“When I was your age, it was an elderly lady.”
“Did she give you cookies like Mizz McCauley?”
“No, but Gran and I used to take cookies to her. The house was much different back then. It’s far lighter and brighter and more beautiful now. I always wondered what the upstairs looked like.”
“I’ll show you the rest of it!” Sophie pointed down the hall. “Daddy’s room is that way, an’ next to it is a sittin’ room.”
“I, uh, saw those when I came upstairs.” I was keenly aware of Matt watching the proceedings from the hallway. “Let’s not intrude on his private space.”
“Okay.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. “This is our bathroom. The first sink is mine.” She opened a door and led me into another pink room. “This is supposed to be my room, but Zoey and I decided to share.”
“We’ve shared a room ever since Mommy died,” Zoey said. “I didn’t want to be alone, and Daddy said I couldn’t share his bed.”
Matt ran a hand across his jaw, looking uneasy.
Sophie pulled me across the hall into a room with a sofa, a desk with a computer, and toys scattered on the thick rug. Zoey followed. “This is our playroom. And next to that is another bathroom, and then there’s Jillian’s room,” Zoey announced.
Matt cleared his throat again. “It’s actually the guest room.”
“Yeah, but Jillian’s the only guest.”
“That’s only happened a couple of times when I had to be away overnight and your grandparents were busy,” Matt said.
Was he trying to clarify the nature of Jillian’s sleepovers for the girls’ sake, or for mine? What was the real nature of their relationship? I’d picked up a territorial vibe from Jillian earlier. “It’s got to be convenient, having family so close by.”
He nodded. “That’s why we moved here.” He suddenly looked ill at ease, as if he’d said too much. He thumped on the doorframe. “Well, I’d better go check the burgers.”
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Sophie asked.
“She’s not invited,” Zoey said flatly.
Matt raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but Zoey continued before he could get a word in edgewise. “You wouldn’t let Jillian stay. You said you wanted a night with just the three of us. So she can’t stay, either.”
I quickly lifted both of my hands. “Actually, I’ve already eaten. Gran’s on the senior dining plan, which means dinner is served at five o’clock sharp. And speaking of time...” I made a show of looking at my watch. I wasn’t wearing one, so I had to pull my phone out of the pocket of my running shorts to look at the time. “I’d better get going so I can get started on the sketches.”
I said good-bye to the girls and headed down the stairs. Matt followed me into the foyer. I was about to open the door, but Matt reached around and opened it for me. He wasn’t touching me, but I could feel the heat of his body as I turned toward him. Or maybe not; maybe the heat was coming from me. All I knew was that the air between us suddenly felt a whole lot warmer.
I paused. “Look—I’m really sorry about earlier. I had no business looking at your pictures.”
He raised his shoulders. “No harm, no foul. I overreacted.”
Up close, he was more attractive than ever—and I was close enough to see the lighter blue facets around his pupils. He smelled of starch and soap and testosterone. My stomach fluttered. I gave a nervous grin. “Well, from now on, I promise to stay out of your bedroom.”
The minute the words left my mouth, I realized how they sounded. My cheeks flamed.
The corners of his eyes tensed. For a long, hot moment, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move. I just looked at him, trapped in a bubble of thought-erasing heat.
His gaze shifted to my mouth, then back to my eyes. He smiled. “I’ve got about a dozen clever rejoinders swirling around in my head, but I’d better not say any of them.”
I couldn’t think of a single response to save my life. My face on fire, I muttered a fast “good night” and ducked out the door.
13
adelaide
Imust have dozed off in my favorite living room chair—a green wingback with birds embroidered on the fabric—because I awakened to the sound of the kitchen door closing. The hearing loss I’d acquired over the last few decades made it difficult for me to tell what direction noises were coming from, but I recognized it by its sound; the kitchen door made an alto thud, as opposed to the softer soprano clunk of the front one. How many times had I heard those doors close?
Must be a million. The first time was as a new bride, when Charlie had brought me to see the home he’d found for us, so proud that the buttons had practically burst off his vest. They’d swung open and closed about a thousand times a day when Becky was a child; she was always coming and going, and she closed doors hard—the way she did everything. Eddie always shut doors softly, as if he didn’t want to call any attention to himself. My parents had sashayed in and out of them without knocking, as long as they were alive and mobile.
