It didn’t sound exactly happy families, but whose ever was? Liz didn’t really speak about hers. She obviously had her reasons so I’d never pushed her on it. Now I wished I knew more.
“Are you sure you want to fly all that way, then?” I checked my watch. Still no Matt. He must’ve got cold feet. Fine. Coffee for one, then. I stood and made my way to the counter.
“Well,” she said, “I need a couple of weeks off now I’ve got through the restructure work, so it may as well be there as anywhere.”
Cleaning lady for a dead person, or soaking up the sun in the Mediterranean? It was a no-brainer—unless Liz wasn’t telling me everything. Which, knowing Liz, was highly likely.
“It doesn’t sound like much of a holiday.” I joined the back of the queue, shivering as, behind me, the café door opened.
“Duty calls and all that.”
Duty? She didn’t even like the woman but still felt a duty to her? Now I really wanted to know more.
I shivered again, turned to close the door. “Liz, there’s nothing wrong with telling the lawyer to—”
The air whooshed out of my lungs. The world rocked beneath my feet. There, in the doorway, stood Matt.
Chapter Forty-Four
Our eyes collided, jarred, held.
The sounds of the café receded until it was just the two of us.
Time slowed. The silence yawned between us. Palpable. Deafening.
Small details caught my attention. The stitching on his jeans . . . a miniscule rip in his bag . . . the grey-black smudges under his eyes . . . the two-day stubble, several shades darker than his hair.
“Becs,” Liz prompted. “Are you there?”
I started, realised I still held the phone to my ear.
“Hello? Becs?”
I blinked, forced myself to turn away.
“I’ll call you back,” I said. Flicked the phone closed.
Like iron filings to a magnet, my gaze swung back to Matt. He stepped forward and the door swung to behind him. His eyes, dark and brooding, held mine. I felt naked. Vulnerable.
I tried to speak but no words emerged. Something to do with my heart relocating up near my tonsils. I swallowed, cleared my throat, tried again. “Matt.”
“Becky.”
The sound of my name on his lips turned my knees to jelly.
“Hi.” I felt light-headed.
“You’re back.” His tone sounded—different. Un-Matt-like.
“Yes. My sister just got married.”
“Ah.” He paused, looked past me. “It’s busy here.”
At his words, the café returned to life. I looked around and all I could see was people, people everywhere. It felt noisy and crowded and far too intrusive for our first post-Us meeting.
“Yes. Too busy. I was just leaving,” I said, then felt like a complete idiot. I wasn’t leaving. I’d arranged to meet him here. My bag and jacket were still at the table.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m late. My meeting went over time.”
I nodded.
“Shall we go somewhere quieter?” he asked.
“Sure.” I scooted back, collected my things, and met him at the door.
He held it open for me and I walked through, careful not to touch him on the way.
We loitered on the path outside.
“Are you in town long?” he asked.
“I’ve just moved back.”
He nodded.
Silence.
I shuffled my feet. “Where do you want to go?”
He watched me intently. Frog-watching-a-fly intently.
Finally, when the silence threatened to kill, he said, “You’re a hard woman to track down, Becky.”
I hugged my jacket to my chest. “Am I?”
I guess that was what happened when you left everything behind, threw away your mobile and started over.
He’d tried to track me down?
Quickly, before I could chicken out, said, “Let’s go back to my place.”
His eyebrow quirked up just the way I remembered it. Humorous. Sexy.
Fuck.
“It’s close, that’s all. Handy. In Clapham. Well, it’s my sister’s place, actually. I’m house-sitting while she’s away. It won’t take long to get there.” Was I prattling? It sounded like prattling to me.
His mouth twisted. “Well . . .”
He glanced at his watch, and my stomach clenched. Don’t leave, don’t slot me back into your past. Not yet. I needed to truly move on, and I could only do that if we talked.
“Coffee and a cooked breakfast?” I suggested. “Brunch? Whatever?”
