Although the library was quiet, Leo couldn’t study. Every noise, however slight, distracted him. What was even more frustrating was that when his thoughts were interrupted, he would realize he had been thinking about Dock or gazpacho or the image of Dock standing over his long wooden kitchen table chopping tomatoes. He even found himself staring at a recipe for the soup more than once. He didn’t even remember having grabbed a Spanish cookbook off the shelves, never mind a book entirely about Spain.
“I’m losing my mind,” he said aloud, much to the annoyance of a librarian who walked by and cast a doleful eye in his direction.
There were any number of different recipes for gazpacho: white, Ajo Blanco, something called “Oriental Gazpacho,” and even green gazpacho, but the one that called ou
