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After I’ve finished my breakfast and put the dishes in the dishwasher, I’m at a loss, standing awkwardly in the kitchen. What am I supposed to do now? Even though Matt and I are getting along well, he’s still a near-stranger, and I’m alone in his house. But he did something something about having a modest library last night, so I decide to investigate.
I wander around the house and eventually happen upon the library. It’s a large room that also evidently serves as a study. His law school degree is framed on his desk, along with a sleek laptop and a coffee mug full of pens. The walls are covered in bookshelves, and a leather recliner sits in the corner of the room. I run my fingers along the spines of the books, wondering if any of them will interest me. I’m surprised to find not just law volumes and nonfiction, but a variety of genres--mysteries, sci-fi, even some romance novels. I can’t resist a grin. Maybe those were a donation from his mom.
As I sit in the recliner with a novel, I can’t help but wonder what the rest of his family is like. Are all of the Mistletoe brothers blessed with Matt’s superior genetics? Do they all have good jobs, too? Matt mentioned his mom, Joy, several times, but never brought up his father. I wonder if his dad passed away or is otherwise out of the picture? I’m always a little jealous of people with perfect nuclear families, and am a little relieved that Matt maybe isn’t one of them.
I try to focus on my book for a while, but can’t get into it. I’m antsy. Maybe doing something more physical would be better.
I remember with a start that Matt has a small garden in the backyard. I immediately rush into the bedroom and change into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. I’ve never owned plants myself--I’m away too often to care for them--but Grandma Carrie had a garden that I helped tend as a kid. I never learned the intricacies of gardening but I know the basics.
I head outside into a gorgeous day. The sun blazes in a sapphire-blue sky, and the mountains stand watch in the distance. I lose myself for a moment just staring at the beauty around me. I certainly never lose myself in the beauty of New York City, that’s for sure. Maybe wide-open spaces are more my speed.
Don’t make any decisions yet, I reprimand myself silently. Then, I survey Matt’s garden with a critical eye. Everything is lush and growing well, consisting of some flowers I recognize and some that must be native to the state. Some blossoms, however, could use some pruning. I brandish a set of shears lying conveniently on a table and set to work.
Eventually, I’m proud of my work, and decide to continue my new status of Domestic Goddess by making dinner. It’s a risky choice--sometimes my meals turn out well, but sometimes they’re nothing short of disasters. I probably can’t mess up a simple pasta dish and a salad too badly, and Matt already has the ingredients. I wash dirt and sweat from my face and hands, then make a quick cocktail in the kitchen. I’m going to need some liquid courage for this.
After a few minutes, I’m boiling water, chopping veggies, and slurping down my cocktail like there’s no tomorrow. This is almost fun, I think, but realize that this could be because of the alcohol. Still, I manage not to mess up anything (besides the pasta boiling a minute or two past al dente). I quickly set the table, make a second gin and tonic, and even light a candle I found in one of the cupboards. Damn. I’m good.
“Honey! I’m home!” Matt’s voice sounds from the entryway as soon as I place the bowl of salad on the table. I roll my eyes at the greeting, but giggle a little as well. I could get used to that kind of affection from him.
I stroll to the door to meet him, a cocktail in each hand. When I offer him his, I watch his gaze trail unabashedly down my form, lingering on my short shorts. “I made dinner, too,” I inform him saucily, and his eyes meet mine. The sapphire blue is flaring hotly, like the middle part of a flame. I try not to blush and return his gaze as best I can.
Matt smiles, and the moment ends, but I still feel as if he just looked into my very soul. I take a big gulp of my cocktail, my heart suddenly pounding. I definitely wasn’t prepared for that.
“What did you make us?” he asks, hanging up his jacket and strolling to the table. I sit opposite him and we dig into the pasta and salad (a pint of ice cream I found in the freezer will serve as dessert). “This is good,” he says after a moment.
