By the time dessert arrives we have moved on to our families. My parents now gone, his retired in Australia. He is alone, too, save for his sister, who lives half an hour away in Walthamstow with her nightmare husband.
“And your ex?” he asks, pushing the remainder of the chocolate mousse in my direction. “Do you see him ever?”
“Ben? God, no—he’s in the U.S.”
“Not amicable, then?” Matt asks delicately.
“Ha, no. He was as keen on us being friends as he was on being faithful. I don’t even know which state he’s in.”
Matt acknowledges this, then grimaces. “I looked him up, I think. On your Facebook. I know that’s weird,” he confesses, after a moment. “And, full disclosure, he’s not what I expected.”
“You’ve been stalking me?” I realize I’m a little too relieved.
“I had a try. There’s not much to go on other than LinkedIn, but yeah. I’ve been stalking you.”
“Okay,” I answer with a smile. “I deleted almost everything after the divorce. Wait—what do you mean he’s not what you expected?” The idea of him looking me up makes me feel giddy.
He grins at the question. “Youjust look…andhelooks, I don’t know, like an ordinary, middle-aged guy. Tired. Of life, or something. Is that awful?”
I grin with my entire soul. “Oh, Matt, it’sso,soawful. Thank you,” I giggle, the wine buzzing through my blood. “I cannot tell you how good that is to hear:an ordinary, middle-aged guy.”
He smiles, and beneath the table his knee brushes mine—he doesn’t pull away, one knee between mine. The feel of his trouser fabric on my skin, the heat beneath intoxicating.
—
On the walk back to our street, I am not concentrating as we amble down the dark residential roads, slipping from one pool of streetlight to the next as he leads me.
I pull my coat tighter, the air chilly now with the sun long gone. Matt slips his warm hand into mine and squeezes it.
When we reach the darkened square, he stops; and pulls me to him, delicately lifting my chin to let his lips meet mine.
The scent of dessert wine mingles with his warm cologne as he kisses me.
I lean in to the kiss, letting my lips part against his. A feeling I haven’t felt for years stirs inside me, a near-frantic need.
He pulls back, our bodies hard against each other, desire aching inside me. I suddenly want him so much it hurts.
His face inches from mine, he leans close to my ear, his breathwarm on my neck. “I want to show you something. Do you want to come back to mine?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I manage, my voice catching.
“I want to show you the new house I’m working on,” he tells me, his lips finding my neck, tracing kisses down, his hand slipping between the front of my summer coat and finding my waist, my breasts.
I want to moan in pleasure but we’re out on the street in summer, everyone’s windows wide open. I catch my breath and stop myself.
“Do you want to come back with me?” he asks, his hand now sliding down between my legs.
“Yes,” I manage. “Yes, please.”
“Okay,” he says softly, pulling back, slipping his hand out of my coat and kissing me hard. “Okay. I’m going to show you what I’ve been working on for over a year now. I think you’ll be impressed.” His voice is thick with need, too, and I know as well as he does why we’re going back.
He takes my hand, gently, and leads me away from our street, in the opposite direction.
Chapter 37
Simon
The soil on the gravehas begun to settle, the turf overlaying it beginning to ease down, to bed in.
