“No. I’ve got a different ride in mind,” Sloan murmured, before turning back into the house and following the shuffling form of Gloria down the hall.
The words settled low in Matty’s body, and her mind was only too happy to fill in the blanks.
***
“I thought we were going out for dinner,” Gloria yawned.
Sloan’s brow arched. “That was before you went gallivanting around town.” She placed the small table over Gloria’s lap and set the cutlery beside the bottle of beer. “You’d be asleep before the main course was served. And anyway, you like Matty cooking for you.”
Gloria shrugged. “I don’t mind. At least she can cook.”
Sloan ignored the jibe.
A moment later, Gloria said, “Is she staying then? Or do I have to run off another one?”
“I’ve already warned you what will happen if you see anyone off again,” Sloan said. “Do you want her to stay?”
Gloria shrugged again. “If she wants.”
“I’m asking whatyouwant.” Sloan sat and crossed one leg over the other, elegant even at home, and sipped her chardonnay.
“Well…it’s about time,” Gloria huffed, sitting back in her chair and raising the bottle of beer. “Maybe asking what I wanted should’ve been the first thing you did.”
“Maybe it should’ve,” Sloan said. “But I had decisions to make, and sometimes, Mother, you are not the easiest to deal with.”
“I might be old, but I’m not dead yet.” Gloria took a long swig, swallowed it down, and smacked her lips together. Then she belched. “Pardon.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“For now,” Gloria said, and there was something like satisfaction in it.
From the kitchen, Matty called, “Dinner!”
“You’d better see to that,” Gloria said, waving her bottle.
Sloan placed the glass down and stood. The aroma from the kitchen was already wafting into the lounge. “Happy to,” she said.
***
There was something extraordinarily sexy about Matty in her kitchen, apron on, hair tied back with a faded bit of cloth, holding a spoon out for Sloan to taste.
“That’s delicious,” Sloan said as the flavour hit her tongue.
“It’s just a very quick dish I saw on TikTok,” Matty answered, twirling the linguini through the sauce.
“Maybe so, butyoucooked it,andit’s delicious,” Sloan decreed, and then her gaze snagged on the counter. Only two bowls sat ready. “You’re not eating with us?”
“No. I have to get home and get changed for work.”
“Of course. It’s Friday. Your shift at Art.”
Matty smiled, slid a fork into the pasta and lifted it into a ladle, twisting until she had a perfect coil.
“I was hoping we’d have that conversation,” Sloan said, watching the easy way Matty moved. “About your marriage.”
With both plates served, Matty untied the apron and turned to face her. “I really want to. Maybe we can do something tomorrow afternoon before my next shift?”
Sloan reached out, hooked her fingers into Matty’s belt loops, and pulled her closer. “What time is your break?”
