Page 56 of When You Were Mine

The comment snagged Elzy’s attention.

“No, I just can’t stand them.” Even the smell made his stomach tighten and his throat close.

“What about tomato sauce?” Darby asked. “Wait a minute. When we had that pizza party in Marco’s trailer, I noticed you didn’t eat anything. What’s up with that?”

“Let’s just say I’ve had my fill of them.” When he cut Elzy a look, he saw a ghost of a smile crossing her face. “But please enjoy the consommé.”

“Cooked, raw?” Darby asked. “Or just tomatoes in general?”

“Oh, this smells so good.” Elzy watched a different server approach with a tray of small plates.

He appreciated her attempt to distract Darby, but it didn’t work. “Just tell me. What’s the deal with tomatoes?” she asked.

He’d never told stories about his life because he didn’t want to shine a spotlight on his parents or anyone from his community. They were good people, and they didn’t need media and fans descending on him.

His parents might be gone now, but he’d still preserve their integrity. “My mom had a garden, and in lean times, we’d eat whatever she’d grown that season.”

“The infamous tomato season,” Elzy said.

Everyone smiled, and he nodded. They seemed appeased, and conversation resumed. He gave Elzy a subtle nod of thanks.

But his mind kept replaying the way her hand shot out to cover his bowl. Because she’d always looked out for him. And he’d needed it. His parents were good, hardworking people, but the farm took up all their time and energy. In bad times, when weather or disease got the crops, food was scarce.

One summer, they lived off two ingredients: tomatoes and bread. His mom tried hard to be inventive. Tomato soup, tomato pie, tomato salad…marinated, baked, broiled… Everything she could think of to make it palatable.

By July, he was so sick of it, he couldn’t even come to the table for dinner.

And what did Elzy do? She’d ride her bike over to his house with a sandwich. She’d pack a slice of pie into her lunch bag. Every time he’d come to visit, she’d have cookies for him, still warm from the oven.

She’d looked out for him—and what had he done with her love? Her devotion? He’d cast it aside for some ingrained sense of duty.

Only when Darby tapped his thigh and asked, “What’s yours?” did he realize how lost he’d gotten in memories.

He had no idea what they were talking about, so he was grateful when Elzy stepped in. “I’ll tell you mine. As a college graduation present, I took my sisters to Italy. We had the best time. All the pasta and gelato. Yummy. But then, we went to a little town called Siena, and we found a restaurant on this narrow, cobblestone street. It was the most perfect meal I’ve ever had.”

“Do you remember what it was?” Trevor asked because he wished he’d been with her. He wanted to merge their memories, experience hers as if they were his own.

He’d missed out on so much.

Fierce determination gripped him. Because while he couldn’t get that time back, he could make sure he didn’t miss one more second with her.

“You bet I do. I had the lightest, freshest gnudi with the most delicious sauce to ever get in my mouth. It was so good we splurged on dessert, and it was hands-down the best tiramisu I’ve ever had in my life. I remember every detail to this day.”

He wanted to share that taste memory with her. Wanted to stroll down the cobblestone street with her, hand in hand. “My best meal ever was when I was fifteen.”

Elzy tensed. Her gaze sharpened.

“Fifteen?” Darby laughed. “Let me guess. It was a burger at Hooters.”

“Nope. As we headed into the fall harvest, I had to miss a couple of football games, and my coach kicked me off the team.” And that right there—the way their smiles faltered—was why he didn’t share stories from his past. Because they made people uncomfortable.

What they didn’t understand was that his childhood had made him into the man he was today. It made him strong and relentless.

“But my best friend invited me over, and when I got to her house, she had a big family dinner for me.” Even as kids, they understood their differences. Where Elzy needed to be quiet when she got upset, Trevor, as an only child of parents who constantly worked, needed to be surrounded by people who supported him.

“Her?” Darby asked. “Your best friend at fifteen was a girl?”

He nodded. “She made mac and cheese, burgers, chips and dip, and ice cream sundaes for dessert.” He could still see the bright red maraschino cherry sitting on top of the pile of whipped cream. “Best dinner ever.”

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