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TWENTY-ONE
Noelle
My hall director duties were finally done for the week, which meant Spring Break was officially here. I was standing outside Matthew’s door, wearing a silky green dress, and not much else, with the duffel bag I had packed swung over one shoulder and my giant tote bag on the other.
We texted briefly after I got back to the dorm last night and even after a goodnight text message from him, I realized I was already missing him. But the thought that had gotten me through today was spring break. One whole week together. So yeah, maybe this was a dumb idea for my heart, coming to his house and staying with him, but also, all I wanted to do was see him, be near him.
I hoisted my computer bag back up my arm and then took a deep breath as I stared at the door. My hand hesitated in the air for a moment before I knocked, and when he answered, I found him dressed in a light button-down shirt, denim jeans, and dark socks. Snowball was right behind him.
“Hey, Matthew,” I said, slipping in beside him, my body brushing against his side as I entered his home for the first time. It was cozy, unsurprisingly bare, but held the faintest hints of home. A painting of mountains, the statue of a wolf. He wasn’t kidding at the zoo when he said he liked wolves. I smirked at the thought, and then I remembered what he called me. A little red fox. My eyes glanced over to the collection of books on the bookshelves in his living room and pictures of what I assumed were his family hanging on the walls.
“Noelle. Hi.” He smiled at me, and I was so happy to see his face, that I reached up on my tiptoes and placed a small kiss on his cheek.
Moving further into the space, I dropped my bags on the chair in the living room, running my hands alongside the back of the couch. I reached down to pet Snowball’s head.
“What smells good?” I asked, nose sniffing in the air.
“Oh, right. I made dinner.”
“Dinner?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, Matthew, I do think you’ve found the way to my heart. I hope you know you’re ruining me for all other men.”
“Yeah, that’s the point, baby.” He chuckled, giving me a small smile of his own. Because he knew how much I loved food. How often had he watched me eat? He had seen how I delighted in it, savored every bite. And he hadn’t thought I was weird, like so many others had.
“Come on then.” Matthew steered me into the kitchen, setting me down on a barstool before returning to the stove, where I could see a pot of water boiling and a saucepan that he was stirring.
“Honestly, I just didn’t expect you to be so… domestic.” I giggled, enjoying teasing him. Of course, he’d cook. I didn’t know why I expected anything less from him.
“What, a guy isn’t allowed to cook his girl dinner anymore?” His girl. Oh, God. He had said it last night too, my girl, and the butterflies in my stomach were now back in full force. I could feel a blush threatening to overtake my cheeks.
“No,” I tried to give him a coy smile, “I didn’t mean that. You’re just…” I gestured to his tall frame and well-built body. How did I describe all that he was? “You’re all of that. And you can cook? God, you’re just the whole package, Matthew. What else can you do that you haven’t told me?”
Ignoring my question, Matthew gave me a small smirk before he turned to the counter and uncorked the bottle that was sitting there. “Would you like some wine?” He raised an eyebrow at me as he poured himself a glass.
I responded with a nod as he tipped the bottle into the second glass and then extended it out towards me. I had to bite back the snarky, trying to get me drunk, are you, Matthew?
Because, well, the way he was looking at me… He didn’t need to get me drunk for me to want him if we had proved anything. And I didn’t need a defense mechanism to brush away real contact, not with him.
To be honest, just as much as I craved physical connection, I had always feared the romantic intimacy that came along with being in a relationship, with falling in love.
But with Matthew… I felt safe. Maybe even safe to feel things.
I waved the thoughts away, taking the wine and sipping absentmindedly as I watched him finish our dinner. I let the taste of it run down my throat, savoring the tartness of the liquid and the way it made the world a little less sharp. A little bit fuzzy around the edges, like somehow someone had cast a glow over this dining room, and it was just us.
Matthew removed the boiling water from the sink, poured the pasta out into a strainer, and spooned out a serving of both on a plate before pouring the sauce on top. He placed the dish in front of me: garlic chicken and alfredo pasta and a side of seasoned green beans, delightful smells filling my nostrils as I picked up the fork.
“This all smells incredible,” I almost moaned out loud.
“I tried to make some of your favorites,” he smiled. “I noticed that you liked alfredo when we went to the Italian place. And…” he glanced at the green beans. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get you to eat a few vegetables.”
I playfully shoved at him. “I do eat vegetables, thank you very much.”
“Mhm,” he mused, looking at them pointedly on my plate. I took a big bite of them just to appease him, and then another. They were delicious. “Maybe… if you’re a good girl, you’ll even get dessert.”
“Oh?” My heart pounded in my chest, and even as he sat next to me at the island and the two of us lapsed into silence, all I could think about was him. And the warmth spreading through my body, the heat pooling between my legs just from thinking about him calling me a good girl.
All of the food was delicious, but all of the quiet was giving me too much time to think about us, and what we were to each other. We hadn’t labeled it—I had pushed the topic aside, but I didn’t know anymore with the way he called me baby and texted me, and the way I cared about him, and I knew he cared about me…
Give him a chance to earn your heart, I told myself. My friend’s encouragements from lunch the other day echoed through my mind. I will, I thought. I am going to give him a chance. And if it’s a relationship he wants… I can try. For him, I think I would try anything.
