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Matthew’s smile fades as he looks down at me.
“No, don’t do that. Don’t feel bad. I don’t feel bad. I feel so excited I could float away. I’ll call you. How’s that? Get your phone out.”
He does, playing along, and I dial his number.
“Hello? Matthew Jennings?” I ask once the call connects.
“Yes. And who do I have here?”
“Elizabeth Brighton,” I say with a teasing smile as we keep walking side by side.
He contorts his face as if completely confused. “Who?”
“E-liz-a-beth Brighton,” I say again, enunciating the syllables.
“Oh yeah, rings a bell. Are you that girl my brother’s married to?”
I reach out to punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Stop teasing. I have big news. HUGE news.”
“Go on, say it then.”
“I might…possibly…could be selling my art in a Parisian gallery.”
“No shit?”
I crack up and press end on the call as we round the corner and come face to face with the art supply store—in short, my mecca.
Hours later, we’re riding the elevator together back at Walt’s apartment, arms laden with paper bags.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to help me bring this stuff back,” I say to Matthew as we step out into the entry gallery.
“How else were you going to do it? Hire a cart horse?”
“Elizabeth?” Walt calls out.
We both turn in sync as he walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a tea towel. He’s wearing a forest green sweater and jeans. Casual yet still painfully attractive.
Something smells absolutely delicious, and Matthew notices too.
“Did you get dinner delivered?” he asks, practically licking his chops.
“I cooked,” Walt says, tossing the towel over one shoulder before walking toward me to take the bags out of my hands.
“For one?” Matthew asks.
“For two,” Walt replies, catching my gaze.
“Oh? Camila coming over? You two work it out?” Matthew asks, dropping my bags haphazardly near the door.
“No.”
My head whips in his direction, my mouth opening with a question I’m too shy to ask.
No, she’s not coming over? Or no, you didn’t work it out?
Walt peers inside the bags to see my art supplies. Then without being asked, he turns in the direction of the library to take them there.
“Matthew, bring those bags for Elizabeth,” Walt says.
Little brother rolls eyes at big brother, but nonetheless, he does as he’s asked. I smile and shout a thank you to both of them before stepping into the kitchen.
Frank Sinatra is playing quietly on hidden speakers. A bottle of red wine breathes beside two wine glasses. A kale salad dressed with raisins and sliced almonds is prepped nearby. Plates are already pulled out, along with cutlery.
“Who are you trying to impress?” Matthew teases as the two of them follow me into the kitchen a moment later.
My cheeks burn as I consider the fact that Walt was likely cooking dinner for me. Unless he invited someone else over?
I glance over in time to see him shrug. “I wanted to cook, and it’s just as easy to cook for two as it is to cook for one.”
“Is that lamb?” Matthew asks.
“Braised lamb chops with cranberry-harissa chutney.”
“Smells really good,” I tell him with a small smile.
He nods but doesn’t look over at me.
“It looks like there’s plenty for all of us if you want to stay, Matthew,” I say, trying to be nice.
“Considering I was planning on eating cereal when I got home, I think I’ll take you up on the offer.”
We divide Walt’s dinner easily between the three of us, sharing the bottle of wine as we sit at the corner of the long dining table. Matthew and I sit across from each other, and Walt takes the head. He’s quiet as we eat, though that’s nothing new. He retreats so easily into the background, taking in the conversation rather than participating, especially around Matthew, who seems to soak up attention like a sponge.
Matthew talks enough for everyone, telling Walt about our afternoon, filling him in about my meeting with Nadiya and then recounting our time at the art supply store.
“I had to practically drag Elizabeth out of the paint aisle. I swear she would have stayed there all day if I’d let her. And for the love of God, don’t let her look at the easels or you’ll never escape.”
“Not true! I was brief compared to the way you were in the camera store. It’s like you’d never seen a lens before. I think you were drooling at one point.”
“Sounds like the two of you had a good time,” Walt replies, picking up his wine and taking a long sip. “Are you done with that?”
He suddenly stands and reaches for Matthew’s plate, leaving his brother to quickly finish grabbing his last bite with his fork before he loses the chance.
“Hey! I was still—”
“I’m glad you could stay for dinner, but I’ve got an early morning.”
His tone clearly says, You’ve overstayed your welcome.
