More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“I don’t think he can change himself. Or win her back,” Tina said, and Harris shook his head.

“Before yesterday, I would have agreed with you. But . . . he’s over there right now. Wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie. Probably fixing toilets. And she’s letting him. I’m not so sure anymore.”

He reached over and tugged a strand of hair out of her collar. His hand lingered, and his thumb very gently brushed across her jawline.

“Why are we talking about them again?”

“Habit?”

“Time to form new habits,” he said, his thumb still lightly grazing her skin, and Tina’s breath snagged in her chest.

“Such as?” The question was embarrassingly breathless, and his lips kicked up at the corners while his palm moved to cup the side of her neck, and his thumb lazily stroked the sensitive skin of her throat.

“Give me some time. I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something,” he murmured, his eyes following the movement of his thumb.

“We should get going.” Her voice emerged on a squeak, and, to her eternal regret, he removed his hand and nodded.

“Right. Cheese. Let’s get to it!”

“These are some passionate turophiles,” Harris stated bemusedly beneath his breath an hour and a half later. They were observing the cheese-carving competition. Harris had his arms folded over his broad chest as he attentively contemplated the group of focused cheese carvers.

“Don’t you mean turophiliacs?” she asked, and he rolled his eyes at her. Harris had been using the word turophile as often as possible in the hour since he’d first seen it in the festival pamphlet. He was like a kid with a new toy, and Tina thought it was endearing.

“Hush, and let me enjoy this. I don’t often learn fun new words. It’s all accrued expenses, assessed values, and capital gains or losses in my world. Boring as hell.” He went back to watching the cheese carvers. Tina was tickled by how genuinely diverting he seemed to find this entire experience. He stopped at most stalls, asking questions and sampling so many different cheeses that Tina felt sick just watching him. She wasn’t lactose intolerant, but she was pretty sure she was developing an allergy just from being around this much dairy.

“The guy over there, with the beard? Wearing the orange beanie and the pride scarf?” he said, pointing with his jaw, and Tina glanced over at a slight young man with overlong hair and full beard.

“What about him?”

“He’s seriously talented. He’s carving a tiny version of Michelangelo’s David. It’s pretty good. He should win.”

“I don’t know, Harris,” Tina mused. “The flower child with the daisy-chain crown and the bell-bottoms over there is doing a pretty great job of re-creating SpongeBob CheesePants. I think she has a real shot.”

“No way!”

“I mean, at least he’s actually yellow. David is going to look jaundiced!”

“Care to place a friendly wager on that?” he asked without thinking, and she raised her eyebrows pointedly.

“Seriously, Harris? A bet?” Clearly comprehending how insensitive that suggestion must have seemed, he flushed and had the grace to look shamefaced. Tina allowed him to dangle uncomfortably for another long moment before letting him off the hook with a chuckle. “Ten bucks says SpongeBob takes it!”

“You’re on!” he said with a relieved smile, and they shook on it.

“This might take a while. Should we get some drinks and come back later?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot more to see.”

“Not really,” she said with a laugh. “We’ve been to the World of Cheese tent”—which had been filled with dozens of stalls representing different countries and showcasing cheeses from different regions within said countries. Harris had spent an inordinate amount of time sampling his way through France. “And you participated in the cheese wheel–rolling competition.”

“That beefy asshole with the arms the size of my thighs cheated,” he grumbled. “He pushed me! I was winning.”

“Harris,” she said patiently, for what felt like the thousandth time. “I was watching. You tripped.”

He sported a now-muddied pair of jeans and a bruised ego because of that little stumble. And he had finished dead last.

“I felt his hand on my back,” he said, looking outraged.

“Yes, you did, when he stopped to help you up. It was pretty impressive that he still went on to win after that.”

“I’m not discussing this any further,” he said decisively.

“Oh God, I hope not,” she replied fervently. The cheese-roll race had been pretty tame compared to one she had seen on YouTube a few years ago. No steep hills and no spectacular tumbles. Harris had been one of the few participants to actually fall down the gentle incline. And despite his grumbling about it now, he’d been a pretty good sport about the whole thing. He had been laughing like a kid after that tumble, despite the muddy conditions after the rain.

“Anyway, I wanted to try the camembert ice cream,” he said, and she made a gagging face.