Vincent's Thanksgiving Date Read Online Free PDF Page B

holiday…” Cory remarked but then peered thoughtfully at the cans of pumpkin puree. “There is no right answer,” he reminded Vincent. “But canned will probably be easier, and honestly, it tastes about the same.”
    “That’s good to know.” Vincent meant it. “I’ve never made a pie before so this will be an experience.” He wasn’t going to imagine burning the pie, or dropping it on the floor once it was done. He wasn’t. That nightmare was for later. “You must cook all the time if you decided to throw a big dinner party.”
    “Do you need the ingredients for the crust?” Cory expertly zigzagged between shopping families to grab flour and sugar and dump them in the cart. Then he shrugged. “I can’t really afford this, but for my first Thanksgiving dinner of my own, I don’t mind spending some money.”
    He moved and Vincent followed him, taking the cart with him. “So these people coming over are special?” If Cory’s apartment was like Vincent’s, it wouldn’t be huge, but Vincent thought a gathering of friends in a small apartment sounded nice and cozy, not nearly as tense as a dinner with his relatives in their big house.
    “I’ve got Laci and Rhonda, who weren’t expecting to get the day off together and so didn’t make any plans. Then I’ve got Ricky, who told me if I was finally going to be a grownup and host my own Thanksgiving, he had to be there. Then there’s my roommate, Sarah, but she’ll probably only be there at the beginning, or after. She’s a butterfly. And this list of guests doesn’t include the people I told who demanded to be invited and then didn’t RSVP. Which, I shouldn’t have to say, is rude. Which I also told them.” Cory shook his head. “My friends. They’re special to me even if half of them don’t have the sense of cat. But, no, it won’t be too large of a group. Nothing too intimidating. Just the people I want to be there the most.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I think it could be a good year. You’ve got to be grateful for the little things. Sometimes they’re all you’ve got.”
    Asking what Cory was grateful for seemed too personal. Nonetheless, Vincent knew he was expected to say something. “Little things?” he asked. “Like, finding a decently priced turkey this close to the big day?”
    “Ha.” Cory laughed and shook his head at the same time. “Yeah, or one that isn’t huge, or frozen solid.”
    “Or a good bottle of wine for cheap,” Vincent suggested, because he knew how he was spending the holiday.
    “Yes, Jesus, yes.” Cory, apparently, also liked wine. “I can’t believe I didn’t write liquor on the list. Good but cheap wine is definitely something to be grateful for finding,” he leaned in toward Vincent and whispered the rest. “Like good dick.” Vincent almost choked on his own spit. Cory didn’t seem to notice. “The thing is,” he murmured, with his eyelashes against his cheek, “when it doesn’t mean much, then it’s almost like not having any. At least, it’s that way to me. You ever feel like that?”
    He raised his eyes and Vincent wasn’t prepared. There was no way to prepare for something like that. Before today he’d thought blushing in front of Cory was bad, but his expression right now was probably far worse. He felt caught by that soft gaze and that carefully thrown out question. Cory wanted to know if Vincent felt lonely. Vincent nodded, but the need all over his face was already answer enough.
    The admission made him step back, arms flailing a little before he reeled them in and put his phone away. “Pecans,” he heard himself say, and hurried to the start of the aisle to grab a bag.
    When he returned, Cory was again consulting the list he could have had memorized by now, but he looked up and smiled at Vincent so warmly that Vincent felt it down it his feet. People did not look at Vincent like that.
    Cory handed him the list and acted as though Vincent wasn’t practically