I nod as she taps her hands on the desk and stands up again, and I look down at my drawings with slightly altered eyes.
“Matteo is the same way with his work,” she goes on to say. “He likes to write what people like. I’d love to see something he created just for himself, but he never shows me.”
I’m not positive how I should respond to that. I don’t want to let on that Matt and I are getting closer, if that’s what we’re even doing. It feels like we are, but maybe I just feel that way because we’re finally not going for each other’s throats.
“Maybe he will someday,” I tell her.
“I hope so,” she replies. “My husband was a quiet and serious man, and growing up, Matteo was loud and eccentric. The two of them always balanced each other out. They were very connected. After his father passed, Matteo lost his way for a while. It was like he retreated inside his own mind. But lately, I’ve seen him start to come back to himself. Rome helps people with that. At least, I like to think so.”
She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze, and her warm gesture is entirely comforting.
“Matt’s very lucky to have you as a mom,” I tell her. “And we’re very lucky to have you as a teacher.”
“Grazie, mia cara,”she replies. “Now, don’t let me distract you anymore. I’m going to go bother Marco next.”
With another smile, she’s gone, drifting over to Marco’s side where she fawns over him and the dress form.
I sit down in the now open chair, looking over my sketches but finding myself caught up in questions and thoughts about Matt. Is it wrong that my initial ideas about him are starting to change? Is it safer to hate him than to like him, or worse yet, to be attracted to him? Our once combative but now flirty game can’t lead to anything good. It’ll only make trouble and no matter the outcome, there’s going to be consequences. I guess only time will tell what those consequences will be, because when it comes to being inexplicably and inconveniently drawn to Matt, I’m starting to realize one thing...
I don’t know if I can stop.
9
It’s nine o’clock when I convince myself to knock on Matt’s door after I’ve unconvinced myself seventeen times. I know I shouldn’t be here. I should be working on my designs or going to bed early. Even texting Greg would be the smarter option. He’s been reaching out more often than ever, and for the first time I’m the one who’s slow to respond. I have too much going on. Like trying to figure out what I’m currently doing standing in this hallway.
I tell myself that it’s not a big deal. That maybe Matt just wants feedback on anOperation Starshipcharacter arc or a secret pregnancy plot that he’s considering. Because the only other explanation is that he wants to spend time with me—alone time, and I’m not sure where I stand on that issue. Though, maybe I do know, since I’m now knocking on his door.
A few seconds pass until I hear a muffled “Come in,” from the other side. Taking a steadying breath, I twist the doorknob and cross the threshold.
My first thought as I enter Matt’s room is that it’s by far the most modern area of the house. Where my bedroom gives off a warm retro kind of feel, Matt’s room is minimal and contemporary. An oversized wooden headboard frames a full-size mattress that’s covered with a gray bedspread, and a lighter heather-gray rug is sprawled across the floor. A bamboo chair with a leather seat is tucked into the far corner beside an expertly placed ficus plant, giving the room an almost staged appearance. The only old-looking piece is a large mahogany desk that’s situated to the direct left of the door, where Matt is currently sitting.
“Hey,” he says, closing his laptop as I shut the door behind me.
“Hello,” I answer uncomfortably, driving home just how uncomfortable I am by adding on a super long pause after my greeting, because why not? “Your room is very fancy.”
“My mom redecorated it last year,” he replies. “I think she was trying to tempt me into visiting more.”
“Well, if you don’t visit more, she should Airbnb this bad boy. I bet she’d make a killing.”
“I’ll let her know you think so. Though I doubt anyone would have to go through the trouble of renting it. My mom’s the kind of person that will invite someone over for lunch and then they’ll still be here a week later.”
“I can picture that,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure Marco is working on making that exact scenario a reality at this very moment. As are we all.”
Matt rolls his chair away from the desk and swivels it around to face me. “Truth be told, my mom would probably be on board with that. It’s looking like I’ll be moving from New York to LA in the next couple of months, so she’ll be more company hungry than usual.”
I feel a small but distinct tightening in my gut at his words even though I shouldn’t. “Oh yeah?” I ask. “You’re moving to LA?”
Matt nods. “My agent has been pushing me to do it for a while. I’ve been flying there every month or so and staying there most of the year, so it makes sense to make the move full-time.”
I step past him and move deeper into the room, keeping my expression neutral. “Do you think you’d like living there?”
I peek over my shoulder and Matt answers with a noncommittal shrug. “Probably not. I love New York, but if I want to keep working in TV or film, I know it’s the right decision. It’ll be easier for meetings, and I wouldn’t have to travel so much. My mom will be disappointed, but hopefully she won’t mind visiting me in California. At least she’s prepared for the climate with her army of caftans.”
I turn around at his words. “Look at you, knowing what a caftan is. I’m impressed. Just how much fashion lingo are you hiding under that surly demeanor?”
“I’ll never tell.”
I smile and head for the chair in the corner. Sitting down, I rest my hands against my knees.
