“It is. I’ve watched friends deal with theirs. Teenagers,” she adds with a sigh. “You can understand why some animals eat their young.”
“I couldn’t eat Seb. He stinks,” Matt says, as he sets a fancy cup and saucer in front of Letty.
“Not anymore. Not now that he’s into girls. Thirteen-year-old boys think a bar of soap is for hiding their pocket money under,” Letty says, turning my way as though the information might be useful.Good thing we’re having a little girl.“Then at sixteen, they seem to remember what sopa is actually for.”
“Not me. I didn’t stink,” Matt insists.
“You’re the eldest, so who would tell?”
“Have a pastry,” he says, sliding the box her way. In other words, shut up about smelly boys.
She gives a slight lift of her hand. “Thanks, but no.”
“Clo can have one, though?” He glances his niece’s way.
“Sure.” Her mother shrugs. “Why not.”
“Yum!” the little girl hollers as she clambers over the back of the sofa.
“Clodagh,” her mother scolds. “You know better than that.”
“Ah, leave her. It’s only furniture. Ryan?” Matt kind of pivots on his heels to face me. “Would you get me the hot chocolate out of the pantry, please?”
“The pantry?” The pantry in a house I have never been in before now. But I guess I now know why there aren’t appliances (or pretty much anything) cluttering the countertops.
“Yeah.” He jerks his head left like he’s trying to send me a signal. “I think I left it next to the mixer.”
“Cool beans.” Is something I’ve never ever said in my life as I slide from the stool. But he obviously wants me out of the way. As I cross behind Leticia, I point to the only solid door I can see, the other one glass and clearly leading to a fancy-schmancy wine cellar, one that seems to contain a decent amount of whiskey too. Anyway, Matt nods, so into the pantry I go.
It turns out not to be anything as simple as a pantry but a whole other room—a whole other kitchen, almost. Maybe Matt preps meals in here. He did say he could cook, as I recall. Or maybe he has a fancy chef and this is his domain. I can’t decide if the setup is excessive or a really good idea as I make my way to the shelf at the end, where the fancy-looking mixer seems to be stored.
“Got it?” Matt calls out.
“It isn’t next to the mixer,” I shout back. A few seconds later, the door opens. “What am I doing in here?” I whisper as Matt steps inside.
“This.” In front of me now, he rests his hand on my shoulder and leans in, bringing with him the warmth of his body and the scent of soap and cologne. Everything south of my waist pulls tight at a sudden and very visceral memory. The moment is over in ablink as he pulls back, gently shaking a jar of hot chocolate mix.Harrods, of course.
“If you knew where it was—” I give a little squeak as he ducks quickly and presses his mouth to mine. Just a peck, nothing sexual, but a sneak attack. And he looks all kinds of pleased with himself.I’d better not be having a boy,I think, staring at him. He’s too much.
“I wanted to get you alone. Not like that,” he adds as I open my mouth to protest. His hand hovers over my waist for a moment, ultimately dropping to his side. “Should we tell her?”
“About the baby? Shouldn’t we wait?” A chicken begins to cluck in my head. “I know twelve weeks is what they say.” The rest of my sentence echoes in my head.But I’m not ready.
“What they say? Say about what?”
“Twelve weeks seems to be a convention. People wait until then in case ...”
His hand finds mine. “Don’t think like that. Not at twelve weeks, fourteen, or forty.”
“We’ll tell her before forty weeks,” I say, trying to joke while feeling anything but funny.
“We don’t have to say anything to her. Not yet.”
“But do you think Clodagh might blab?”
He gives his head a quick shake. “I don’t think she knew what we were talking about.”
I pull a face, unconvinced.