What was I doing? Offering to cook for Matt? The very man I’d abandoned my whole life to avoid? Oh God, commit me now. I opened my mouth to un-invite him, but he’d already started speaking.
“I guess I could manage a couple of hours. My next lecture’s at midday.”
Damn. Now I couldn’t even renege.
“Great.” I arranged my face into a smile, doing a quick mental calculation. He’d only be able to stay an hour-and-a-half, tops. I could manage that. Hell, if he didn’t leave I could leave. “How does bacon and eggs sound?”
“Sounds a lot better than my packed lunch.” He grinned. “I’d do anything for a good fry-up.”
And best I didn’t go there.
“Your hair’s longer.” His eyes lingered and my scalp tingled as if it had been his fingers.
“Yeah? I—I guess I haven’t had it cut for a while.” Or coloured. Or straightened.
“I like it.”
I felt hot. Heatwave hot. Not that I cared what he thought about my hair. I liked it, and that was what mattered.
Side by side we headed for the underground.
“Did you have a good Christmas?” he asked.
“Oh, it was fab! I’d just arrived in Edinburgh so it was really exciting,” I gabbled, “catching up with friends and family and eating all that yummy food and—well, you know. Busy busy. I love Christmas.” I felt deflated, like a used, abandoned balloon. “How was yours?”
“Pretty quiet. It was just Stef and me.” He shrugged. “Truthfully, I wasn’t in the mood.”
“Oh.” I fell silent, wishing I hadn’t lied. Then, “How’s Stef doing?”
“Okay. He’s still frustrated, but a bit less angry these days. He’s getting on with it.”
Matt glanced down at me. “How’s your grandmother? I heard she was unwell.”
Crap. “Oh, she—uh, she’s not so good. Actually . . . she passed away.” Double crap.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. You were looking after her, weren’t you?”
I didn’t want to lie. I so didn’t want to lie. Especially not to Matt. But what could I say? He waited. I felt myself redden. It started at my neck and crept all the way up my face and into my scalp until I was one big head-and-shoulders blush. Hook me up and I’d light up London.
“Um.” I cleared my throat. “Look, I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” I ducked my head and muttered, “Grandma died five years ago. I used her as an excuse to leave.”
Matt said nothing. I shot him a quick glance and, dammit, his lips were twitching. He thought it was funny, the bastard.
Which, I suppose, it was—if you weren’t me. I took a deep breath. “So now you know my dirty little secret. And you’re allowed to cancel breakfast if you want. Here’s the train.” I moved closer, waited for the doors to open, and got on.
He stood in the doorway. We eyed each other like territorial cats. The doors started to close, touched him, reopened. Warning bells sounded. I bit my lip. Come on, move!
“Are your bacon and eggs real?” he asked.
I hesitated, nodded.
“Then I’m not cancelling anything.” His smile was the full, I-really-mean-it variety, and my heart flip-flopped, a landed fish in its death throes.
I returned his smile and, damn-and-blast, it felt so good standing next to him and just being.
We didn’t try to talk over the clattering din of wheels on tracks, but every time we rounded a bend, every time our bodies brushed, every time our eyes met, my pulse leapt. By the time we reached Clapham Common I was in such a state of heightened awareness I could barely breathe.
“This is our stop.” I bolted off the train as soon as the doors opened.
Matt followed at a more leisurely pace and we made our way back up to daylight.
“Have you found work?” he asked. “I can probably get you some casual lecturing if you want.”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got a job.”
“Oh? Where are you?”
“All over. I’m a window cleaner.”
He blinked. “Oh. That’s . . . different.”
I smiled. “Actually, I love it. I do the high-rise work.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What—as in mid-air?”
My smile broadened. “Yep.”
“Rather you than me. Though I suppose claustrophobia wouldn’t be a problem up there.” He gave a lopsided grin, then shook his head. “How’d you get into that?”
I laughed. “By mistake, but it’s a lot of fun. And now I’m back in London I’ve found work really quickly, thanks to Scott.”
