The heavy oak panel swings inward.Matthew is there, framed in the opening.He tilts his head, resting his temple wearily against the wood’s edge.His other arm stretches out, bracing against the opposite doorjamb, the movement pulling the black cotton of his T-shirt taut across the hard lines of his biceps and shoulder.His dark hair is slightly messy, falling over his forehead.His green eyes find mine.The deep sadness I see there sends an ache straight through my chest.
He just looks at me, his expression unreadable beyond that evident weariness.He runs a hand slowly through his tousled hair.A long sigh escapes him.Then, without a word, he steps back into the dimly lit entryway and leaves the door open.
Every instinct screams to retreat to my car and drive away.To escape this tense, weighted silence.
But I can’t.
The need to understand, to try to bridge this awful chasm between us, is stronger than the nervousness churning in my gut.
My foot lifts, hesitant, then steps across the threshold.Matthew pushes the door shut before turning to face me.
Suddenly, we’re enclosed in this softly lit foyer after days of radio silence.
I’m instantly flustered.Words tumble out before I can properly form them.“I tried calling.You weren’t answering, so I-I thought I’d just…” My voice trails off under his penetrating gaze.
“Why are you here, Amy?”His voice is flat and tired, yet intensely focused.
He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively retreat, my nerves skittering along my skin.“I-I told you.I even texted you…”
He takes another slow step forward, closing the small distance I just created, his eyes never leaving mine.“Why are you here, Amy?”he repeats with the same flat insistence.
I try to step back again, but my heel hits something solid.My back presses against the short wall separating the foyer from the living room.
“I tried t-to… you weren’t answering my calls, my messages… twice…” The words are disjointed, my brain struggling to function as he takes another step, closing the remaining space between us.
He stops mere inches away.His scent overwhelms my senses.A heady blend of cedarwood with hints of amber.My heart lodges firmly in my throat, pounding violently, making it nearly impossible to draw a breath, let alone speak.His chest, covered by the thin black cotton of his t-shirt, rises and falls heavily, almost in sync with my own ragged breathing.
“Why, Amy?”His voice is quieter now, gravelly, his eyes boring into mine, searching.
He leans in fractionally, the minute movement stealing the last remnants of space between us.Our bodies lightly brush.The heat of his chest sears through my sweater.His face is so close I can see the tiny flecks of gold in his green irises and the faint stubble shadowing his jaw.
I swallow hard, unable to look away, caught entirely in his stare.
“Why?”he repeats, his breath warm against my skin.
He holds his ground, pinning me with nothing but his proximity and his unwavering gaze.
“I… I needed to see you,” the confession bursts out, raw and nervous, torn from my constricted throat.
“Why?”His question is barely a whisper, yet it holds more weight than all the others.
The weariness in his eyes deepens, mingled with profound sadness and vulnerability.
Suddenly, his phone starts ringing.The jarring sound echoes from another room deeper in the house, cutting the thick tension like a knife.
Matthew doesn’t flinch.He doesn’t move.His eyes remain locked on mine, his body still a hair’s breadth away.
We’re frozen, caught in this impossibly close, silent standoff, while the phone continues its insistent summons.
The ringing stops abruptly, plunging us back into charged silence, only to start up again.Just as loud.Just as demanding.
Something shifts in Matthew’s eyes, the green hardening as annoyance surfaces.
“Fuck,” he mutters low under his breath.
He pulls back sharply, the movement stiff and forced.Scrubbing a hand roughly over his face, he evades my eyes as the phone continues its relentless ringing from the other room.
“It’s important,” he says, his voice clipped, tight with annoyance.“I need to—”
