“Good morning,” he says. “I hope you like something here.”
I check out our brunch, which has enough muffins and cinnamon buns piled on it to feed a roomful of people. It’s a little much, but I won’t laugh. Though it seems far from it at times, we barely know each other yet, and he’s trying to make sure I get something I want. It’s thoughtful, and it’s nice,because I rarely bother with breakfast for myself. I’m usually in a rush to get moving. But I like the feeling of this. Of slowing down.
“Thank you for this.”
“My pleasure. Black, right?”
“You got it.”
“Okay. Go sit. I picked up a few things at the office, and I have stuff to show you.”
I carry the plate to the kitchen table, which is bare except for a simple salt and pepper shaker set. I know he likes auctions, and now I wonder if he likes antique shopping. I do. I could spend an entire day browsing in antique stores with lunch in between, given the chance. With the speed of my life these days, I haven’t enjoyed that simple pleasure in a while, but it would be fun to do it with him, I think. He’d have more insight into treasures than I do, too.
“Louis is coming in about an hour,” he calls from the kitchen.
I take a seat, surprised. “Already? That’s fast to collect so much information.”
“He must have some good people working with him,” he agrees, joining me. In one hand he has his coffee, which is so much lighter in colour than mine, I can tell he has it loaded with cream and probably sugar. In the other, he holds the handle of his leather briefcase. He stands in front of me, observing me, and I sense a hint of tension in his smile.
“Did you have a good sleep?”
Does the strain in his expression come from what I’m feeling as well? How can I ease that? Should I tell him that it would have been better for both of us if he had shared the bed with me? Without sounding “too forward,” as he calls it. He’s hard to read sometimes. I decide to give him a nudge of sorts.
“I did, thank you. How was the couch?”
He scratches the back of his head and lowers his gaze to the plate of pastries. “A little short, honestly. I guess it’s technically a love seat, which apparently wasn’t built for me.”
There’s my opening. “Oh, well, the bed is much bigger. You should try it next time.”
“You’re right,” he says shyly.
I could honestly die at the modesty of his expression.
To ease the pressure, I laugh. “Oh, Matthew. We have to figure each other out. You’d think we’d be better at that, considering how much we research things.”
“Personal discoveries are more difficult for me. I don’t have much experience, to be honest. Never had much time or interest in the dating scene.”
I need him to understand. “Let’s learn a little bit today.”
There’s still worry in his brow, but he has a very steady gaze, and it holds me fast. “I’d like that, Bridget. I…”
“It’s okay,” I say with a grin. “We all go at our own pace. But I should probably warn you that—so far—my pace is way faster than yours.”
He returns my smile, full of promise, then he bends down and kisses my lips. His touch is soft, and yet in full, surprising control. I feel myself falling again.
“I will do my best to keep up,” he says, and I think through a fog that I have underestimated this man once again.
He seems pleased with himself as he pulls out the chair beside mine. All he has is a small, very plain white table with four chairs. I wonder if he’s ever had four people here at one time.
“While we wait for Louis, I want to know something. So much has happened with you in the here and now, you never got a chance to tell me the story behind your text about Rosie Ryan.” He pulls out a copy of the chambermaid group photo. “You found your great-grandmother on here? Which one?”
“That I don’t know.”
Matthew stares calmly at the photo a moment. “Oh well. That would have made it too easy, I guess. But really, this is incredible, finding her there right when you’re working at the hotel.”
“I think about that a lot.” I hesitate, not sure how much to say, because he’s a serious researcher, an expert, and yet I sense an underlying curiosity inhim that is unrelated to cold, hard facts. I want to know if I’m right. “Yesterday morning, I went to the chambermaids’ room, and I just stood there. I have no idea what I was hoping for, but I tried to imagine Rosie standing with me. I know it’s silly.”
“I don’t think it is,” he says.
