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She’d tried her best not to laugh as his suit had got wrinkled and smudged as he’d helped load up the van. She imagined that Matteo spent most of his life looking immaculate. Much like the people around him. Why did she get the feeling she’d never fit in?
Her stomach gave a growl as she arrived in Westhampton and signaled to pull into the parking lot. There were numerous cafés around and she was sure they would find something good to eat in most of them.
Matteo’s driver was close behind her and by the time she’d locked up the van, Matteo was standing on the sidewalk waiting for her. He gestured toward the Rose Bakery Café, adorned with yellow cladding and with red and white awning flickering in the strong winds. “Want to try in here?”
There was a smell of cinnamon wafting from the front door. “Absolutely.” She smiled.
They walked up the steps and he held the door open for her. The waitress quickly showed them to a table, gave them some menus and took their order for drinks.
Phoebe let out a laugh as her stomach gave an obligatory growl. “What do you want to eat?” Matteo asked.
Phoebe closed her eyes for a second and breathed in deeply. “There’s far too many delicious smells in here. I can smell omelets, cinnamon buns, raspberry croissants and some delicious soups.”
He leaned across the table toward her. It was the first time she’d had a chance to notice the shadow along his jaw. Or the lines around his eyes. She rested her elbows on the table. It was so easy to lean forward too. “Are you okay, Matteo? Did you sleep last night?”
He blinked but didn’t pull back. He just tipped his head a little to the side. “I hate that you do that sometimes.”
“What?” He might be saying he hated her, but the expression on his face was telling her a whole other story.
He sighed as the waitress appeared with their drinks. “Blindside me.” He stared down at his Americano and laughed. He gave his head a shake. “Not many people in this life can do that.”
She licked her lips and smiled as the waitress stood poised with her order pad. “What’ll it be, folks?”
Phoebe looked at the waitress with hopeful eyes. “What kind of soup do you have?”
The waitress checked her pad. “Today we have potato chowder, lentil and bacon, and chicken and rice.”
“I’ll have the potato chowder, please.”
Matteo nodded. “I’ll have the omelet, please, with mushrooms and cheese.”
The waitress raised her eyebrows. “With salad or fries?”
“Salad, thanks.” The waitress gave a nod and waved her hand at the glass cabinet behind her. “Just remember, we have some great desserts too.”
Phoebe watched her saunter away then smiled at Matteo. “Do you think our order wasn’t big enough for her?”
He shrugged. “Hey, she’s right. They do have some great desserts. Maybe we’ll have some pie.”
Phoebe leaned her head on one hand as she stirred her caramel latte. “You don’t strike me as a pie kind of guy.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t? What kind of guy do I strike you as?”
She kept stirring her coffee as she contemplated her answer. “I think you might be a bit of a traditionalist. I’m surprised you didn’t try and steer us toward an Italian restaurant instead of a bakery.”
He gave a slow nod of his head. “Any other insights you want to share about me?”
This time his voice had the slightest edge. As if he were silently putting up walls between them.
She couldn’t help herself. She just started speaking. “You haven’t shaved. Last time I saw you, you were immaculate. And you look tired today. I’m sorry if I offended you. Because I didn’t mean to. I was just worried about you, because you looked so tired. You offered to help load the van and came out of your way to have lunch with me.”
“Do you always worry about people you hardly know?”
His steady green eyes were fixed on hers. She held her breath. She should take it as a compliment, but he hadn’t quite phrased it that way. He’d phrased it more as if she were just far too nosey.
She remembered talking to Captain Monaghan in the hospital. He’d been exhausted—and very sick. When she’d gone to get some light refreshments for her mother, she’d offered to get some for Rudy too. In fact, she’d ended up getting food and drinks for most of the other patients. It was her nature. Her way. She couldn’t and wouldn’t change it because Matteo Bianchi found her intrusive.
She shrugged and smiled. “Some people say I have a kind heart. I can live with that.”
As she looked up Matteo was studying her hard. A frown creased his brow and he leaned closer and lifted his fingers to her cheek. The contact made her flinch.
“Phoebe, did someone hurt you? Is that a bruise?”
She shook her head as she lifted her own hand to her cheek. “Don’t panic. It’s me.” She lowered her gaze, almost embarrassed to answer. “In my excitement to get started this morning I fell out of bed. I hit my face on my bedside cabinet.”
Matteo didn’t speak. He just kept staring. Then he glanced down at her hand. She could see the tension across his shoulders and the tic at the side of his jaw. “Is there someone in your life, Phoebe?”
She jerked and sat back in her seat, her mouth instantly dry. Everything about this felt wrong. He’d more or less just accused her of being too nosey, but now she could feel the intensity of his gaze. She could see both the sympathy and revulsion in his eyes. He’d jumped to a conclusion that was entirely wrong. She didn’t doubt for a second what Matteo Bianchi would do to a man w
ho was abusing his wife.
Tears pooled in her eyes. But for none of the reasons that Matteo was obviously assuming. She opened her mouth to speak but the words stuck in her throat. Why were they so hard to say?
“There...there’s...no one in my life, just me.” She shook her head as the tears threatened to fall. “Can’t blame anyone else for my clumsiness.”
His shoulders fell a little but the crease in his brow remained.
The waitress appeared at that second, gave them a peculiar glance and put their plates on the table. “Anything else?”
Phoebe shook her head quickly. “We’re fine,” replied Matteo.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. Phoebe staring at her potato chowder. The smell that had seemed so delicious earlier, now just seemed to make her stomach do uncomfortable flip-flops.
Matteo lifted his fork and picked at his omelet. After a few seconds he let out a sigh and put his fork back down, sliding his hand over the table and letting it cover hers.
“Is there anything you need to tell me?”
She shook her head as one tear finally slid down her cheek. The lump in her throat had grown to epic proportions. Her other hand was still automatically stirring her soup.
Matteo pressed his lips together for a moment. His hand was warm against hers. Her fingers had never felt quite so cold. Up until a few moments ago she’d felt fine. Now, she just felt so...empty.
