As she started to bring out bowls and ingredients for her pancakes, she chuckled. “You’re much more than that, Matt. Oh. Can I call you Matt still? I doubt I could start calling you ‘Graham’ now.”
Graham Matthew Walker had used his middle name when he’d stayed here, and had paid in cash. At the time, MJ had been a little suspicious—not as much as Cindy—then learned he hadn’t used his full name so she couldn’t Google him and find out he was worth twenty-five million in lottery winnings.
“Actually, I like it so I’m keeping it. In Utah, I’m Matt. Graham is old Florida me. And my nephew Wade will just have to deal. Oh…” He eyed her. “You’re okay that he tagged along, right?”
“Of course!”
“Good, good,” he said. “We’re close and he’s the only relative in my circle who didn’t suddenly become a different person when they found out I smelled of way too much money. We were together over Thanksgiving at his mom’s house—my sister—and he had some time and wanted to see Utah.”
“He’s more than welcome and I think he’ll be comfortable in the suite we gave him,” she said, watching him bring a cup of freshly brewed coffee to the island and settle on a bar stool in front of her.
A memory of George sitting at her old kitchen island flashed in her head, but she tucked it away, refusing to go there.
Reaching over the space that separated them, he put a hand on hers. “You sure you’re okay with this, MJ? I know it’s…unconventional. I mean, me being gone a year and all.”
“You explained it in your letter,” she said. “And you certainly were generous with us.”
He waved off the gratitude. “You and Cindy—everyone, really—thanked me enough last night. The fact is, I did what I set out to do. I gave just about everything away, but kept enough for me to live well, but not crazy. I won’t have to fix toilets as a plumber, but I won’t be flying on private planes, either.”
She looked hard at him, the memories of her long and fun talks with this man flooding back. She’d deeply enjoyed their time together—more than a month of daily conversations, dinners, and enough time to really fall for each other.
When it ended rather abruptly, she’d realized how familiar he’d become. She knew the silver threads in his hair, the strong shape of his nose, the hint of his upper lip under a surprisingly attractive moustache. She understood what made him tick and what his life had been like—she just hadn’t known he was an extremely wealthy man.
“Now that I know what you were hiding,” she said slowly, “I can tell that you were never comfortable with that wealth.”
“I wasn’t.” He pulled back the cuff of a cable-knit sweater. “Look, Ma, no more Rolex.”
She smiled. “So what are your plans, Matt? Are you staying through the holiday or…”
Inching back, he gave her a look of disbelief. “I, uh, thought I’d stay…as long as you’ll have me.”
What did that mean? She took a slow breath, holding his gaze. “I…I…would like?—”
He held up a hand to stop her stammering. “I will not take a room or cabin indefinitely, I promise.”
She laughed. “That’s not…” She didn’t know how to finish that.
“You do want me around, right?” he asked.
She lowered her wooden spoon, vaguely aware she hadn’t done one thing to make a single pancake yet.
“Well, you’re a distraction,” she joked, trying to make light of all the emotions and uncertainty ricocheting through her.
“I don’t want to confuse you,” he said, flicking his thumb and index finger over his moustache as he sometimes did when he was struggling with how to say something important. “But I would like to…be with you.”
She swallowed, feeling some blood drain from her face.Bewith her? What did that mean, exactly?
“Starting with today,” he said. “I have an idea. Are you busy?”
“Well…” Was she? “We still have friends in town and we’ll be getting ready for a soft opening, so…”
“MJ.” He slid off the stool and came around the counter, holding her gaze as he approached. “I didn’t come to totally upset your apple cart.”
She smiled. “You didn’t?”
“Well, maybe tip it a little, but I feel like you’re distant this morning. Are yousureyou’re okay with me being here?”
She had been far more than “okay” until that dang dream and the song and…George. Had he been sending her a message? Or was her imagination in overdrive?
