I poured another glass of punch and put some rustic potatoes, cheddar, and fennelgalettealong with some pigs in a blanket and deviled eggs on a plate for Matt and took it over.
He was entertaining the feral cat committee with a story about a wild turkey that had gotten into one of his vertical farm buildings.
“It put a huge hole in one of the panes of glass. It was perfectly fine after,” he said he looked over at me and winked. “Then it tried to attack my truck.”
“Next time you want to expand,” the chair of the feral cat committee told Matt as I scooted around her and handed him his food, “we will be behind you a hundred percent.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, accepting the plate and putting his free arm around me. He bent down to kiss me lightly.
“And to think,” Aunt Bettina declared as Matt took a bite of the galette, “we were concerned that Merrie had found some slick billionaire who didn’t care about small towns. But you seem to fit right in here.”
“You can’t farm in a city,” Matt said, “not at any real scale anyway. So, unfortunately, you’ll all have to deal with me on a regular basis. Not sure how Merrie feels about that, of course.” He winked and smiled down at me.
My chest clenched. Matt seemed so warm and loving.
You’re probably just drunk. There is no love here. Remember, only a couple weeks ago you hated him.
Matt took a sip of the punch and coughed slightly.
I patted him on the back.
“Did you make that, Tina?” He coughed again.
“Made it with moonshine Bettina’s been cooking in her back shed,” my mom said. “I hope it’s strong enough. Bettina, I don’t think you made it strong enough.”
“I’ll adjust the recipe,” my great-aunt said.
Matt nodded and took another sip. “I think you have it covered, Tina.”
My mom beamed.
Gosh, Matt was so nice to everyone and pleasant!
He really deserves someone better than you.
I had no job, and I slept in nativity scenes or Christmas tree farms or crashed at his place. He probably wanted someone who, if she didn’t come from a good family, at least mildly had her shit together, which did not describe me.
“How many glasses of this punch did you have?” Matt asked in my ear. I could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you still standing?”
“The pigs in a blanket help soak up the booze.”
And the anxiety about being with a guy who was probably—actually, no, definitely—way out of your league also helped burn it off.
“Don’t worry if you’re a lightweight,” I whispered back to him. “I won’t take advantage of you tonight.”
“What if I want you to?” His hand drifted lower to caress my ass.
Well, then. Maybe I wouldn’t burn that Mrs. Claus outfit after all.
64
Matt
Ipulled the ugly sweater up over my head then pulled off the undershirt.
I couldn’t fucking believe Brody had been at that party. And he was with Merrie’s mother? What the hell?
At least he dumped Hensley.
