Matthew smiled, and brushed his lips against mine. A hot blush stole across my cheeks and I studied the wash-weathered lettering on Matthew’s shirt.
“I’m sorry I freaked out, Miss Halsted. I kept thinking you’d trip into the harbor and be swept out to sea. And then pretend you did it on purpose.”
Another eye roll. “Can we talk about that croissant now?”
Matthew’s fingers laced with mine as we walked to the bakery, and they stayed that way while we ordered and chose a sun-drenched table outside. He tore into his sandwich as I slathered apricot jam on my croissant, and from the right angle, we were a regular couple out for brunch. The unlikely history of us fell away, and we weren’t trying to formulate the right words without the shelters of night and alcohol.
“You’re not from around here,” he said.
I unwound my scarf and dropped it to my lap. “Why do you say that?”
Matthew watched as I adjusted my chair in the direction of the sun’s rays. “I know Boston people. You’re not Boston people.” He rubbed his knuckles over his jaw. “And you’d never heard of The Red Hat. So where are you from?”
“I grew up in California. Outside of San Diego.”
He nodded and sipped his coffee. “And you’re here because…why? You have a problem with great weather and beaches?”
“No. I love all beaches. They’re my favorite places. And sunshine, too, but I’m into seasons. San Diego is summery and slightly less summery. I came out here to go to Williams College, and I wanted to work in urban schools, which is how I made my way to Boston. Chelsea, actually.”
“Do you visit California much?” Matthew leaned back, his ankles crossed over each other and his arms folded against his chest.
Licking my lips, I tried to remember the question. Too scrumptious. “No, not much. My parents are mostly retired, and they do this whole motor-home-and-road-trip thing. My dad does some consulting, and my mother’s blog is basically five minutes from being featured on the Travel Channel, so they’re busy.”
Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “Not even for the holidays?”
Frowning, I sipped my latte and mentally scrolled through my calendar. Surviving September was my top priority. “Uh, no, I hadn’t planned on it. My parents are touring Baja California for the next few months. A group of friends usually get together for Thanksgiving and some form of mash-up of winter holidays, and…”
I trailed off, realizing that we wouldn’t be hosting a Christma-Hanu-Festivus party this year. Not with Steph in Chicago and Amanda in DC. Sure, other friends would extend invitations to their celebrations, or try to recreate our festivities. Not so unlike book club, it wasn’t the same, and I wanted—maybe I was being a petulant child—to remember the way we did it, not the spin-off.
“I like this area,” he said, looking around. “My sister lives on Mt. Vernon, near Louisburg Square. She’s obsessed with Beacon Hill.”
I hated the idea of dismissing his comments, but I didn’t want all of these personal details. I couldn’t pretend this never happened if I picked up another uniquely Matthew story. “You said you wanted to hang out today?”
Matthew nodded and reached into his pocket, retrieving a neatly folded cocktail napkin from The Red Hat. “We could walk a few properties.”
“Oh, so you’re here in a professional capacity? When you showed up with my panties I figured you were in manwhore mode.”
He grabbed the arm of my chair and dragged me closer, a metal-on-stone screech whipping through the courtyard and drawing every eye toward us. He brushed my hair over my ear, leaning in until I could feel his breath on my skin.
“You’re a mouthy little thing, you know that? I don’t know why, but I like it a lot.” My teeth sank into my lower lip to repress a broad smile. “You’ll be getting a bill. I think it will come out to…” He brushed a few croissant crumbs from my shirt and twisted my nipple in the process. “Drinks with me.”
“I don’t have time for drinks with you. I barely have time for drinks with myself. I have too much—”
“Yeah,” he interrupted. “We work too much and neither of us has a life. We covered that last night. Doesn’t have to be drinks. Maybe just my cock in your mouth, and just because you want to.”
I turned and stared at Matthew’s defined jaw, and the way the sun illuminated his dark, wavy hair, and those blue eyes that told so many stories. I couldn’t have it all, that I knew. But I could have a little treat. “Drinks? Just for fun? Just for now?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s only as complicated as you make it.”
As much as I wanted to lock Matthew in the First Time for Everything vault and throw away the key, I didn’t want that at all.
Chapter Ten
MATTHEW
“Good bones,” Ideclared, my hand slapping the brick wall with reverence. I appreciated many things about old Boston architecture and construction, and diehard brick walls was one of them. “A wrecking ball’s the only thing taking down this place.”
Over my shoulder I saw Lauren, her head shaking. She stared at the abandoned button mill’s broken windows and released a strangled sigh.