“Good for you.” He hesitated. “Scott?”
“My boss in Edinburgh.”
“Ah.”
We turned into Dani’s street.
“Almost there,” I said.
As if on signal, our conversation dried up. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. We didn’t look at each other. The silence became awkward. I felt nervous. Oh, please-please-please let this go well. I needed my heart back.
“This is it.” I unlocked the door and ushered him in. “Make yourself at home.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Matt’s gaze flickered over Dani’s artfully-placed coffee table reading, her gold-crested chaise longue, the six-foot yukka in the corner. “Nice place.”
I walked through to the kitchen. “Yeah. Not that she’s ever home to enjoy it.” I pulled out the bacon and started removing excess fat. “Maybe that’ll change now she’s married. How do you have your eggs?”
He stood in the doorway, watching. “Sunny side up, thanks.”
“Two?”
“Great.” He came into the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Cups are in the far cupboard.” I pointed. “Tea, coffee, sugar over here. Coffee for me, please. White—”
“No sugar,” he finished. “I remember.”
He remembered? I smiled to myself. He remembered.
Not that I was reading anything into that. He simply had a good memory. Just like I could remember he took his coffee black, strong, and really, really hot. “Want some music? Help yourself. Sound system’s in the living room.”
My mobile phone pealed. I reached for it. “Hello?”
With my other hand I threw hash browns on a tray and put them in the oven.
“Hi,” said Liz. “Why’d you hang up in such a hurry?”
I turned away from Matt, lowered my voice. “Someone turned up. I had to go.”
“Who? Must’ve been important.”
“Um . . .” I glanced over my shoulder at Matt, who caught my eye and smiled, then held up a CD, eyebrows raised in query. I shrugged—whatever. Turned away. “Just, er, you know . . .”
“No way. Not Matt?”
“Yes,” I said faintly.
She screamed.
I held the phone closer to my ear. “Sssh!”
“He’s still there?”
“Er . . . yes.”
Another scream.
“We’re just chatting, Liz. No big deal.”
Behind me, Matt came into the kitchen. I turned and mouthed ‘Sorry’ to him. “Hey, I’ll call you later, okay?”
“You’d better. I want to know everything.”
“Bye.”
“Love you!” she sang.
“Love you too.” I ended the call.
He looked up from his coffee-making with a fading-to-zero smile. Oh dear. And what should I take that to mean? He wished he’d never come round? He remembered everything he despised about me?
I tried to smile back but it felt like my skin might split with the strain. After all these months I finally had Matt right here, close enough to touch, reminding me of us, of not-us, of everything I’d lost. And, somehow, I had to get past the look he’d just sent me and find a way to broach the Charlie/Dublin disaster with him. Because, although we weren’t destined to be together, Matt not hating me would be a not-bad consolation prize.
He handed me a mug. “White, no sugar.”
I took it, careful our fingers didn’t touch. “Thanks.”
He leaned back against the bench. The silence lengthened. I glanced his way. He scowled into his coffee. What? Were the coffee beans old? I picked up my mug and took an experimental sip. No, hot as hell but tasted fine.
Unsure what to do with his mood-swing, I ignored it. “How many slices of bacon do you want?”
I pulled out a frying pan, turned on the gas.
He took his time answering. So long, in fact, that I began to repeat the question.
“As many as I’m allowed,” he said. Then, “Who was that?”
“The CD?” I frowned. “I’m not—”
His scowl deepened. “I mean the bloody phone and you know it.”
I took a deep, staying-calm breath. Exactly who did he think I’d—Oh, for crying out loud, was he still festering over Dublin? Did he think I’d been speaking to Charlie?
Stupid ass. Well, if that’s what he still believed, he could wallow in it a bit longer.
“Just a friend.” I kept my tone light, offloading all the bacon into the pan. It spat at me and I leapt back, swearing under my breath.
“Just a friend,” he repeated. The air bristled with tension.
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, that’s right. A friend. I do have a couple, you know.”
