“It is not as sordid as that sounds,” Sloan said, more sharply than she meant to. “Or perhaps it is, depending on your view. But that is not the point.” She drew a breath. “The point being, is that it is separate. Self-contained. No awkward mornings. No mothers in the next room. No one mattering more than they should.”
Matty looked at her properly then. “And I do? Matter more than I should?”
Sloan straightened. “Yes,” she said. “And that unsettles me.”
Matty frowned. “That I matter?”
“That you matter enough for me to care how this starts,” Sloan said. “And how it goes after.”
Matty’s mouth twitched. “You do realise most people would just call that overthinking.”
“Most people are welcome to conduct themselves however they like,” Sloan replied. “I am simply saying I do not want our first intimate moments together to be squeezed into whatever scraps of time we can steal between my mother, your flatmates, and a hangover.”
Matty smiled then, slow and impossible to miss. “That sounded very much like planning ahead.”
Sloan exhaled. “I am told it is one of my more persistent flaws, but also, one of my best qualities.” She caught sight of the clock on the bedside table and swore softly. “We need to get back. I have given my mother entirely too much unsupervised time.”
Matty followed her gaze. “How bad are we talking?”
“With Gloria, there is always scope for innovation.”
Matty considered Gloria, alone in the café, drinking coffee, probably talking to more people than she had in weeks, and more than likely having the time of her life.
“Maybe she’s enjoying it,” Matty said in an attempt to remove the anxiety fluxing through Sloan’s every move.
Still, Sloan looked genuinely uneasy.
Matty crossed the space between them and pressed a kiss to Sloan’s mouth—unhurried, warm, and far gentler than the urgency still thrumming through her body.
It was not about starting something. It was about letting Sloan know she had heard her.
When she stepped back, Sloan’s eyes were darker than before.
“I’ll be five minutes,” Matty said, reaching for her trousers.
Chapter thirty-five
The walk back to the coffee shop was quiet. Out of the corner of her eye, Sloan noticed the quick glances Matty kept giving her. It was no surprise when she felt warm fingers interlock with her own, and she gave a small squeeze back.
“You want reassurance,” Sloan said, a statement rather than a question.
“Right now, yes,” Matty agreed. “You’re not the only one stepping into something very different from the life you’ve been living—”
“I want you to share that with me,” Sloan cut in, stopping to face her. “I know I can come across as though I’m not interested.” She gave her a small smile. “I am. Very much so. Perhaps that’s why I feel so…discombobulated.”
Matty laughed. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone use that word in conversation.”
“Well, I’m full of surprises.”
Matty nodded. “I suppose it’s just…” She half-laughed. “I’m not going to lie, I’m on edge. The need to get some kind of release is—” She broke off, cheeks warming.
“Sorry,” Sloan winced.
"Don't be. I…I'm enjoying it, in a weird way. It's not something I've ever done with anyone before." Matty shook her head, a reluctant smile crossing her face. "It's usually just a give-and-take thing. And this, with you, has been a little eye-opening."
Sloan glanced around. The busy shopping area was bustling, but not overly so. “I enjoy that edge too,” Sloan said. “I’m very good at staying there. And atkeeping someone else there, knowing I could push them over, and deciding not to. Denial is an art form.” Her mouth curved faintly. “That does not mean I don’t want more.”
Matty’s gaze held hers.
