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“You’ve got it.”
“Good. I thought you might like to come over for dinner tonight.”
“Sure. I’d love to, thanks.”
“And I uh, thought, maybe…no pressure—”
I decided to put him out of his misery. “Matthew, are you asking me if I might like to stay for breakfast as well?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m asking you.”
“Same answer: I’d love to, thanks.”
“Good.” He kissed me again, entwining his tongue with mine, running his hand down my back and cupping my hips. Christ, this man could kiss.
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive had us both turning our heads. I stiffened in Matt’s arms when I saw my mother’s Audi coming slowly down the drive.
“Who’s that?”
“My mother.” I swallowed nervously, stepping away from Matt, already missing his steady warmth. Elegant as ever, Jane Munro parked and stepped out of her car, turning a cool, appraising gaze on me, then Matt. A little spark of anger lit within me when Jane looked him up and down, a dismissive and disparaging glint in her eye.
“Zara.”
“Hi, Mom.” I could feel Matt’s hand, warm and strong, on the small of my back and felt steadier. “This is Matt. He’s working on the house with me. Matt, my mother, Jane.”
Matt stepped forward, an easy smile on his lips, his hand out. “Pleased to meet you.”
Jane barely touched his fingertips with hers and I bristled. “Let’s go inside. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Jane moved toward the house first, leaving me to trail behind. Before I took more than two steps, Matt grabbed my hand. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I smiled and shook my head, grateful for the gesture. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though. Appreciate it.” I walked across the drive, fixing my ponytail, wishing I didn’t feel so ridiculously nervous.
In the kitchen, I put the kettle on, pulled out a tea pot and spooned tea leaves into it, watching my mother gaze around at the new appliances, the beautifully painted doors, the new counters. When her gaze finally landed on me, it was curiously flat and expressionless.
“You’ve been busy.” Jane pulled out a dining chair and sat down as I brought teacups, milk and sugar to the table before going back to the kettle, pouring boiling water over the leaves, breathing in the tannin scent, taking a moment to collect myself.
“I have. I’ve had a lot of help, though. Ally’s helping—”
“That slut.” Jane rolled her eyes as I narrowed mine.
“Don’t.”
“Well, she is! You know it, I know it, every man from Asheville to Wilmington and everywhere in between knows it. That girl—” she broke off, startled as I placed my palms on the table and leaned forward, my blue eyes blazing.
“Don’t.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “All right. Fine.” She poured some tea into her cup, placed the pot back on the tray, turned the handle toward me with her neatly manicured fingers. “So, the man doing the work, who is he?”
I sat down and poured myself some tea, trying to keep my hands from shaking with anger. “A local guy. I got his number from the real estate agent.”
“I hope you negotiated a good rate. Unless you’re paying him in—other ways. Looks like you might be.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“Zara, I wasn’t born yesterday. I saw you canoodling with him as I came down the drive.”
Despite the rage I felt at the speculation on my mother’s part that I would swap sexual favors for building work, I felt a bubble of amusement rise up at her use of the word canoodling. “I hardly think that’s any of your business,” I replied levelly.
