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“What can I do to help?” he asks.
I think he means what can he do to help calm my nerves, but I deflect by habit and push space between us. “Um, maybe think of something for dessert? There’s fruit you can cut up.”
We work companionably. Each time our arms brush, or I feel the heat of his body, a jolt of awareness rockets through my nervous system. Now that I’ve acknowledged the feelings he inspires, I can’t seem to ignore them.
What would being in a relationship with Matt be like? I’ve seen his examples—Al and Annie—and, from what he’d told me, his parents. My mom and dad were divorced shortly after I was born, and, as far as I knew, Mom hasn’t been on a date since they split up.
Not that she was still pining for my dad. She was just completely uninterested. When I let myself, I dream of something like Al and Annie have, but my brain usually circles back on the fact that I’m probably going to be alone forever.
I see Norman watching out the back doors, entertaining himself with the local wildlife that comes by later in the day. I pause my stirring to watch the sun begin to dive below the treetops. There are still a few hours of daylight left, but because of all the trees, it feels closer to dusk.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” At some point, Matt stopped working and was also looking out the window.
“Despite everything that’s happened. . .” I take a deep breath. “This makes me glad that I moved here. I never took the time to enjoy these things back home. Just simple moments.”
“Good.” I look over at him, confused.
“Good?”
“I mean that you’re taking time to enjoy things.” His throat bobs on a swallow. “And that you’re here.”
I get caught in Matt’s eyes and feel the electricity building between us for a second. But frightened by the feelings, I withdraw from the moment.
“I’ll grab some drinks from the fridge in the garage. Do you want anything in particular?” I’m not above taking the coward’s way out and fleeing the scene.
“Whatever you’ve got will be fine.” I glance up at him quickly, afraid of seeing disappointment, but he’s focused on the food.
I flee to the garage, lingering as long as I can. Staring into the fridge of drinks, I finally settle on ginger ale and grab two cans. Matt’s already pulled plates off the drying rack and set silverware for each of us at the kitchen bar. I put the drinks on the coasters next to each plate.
“Should be almost ready.” Matt looks over his shoulder to see what I grabbed.
He looks like he’s afraid of spooking me, holding himself slightly apart and resisting the urge to reach out to me, and I hate that I’ve made him doubt himself or feel rejected.
“I’m sorry I’m a spaz,” I blurt without thinking.
I hear his movements stop.
“I like you.” My mind stutters at my admission. “But I haven’t had great experiences in the past, and I kind of short out now. Like my brain will randomly make stupid connections and create ridiculously awful scenarios about what it thinks is going to happen.” I motion toward my head and rush on. “I’m sorry, I. . .” I stop to take a breath. “And it’s weird because you’re my boss, and I have no idea if you feel the same way, but that’s why I tend to freak out.” I hold two fingers together. “Just a little.”
Matt studies me, and awareness scuttles through my body, ticklish and somewhat unpleasant. “Is it weird? The boss part?” He takes a step closer.
I pinch my fingers closer this time. “A little.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied that I’ve given him an honest answer. He inhales and holds in a deep breath. His thick fingers rub through his closely cropped hair, and he breathes out. “I’m sorry.”
Dropping his arms, he looks dejected. My heart sinks at his expression, thinking he’s going to start throwing walls up.
“I like you too.” He sounds reluctant to admit that, and I wonder if this situation is just as unfamiliar for him as it is for me. From what I’ve found out about him these last few days, he doesn’t get out much, and there’s been no mention of anyone serious in his life.
Stunned, I stare at him. He takes the pan off the burner before it scorches and brings it to the counter where the plates are.
“Your grin tells me you might be okay with that.” He glances up at me. I hadn’t even realized I was smiling.
I cover my mouth with a hand, feeling the upward curve of my lips. “I think I am okay with it.”
He nods again and smiles to himself while he dishes up the food.
“Want to watch a movie or something while we eat?” I can’t help but ask. I have a deep-seated need to be close to him, even if it makes me feel like a lunatic.
