“I’ve never really considered it,” she managed, hoping that was a neutral and natural response.
Because nothing in her felt neutral or natural right this minute.
He just looked at her. “Never? Not once? Not…lately?”
“What are you asking me, Matt?”
“I think you know, MJ.”
Well, he’d be wrong about that. Shedidn’tknow and she hated anything cryptic, ambiguous, or confusing. “You’ll need to be blunt,” she said.
He didn’t answer, but visibly swallowed. Maybe he was really shy. Maybe he didn’t know how to say what he wasn’t saying.
“Listen, Matt,” she started slowly. “This friendship has meant…something to me. More than I expected. But the truth is, I hardly know anything about you, and you know my whole life story. You’ve listened a lot, but haven’t told me much. Nothing deep, anyway. And now you’re leaving.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to tell.”
“No, that’s not true.” She leaned forward, a bolt of determination shooting through her. “Start with who are you.”
“Who I?—”
“What is your story?” she interjected before he could derail her. “Why did you stay here all these weeks, alone? And, excuse me for my inexcusable directness, but where did you get all this money if you were just a plumber?”
Her words tumbled out in a rush, years of carefully measured composure cracking under the weight of his vague and cagey responses.
He didn’t say a word in response.
“Do you have any idea how frustrating this is?” she asked. “To care about someone whohasto be hiding something?”
His expression fell and he reached over the table and put his fingers over hers.
“MJ,” he said, his voice as gentle as his touch. “I’m so sorry. But some things can’t be explained. Not yet.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, seeing his wrist, where the gleam of his watch caught the light.
“How about the fact that the back of your Rolex says Graham Walker? Can you explain that?”
“It’s my”—he tugged his sleeve over the watch face—“legal name.”
“Okay. Why do you go by Matt? Is that a story about your past you might share? And why did you pick this lodge? Can you tell me that? And?—”
He put a light finger over her lips, the touch nearly sending electricity through her, and instantly stopped her words.
“Would you give me one year?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just one year,” he repeated. “Would you…wait for me?”
“Wait for…what? Why?”
He closed his eyes, clearly struggling to find the right words. “You’re right, MJ. I’m not being completely honest, but I promise you, I have a good reason.” He sighed, then took her hand again. “I need one year. It’ll take that long to…” He swallowed. “I need to…change my life.”
“Change your life? How?”
“I have some…things.” He exhaled, in obvious torment. “Things I need to…to…get rid of—for lack of a better word—before I can be the man I want to be…for you.”
Chills rose over her arms. Was he married? Was a wife something he needed to get rid of? Was a divorce what would change his life? That would take a year. Or maybe he had to do time for something he’d done?
