Page 80 of Matteo

The look on his face last night. The look on Joel's. And how I didn’t know where to put myself after that. I feel bad that he saw because I think he likes me, a lot. I just don’t feel that way about him. And if I were at work today, I’d be hyper-aware of everything. Every glance, every pause, every moment I might misread. That thought alone makes my chest tighten more than the cramps do.

I turn onto my other side, pulling the blanket up, trying not to think too hard about anything at all. That’s when I hear a notification ping on my cell phone. I check to see. Vlad has texted me again.

Vlad: You haven’t RSVP’d. I expect you to be at my wedding. No excuses.

Of course I’m going, and now I can because I have the money, but I need to let him know because he wants numbers.

Elizabeth: I will do. Been busy. Sorry! New job

I’ll need to take time off. It’s in a couple of weeks’ time. In Dubrovnik. I have to go because he'll never forgive me if I don’t. That’s never going to happen. I won’t ever let Vlad down. Because I’m being paid so well, I can comfortably afford a trip to Europe.

I put off thinking about the trip because I needed to settle in at work. I wanted to get the security audit out of the way, and while it's almost done now, the tech issues are taking up my time.

I’m about to text and reply that I will be coming when I hear a knock at the door. I get up to answer it, looking forward to seeing Arthur, but my eyes nearly bug out of my head when I see Matteo instead, carrying what looks like a gift bag.

I'm speechless. In shock, barefoot, in my pajamas and holding a hot water bottle, my mouth hanging open.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and low, sending an entirely inappropriate flutter through my stomach.

Matteo Knight is standing on my doorstep.

He’s here.

Wearing his signature dark jeans, and a fitted black T-shirt, over which he’s thrown a corduroy shirt that hangs open. His hair is slightly tousled. His gaze dark and penetrating.

He looks unfairly good, and also completely unexpected.

It suddenly dawns on me, the reason why he’s on my doorstep. “You’re checking up on me?”

From our phone conversation I sensed he was fishing for information. This, however, is something else, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

“Checking up on you?” He frowns, like he hadn’t even considered this option. “Nah.” He stops there, not offering any further enlightenment.

I don’t believe him, but he’s hovering around the door, and in my shock I’ve forgotten how to be civil.

“Come in.” I open the door wider, and hug my hot water bottle closer as he steps inside.

“You cold?” he asks.

“I’m … not well. I told you. What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, so …” He rakes a hand through his hair again. “I got this for you. Hope you feel better.” He hands me a gift bag.

I blink, a few times, confusion meshing with quiet surprise. “What’s this?”

“Something … I think they call it a care package.”

He glances around. I feel anxious as he surveys my tiny apartment with its worn couch facing a TV balanced on a narrow stand, and a small coffee table on the side. He eyes the compact kitchenette and the two-seater wooden table tucked into the corner by the window.

It’s not much, and nothing fancy, nothing like what he’s used to, I imagine, but it’s clean and tidy, and it’s mine.

“A care package?”

I shove my hot water bottle at him, and rifle through the bag to find a few bags of the mixed nuts that I like. He noticed. There’s also a big bar of my favorite dark chocolate with hazelnuts. Another one of my favorites. Also, two red apples. I stare at everything for a moment. An unfamiliar warm feeling spreads through my chest, and it has nothing to do with the lingering heat of the hot water bottle.

This is what it must feel like to have someone care for you.

Most people don’t notice the little things about me. What I eat. The snacks I grab when I’m working through lunch.