More resolute.
Matthew didn’t just offer me his guest room.He offered me the sanctuary he couldn’t give his mother.
A deep breath fills my lungs, steady and sure.
It’s time to go downstairs and have dinner with her son.
As I descend the main staircase, the savory aroma intensifies, drawing me forward.My stomach gives a surprised rumble, reminding me I haven’t eaten since… I can’t remember.
I follow the scent into the kitchen and stop just inside the archway, leaning against the doorframe to absorb the scene.Matthew is standing at the center island, methodically chopping fresh basil.He’s wearing a soft grey T-shirt and black sweatpants, with a plain black cooking apron tied around his lean waist.
A warmth so potent it could mend bone explodes in my chest.
I’ve seen him in a sharp suit, radiating power.
I’ve seen him stripped bare, raw with grief.
But this domestic version of him, in an apron, mincing herbs for a meal he’s making for me…
It feels like coming home.
The thought is so deeply resonant that a wistful smile finds my lips.“I could get used to this.”My voice is quiet, a confession meant more for myself, but it escapes into the fragrant air.
The rhythmic chopping stops.Matthew looks up, his eyes brightening when they find me.A breathtaking smile spreads across his face.He sets the knife down, wipes his hands on the small towel tucked into his apron string, and walks toward me.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulls me to him.“Then I advise you to stick around, love.”
A delightful warmth floods through me.A light laugh bubbles up as I wrap my arms loosely around his neck.He sways me gently, his own chuckle a warm rumble against my chest.
He pulls back, his hands lingering at my waist.His eyes sparkle with a radiant light that makes me feel like the only person in his world.“Wanna help me bring it all together?”he asks, his gaze turning mischievous.
“Me?Help you?”I arch an eyebrow.“I’m not sure you want to risk it.I don’t remember the last time I actuallycooked, cooked.”I take a half-step back, gesturing with a flourish down the length of him in his apron.“Besides, you look like you’re in your element.”
His smile widens into a devastating grin of unfiltered happiness.It melts my insides and makes my heart feel impossibly light.“I’ll take my chances.But first, wine.”He gestures to a small wine rack.“Glasses are in that cabinet right there, if you would?”
“Yes, Chef!”I tease.
I retrieve two large-bowled glasses and place them on the granite island.Matthew is already there, peeling the foil from a bottle of red.The soft pop of the cork is a satisfying, homey sound.He pours a generous amount of the velvety ruby liquid into each glass.I pick up the one he slides toward me as he raises his own, his eyes finding mine.The mischief melts into solemn sincerity.
“What shall we toast to?”I ask softly, my heart giving a hopeful flutter at the shift in gravity between us.
He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze incredibly direct, searing.“To new beginnings.”The words are a low, meaningful vow.“And to no longer being afraid of them.”
The words land directly in the heart of the fear I was paralyzed by just a short while ago in his driveway.
My throat tightens with a surge of emotion.“To new beginnings,” I echo, my voice thick with gratitude.
We clink our glasses.The clear, ringing sound feels like a tiny, perfect bell marking this new chapter.I take a sip; the wine is rich, bold, and warms me from the inside out.
“Okay.”I set my glass down.“I’m all yours.What are you gonna do with me?”
Matthew gives me a look so full of raw desire it makes my knees weak.He reaches behind his back and unties his apron.In one smooth motion, he lifts the loop over his head and lowers it over mine.The fabric engulfs me, ridiculously large.
He steps up behind me, his body a solid wall of heat at my back.“I can think of all kinds of things I’d love to do with you.”He wraps the long ties around my waist twice, pulling me flush against him as he leans in close.“But then we’ll never get to dinner,” he murmurs, his chin brushing my cheek as he ties a snug bow at my front.
Then, with unexpected tenderness, he gathers my hair.His fingers glide along the sides of my throat, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine.He deftly braids the strands, letting the plait fall down my back.
“There,” he whispers, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the newly exposed skin of my nape.
