“She’s a statue.You’re human,” he reminds me.
“And?”I challenge, my frustration growing by the second.
“And you have feelings.”He gestures, incredulous.“And you’re allowed to feel them.”
“Shitty advice,” I say, blowing out a harsh breath while unscrewing the wine bottle cap.
“Excuse me?”he asks, a dangerous low note in his tone.
“Given everything, statue mode is my only valid option,” I counter, raising the bottle to my mouth.
But just as the rim touches my lips, Matthew’s hand darts out, fingers closing firmly around its base.Shock shoots through me as he easily plucks it from my grasp.
“No, it’s not,” he says.His quiet tone holds an undeniable command.He turns and stalks back into the main area.
“Hey!”I follow him out.“This is not your fight!”I yell after his back.
He spins around, slamming the wine bottle down hard onto the nearest table.
I glare at him, chest still heaving from my outburst.
He stands rigid for a second, his jaw tight.But then, something shifts in his eyes.The flash of his own anger recedes, replaced by that unnerving, intense focus.
“I’m not really the one you’re angry with, am I?”he asks, closing the distance just enough to hold my attention.
His quiet question hangs in the air, probing too close to the raw nerves exposed by this entire day.The image of James leaning over me, his foul breath, his blatant dismissal, the weight of the café’s future… it all presses down, threatening to crack me open right here under Matthew’s steady gaze.
“I can’t… I don’t have time for this now.”The plea bleeds into my voice.“Thank you for dinner, really, but I should get back to work.”My voice cracks on the last word, betraying the emotion I’m trying to suppress.
He takes another half-step closer.I retreat instinctively, my eyes pleading.“I really need to finish that statement.”My lips part softly in an unspoken appeal, and I gesture pointedly towards the paper on the counter.
For a fleeting moment, Matthew’s eyes follow my hand, then return to read my face.
Just as I think I can’t take anymore, he breaks the stare and strides past me.When he gets to the counter, he flips over the piece of paper, grabs the pen, and starts writing.
“What’s Mary’s last name?”he asks.
“Alston.”I approach hesitantly, watching the intense concentration etched on his profile.He moves the pen across the page in neat, determined lines.
“Spelling, please,” he says firmly, without looking up.
“A-L-S-T-O-N.”I watch the sheer speed and confidence radiating from him.
Charged silence settles between us, interrupted only by the scratch of pen against paper.
He smacks the pen down.
“I didn’t get around to it today because his schedule was packed, but I managed to convince Harold to meet with me first thing tomorrow,” he informs me.“My plan is to tell him about your petition and that he should seriously reconsider his approach.”
I barely process his words before he adds, “This is very much my fight.”His eyes fix on mine, a thin smile touching his lips, jaw set hard.“But you already know that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.He snatches his jacket from the counter.
Already moving toward the door, he calls back over his shoulder.“Try not to stay too much longer.Get it printed and get some rest.”
“Matt—” I start, stunned.
He’s already at the door, hand on the lock.“Good night, Amy,” he interrupts without turning around.