“Anyone I know?”
“How do you like your bacon?”
He frowned, then pushed himself upright and folded his arms. “Crispy. And honest.”
What the hell? Here I was, cooking breakfast for the man who’d dumped me, made a public laughing stock of me, and broken my heart. And—what? He was accusing me of lying? I eyed the rubbish bin.
No, I’d invited him here for a reason, and binning his food wouldn’t help. It’d do the opposite: he’d be gone. Like Elvis. And I’d be left alone singing Heartbreak Hotel.
Fine. I’d give him his sodding breakfast. Then I’d take my god-damn hell-fired heart and head for the freaking hills. Possessive bastard. I cracked the eggs with venom and threw them in the pan.
Matt turned and took two plates from the cupboard, placing them on the bench beside me.
“Another old school friend?” he asked, his voice cool.
“College, actually. Not that it’s any business of yours.” I flipped the bacon, checked the hash browns, watched the eggs. Grand finale’d it all onto the plates and shoved one his way.
“Thanks.” He picked up his plate and stood looking down at me. “Why all the secrecy?”
“Why all the third degree?” I fired back.
A nerve staccatoed at his jawline. “Just making conversation.”
I grabbed my plate and marched out of the kitchen. “The hell you were.”
He followed me. “I take it you’re still with . . .” He paused. “What’s-his-name?”
I rounded on him. “What—you want a blow-by-blow of my life since you ditched me?”
“No! I want—” He stopped. “Becky, we need to talk.”
“We needed to talk months ago.”
“Then why,” he ground out, “did you disappear and go incommunicado?”
Oh, right. This was my fault. I dropped my plate abruptly onto the table. The bacon bounced. Steady, Becs, steady.
Fuck steady. He needed a damn good slapping.
I faced him, hands on hips.
“What did you expect, Matt? You’d just dumped me, remember?”
He slammed his own plate down on the breakfast bar. Swung back to me. If he’d been a lion he would’ve roared.
“And what did you expect of me?” His face reddened. “Goddammit, Becky, some prick had just told me you were sleeping with him.”
Four months of hurt mutated into raw anger. And yes, it was childish and wrong and made me look like a whining emotional wreck of a woman, but I couldn’t hold it in one second longer.
“How could you? You bastard. You took the word of a complete stranger—a complete stranger so drunk he could barely stand—and you didn’t even question it.”
My chin trembled but I carried on, because I’d never get another chance to say this. “How do you think that made me feel?”
“I—”
“Do you have any idea? I was in love with you, dammit.” Tears fell and I angrily dashed them away. “And then you tell me, in front of a hundred-odd witnesses, that I’m ‘not worth it’.” I air-scribed vicious little speech marks. “Really, Matt? Really? I’m so ‘not worth it’ that you wouldn’t even ask a question or two? You thought that little of me?”
“No, I just—”
“You just assumed. You assumed I’d been unfaithful because that’s what a half-cut stranger told you and, hey, that’s just the kind of woman I am, right?” I stalked over to the window, just to put some distance between us, then swung round and glared at him. “Why didn’t I stick around? ’Cause you’re an asshole, that’s why.” I turned back to the window. “It just took me a while to work it out.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Try me.” I gazed out at nothing.
“Fine, then. I’m an asshole. Now can I speak?”
I faced him, arms folded. “You said your piece four months ago.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are we going to be stuck back there forever? Help me out here, Becs.”
“Why should I?”
“Because this is what you wanted!” My sub-conscious screamed. “Didn’t you want to talk to him? Listen to him? Explain yourself?”
“Because it’s important!” Matt steamed. “Bloody hell! For the past four months I’ve done nothing but think about what happened that night.”
“And I’ve done nothing but try to forget it.”
I looked down at the floor, Dani’s perfect white-tiled minimalist fucking floor. She’d be in Barbados by now, gorging herself on sun and sex and Sebi. How had she ended up with such a perfect life?
A Heat of the Moment Thing Page 34