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“Um, nothing,” she said, turning to look out the window. “Is it much farther?”
“A couple of miles,” he said, slowing the Blazer. “You feeling sick again?”
She was. But not the way he meant. She hadn’t had a bout of morning sickness that week. She shook her head.
And forced herself to concentrate on the log house as it came into view. Taking in the burnished wood, the fieldstone foundation, the sparkling windows. Knowing as she did, that Matt had helped build the place with his own two hands.
She hadn’t meant to be impressed, but she was. His home was beautiful.
They went inside. “One thing’s for sure,” she said, looking around, admiring the polished hardwood floors and perfectly chosen trim, the wet bar by the fireplace, the state-of-the-art kitchen. “If we ever do end up living together, it’s not going to be at my place.”
She wished she’d bitten her tongue. That statement had been far too presumptuous.
“In town would be more convenient,” he said, not missing a beat as he poured her a glass of orange juice. “And much closer to school when the time comes.”
He bent to turn on the gas fireplace.
Phyllis gulped her drink.
Maybe they really were thinking of a future. Making plans. Even if those plans were so tentative neither of them could make a commitment yet.
And then, setting down her glass, she dipped into the bag she’d brought. A wreath for his door. A one-and-a-half-foot-tall ceramic Christmas tree that had little colored bulbs in tiny holes all around it. They lit up when the tree was plugged in, and the effect was both simple and charming. A cross-stitch of a couple of kids peering over the banister at their tree on Christmas Eve, with the words, “’Twas the Night before Christmas” embroidered across the top. It was something her mother had made and given her years before; Phyllis took pleasure in sharing it with Matt.
“What are you doing?” he asked, turning around to find her delving in her
bag.
“This is your first Christmas, Matt,” she said, trying to instill equal amounts of cheer and determination in her voice. She wasn’t going to surrender on this one. “We can’t let it happen without getting your home ready for it.”
With a hammer and nail she’d brought from home—so she wouldn’t have to ask Matt—she grabbed the cross-stitch and headed for a patch of wall beside the fireplace. Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to wrestle him for the wall—and the seconds it would take her to mar it with her gift.
She marched right up to the wall. Took a visual measure, hammered, hung the cross-stitched kids, smiling at the wonder and anticipation shining in their eyes. Then she straightened it and stepped back.
He hadn’t tried to stop her.
As a matter-of-fact, he hadn’t argued at all. He’d remained completely silent.
With renewed courage and a lot of curiosity, Phyllis turned, half-expecting to find that he’d walked out on her.
He was standing in the middle of the room, studying the picture she’d just hung.
He opened his mouth and Phyllis braced herself for the argument she’d rehearsed.
“Thank you.”
They were the sweetest words she’d ever heard.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, feeling the glow from their joint decorating escapade—and the joint lovemaking adventure that followed—Phyllis wandered into Matt’s kitchen looking for him. When she’d gone into the bathroom to shower, he’d said he was going to get some dinner started for them.
He was grilling steaks on the back porch. Baked potatoes were in the oven—the kind that came frozen and stuffed from the grocery store—and a loaf of French bread sat on the counter. The table was set with earthenware china and matching stainless-steel cutlery, as well as a large wooden salad bowl heaped with romaine lettuce, sliced tomatoes and avocado.
For someone who’d never known a real home, Matt had sure done a spectacular job of making one for himself.
There were a couple of letters on the counter waiting to be mailed. For some reason, that touch of normal, everyday life gave Phyllis more security than the immaculately set table.
As she walked by the counter on her way to the back door, a name on the first envelope caught her attention. Probably because it was handwritten and she wasn’t familiar enough with Matt’s handwriting not to be curious about it.
Once she saw the name, however, the handwriting didn’t matter.
