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Callie, clearly not in the mood to say anything else, drifted away to the table. She pulled out a chair and sat. Matt let her have her space. The silence that stretched on between them surprisingly wasn’t awkward.
He set the food on the table and pulled out the chair where she’d set his plate. His table was large, in a kitchen that was massive. The huge piece and the eight chairs barely made a dent in the room. It was a good thing the kitchen took up the other half and his mom had helped him pick out a few antique pieces, namely the buffet and china cabinet. He only knew what they were because he’d heard her call them that more than once.
“Look,” Callie said quietly as he slid the pot of pasta and the scoop towards her. He wasn’t going to be presumptuous and put it on her plate for her. “I- I grew up in a small town. I had a happy childhood, but not after that. It was hard growing up. I really struggled. I was glad to get away. There isn’t anything wrong with me now. I- maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He nodded slowly. She didn’t take any pasta, so he filled his plate instead. After that, she slowly added a scoop to her own. She put sauce on, swirled her fork around and tasted a bite tentatively.
“Wow. This is actually pretty good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I have to say, I am.”
He laughed. “Just another one of those skills that I have that no one knows about. It extends to pasta and toast and other small meals that I use to keep myself alive and that’s pretty much it. I could never cook a full-on meal.”
“Those are bad for you anyway. At least, everyone says people should eat small meals more often. I think I agree. I hate being over full. The oven at my place doesn’t even work. We’ve decided to get a toaster oven instead. I- uh- I guess you don’t care about that though. I don’t even know why I said that.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He jammed a forkful of pasta in his mouth and chewed. It was pretty good. Luckily one of his better batches. “So- that small town- was it- was it one of those repressive things where no one minds their business and there aren’t any opportunities and if you have an ounce of independent thought, people get upset?”
He grinned and Callie offered a small smile back, but at least it was something. It was enough, at any rate, to get him distracted by her beautiful mouth again. Which got him thinking about that kiss again, which had him rock fucking hard under the table. Again.
“I guess so,” she admitted.
“I’m glad I grew up in the city. I wouldn’t have done well in one of those places. I was in trouble often enough as it was.”
“Really? I can’t imagine you getting into trouble.”
“Yeah. I never wanted to listen to anything the teachers had to say, but I was pretty charming, so I could usually work my way out of it.”
Callie giggled. “I guess not much has changed. Everyone says you’re very personable.”
“I don’t know why. Half the time, I think I’m too hard on people.”
“I think you’re just right.” She blushed furiously and grabbed her fork. “I mean…” she stammered as she twirled it into her pasta. “I mean- uh- okay that came out totally wrong.”
Callie’s eyes flicked back down, but her fork froze. Her hand, he noticed, trembled. When she looked back up, he was shocked as hell to see tears in her eyes. She blinked hard, letting her fork fall with a clatter, and raised her hand to her face to wipe them away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t- I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t apologize.”
Without thinking, he reached over and took her hand, the other one, the one resting beside her plate. He felt her tremble when he gripped her fingers, but it was something more than that. The shock of the touch sent a wave of something hard and vital racing through his arm. His fingers tingled, the hair on the back of his arm stood on end as goosebumps appeared. Actual. Fucking. Goosebumps.
“I’m just cold,” Callie whispered in a shaky voice. “Just- just chilled. I just-” but those tears kept on coming, tracing patterns down her cheeks, falling like rain.
She ripped her hand away and stood, shoving her chair back so hard it screamed in protest even though there were those felt pads along the bottom to protect the hardwood from scratches.
Matt stood up slowly and Callie stared at him, frozen, lips parted. He took a step closer, hand out, as though she was a frightened animal and he didn’t want to scare her off for good. Her cheeks were wet with the constant flow of moisture that tracked down them. She finally reached up to brush them away.
