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I scan the boxes we still need to carry upstairs, and something catches my attention. One of my mother’s Toteme scarves hangs over the cardboard. She bought that for me when I set off for freshman year at Cornell.
Ugh.A weight slumps across my shoulders. This is going to be a long road to healing, isn’t it?
My gaze slips to something else. The vase Matthew and I sculpted at On Cloud Nine. It’s filled with winterberry. Above it hangs the painting we created on our last day. Splatters of color, messy and beautiful.
“My mind has been so busy that I didn’t even realize you kept these.” I stroll to the mantel and run my finger over the vase. The clay is bent, the structure all wonky. It’s perfect.
Ours.
“I had Lolita ship them out,” Matthew says from the kitchen.
I turn back to look at him. “When?”
“Right before we left On Cloud Nine.”
My mind turns mushy. “What would you have done with them if we didn’t work out?”
“I would’ve kept them anyway.” He gives me a soft nod, as though it’s the most obvious answer. “I love being surrounded by things that remind me of you.”
Happy tears brim my eyes, and I let go of the vase. I am going to get through this next chapter in my life. My own business, a cat, and my man.I glance over at him again.
Yeah, that’s my man.
“They’re perfect,” I say, and I make my way back to the stool beneath the kitchen island. There are no words to describe my appreciation for how welcome he’s made me feel, so I settle with, “Thank you for thinking of getting them here.”
“Anytime, darling. Now, what are you craving?”
You, I almost answer, but then I realize he’s talking about dinner. “Pasta. A big bowl of pasta.”
Matthew lands a peck on the top of my head and retreats to the fridge.
“Quattro formaggi?”
“Extra on theformaggi.” I laugh and watch him get to work. My body heats as my eyes track his movements aroundourkitchen.
“I wish the herbs in the garden weren’t frozen, but I’m sure I have some thyme around here.”
“Mhm.” Now I’m all sorts of antsy for spring to come just to watch him work in the garden out back.
Matthew’s biceps flex as he pulls a block of Parmigiano Reggiano from the fridge. At what point in my biology was it coded that I would become a horny hooligan at the sight of Matthew Hudson grating cheese?
First he made me an extra cheesy pizza in Sedona. Then we shared countless dinners in the city. Now he’s working that slab of cheese so well that I wish I was the block trapped in his fist.
Oh goodness.
The rooster-print kitchen towel draped over his shoulder, his rolled-up sleeves, and his focused gaze are making the cavewoman part of my brain take control of my facilities.
“Do you want to give me a hand or watch from afar with that bit of drool on your lip?”He raises his eyebrows at me.
My nerves shoot up, and I swipe at my mouth, feeling a trail of spit on the back of my palm.Wow. I’m depraved.
“Uh—I’ll help.” I slip off the stool and join him.
“Good girl.” Matthew winks and walks over to the tower of copper pans stacked neatly by the window.The ones we agreed to bring from my townhouse.
My heart sings in my chest, my mood brightening almost instantly.
* * *
