songs while he waits for a skilled opponent. The one-eyed rambunctious dog who nips at heels. I keep a close eye on all three of my Porto mysteries, as they all add something special to my life, they make me feel like I’m part of Porto again, or might be one day. Even though I haven’t interacted with them. It’s more that I sense all of us are going through something, I’m not alone.

‘My life is perfect as it is.’ It’s only a small lie. ‘So about Luci—’

‘Wow, you really are amazing.’ Tiago gives me a warm smile. ‘I envy you. You’re so self-assured. So certain about things. I have no clue if I’m even doing life right, you know? Like, what’s my purpose?’ When he speaks like this his features tighten, like he really does feel the weight of being lost. I understand how that feels too.

‘I doubt anyone knows for sure, Tiago.’ We’re wading too deep into oversharing, I’m keen to get this conversation on the right track. ‘So, about Luci—’

‘You’re enjoying book club? You’ve mentioned that you don’t always do well in group settings, but to me, you handle it with this quiet confidence.’ At that the apples of his cheeks colour.

I consider it from various angles. ‘I’m enjoying book club.’ More than I care to admit. ‘It has the added advantage of assuaging my mother’s fears that I will become part of the furniture if I don’t get outside enough.’

‘Ha! I can relate. My mother is always asking why I don’t settle down, like it’s as easy as that.’ He scuffs the pavement with a shoe as if toying with throwing a grenade of a question into the conversation. I brace for it. ‘Why have you thrown away the key to your heart, if I may be so bold to ask?’

Bold! That’s a step past bold, and I can see I’m not going to get very far with my Lucinda enquiries, because Tiago spends too long concerning himself over me and listening to my answers like they’re gospel. ‘You may not. Goodbye.’

‘Wait, Viviane.’

I pause. Take great delight in keeping my back to him for dramatic purposes like they do in the movies. Yes, this isn’t helping my quest to keep Lucinda’s husband alive but it’s still one of my bucket list objectives.

‘I loved every minute of today.’

This gets my attention and I begrudgingly turn. ‘Every single minute? Even when I rejected you?’

He lets out a cheeky laugh, his eyes glittering with … joy? When he’s composed again, he puts a hand to his chest and says sincerely, ‘Even that rejection gave me hope.’

‘Hope?’

‘One day you might open your heart.’

‘You poor fool.’ He really is a cinnamon roll. But does that mean this is a love story? No, of course not. He’s already wooing me, and I cannot be wooed, so he will inevitably learn the hard way that sadly life isn’t like a romance novel. The boy doesn’t always get the girl. Still, we can team up to stop a crime before it happens, right?

‘Dinner tomorrow? As friends, of course!’ Tiago asks.

He’s got me over a barrel if I want to discuss the Lucinda mystery. ‘Fine. As friends only.’

‘You can choose the place.’

I don’t share with Tiago that I’ve already found the perfect tasca. It serves petiscos, small Portuguese share plates. But it can’t look like I had this planned all along. Which for the record, I did not.

Chapter Twelve

Back at our apartment block I trudge up the communal stairs deciding I won’t inform Mum of the Tiago dinner development. That sort of information would be too much for her to handle, what with her incessant need for me to make friends and get out into the big wide world. When I get to the landing outside our apartment, there’s a hiss of voices and a strange man runs down the hallway with only a towel wrapped around his waist. How shameful! We have an exhibitionist in our midst! So little time, so many mysteries. I unlock the front door ready to tell Mother that she best be on guard but she’s not there. Unusual.

On silent feet, I attempt to creep to my room, but like the shadow warrior she is, she appears, her face flushed and the buttons on her dress done up wrong. ‘Querida, you’re home, so early!’ Oh dear. The wheels are well and truly falling off. We have another mystery in our midst.