Matt deflated. It wasn’t fair to blame Jason or Abby or even Sarah. Things just happened—that’s what his dad had told him each time Matt had asked him why his parents couldn’t live together. Asking whose fault it had been. Ted had never lost his temper, no matter how many times his young son asked. His solution was always for Matt to trust the sea to wash away his worries, and if that didn’t work, to pound clay.
In that spirit, Matt opened the drawer that held his tools, faced his statue, and cleared his mind. Within minutes, he was lost in the battle of clay versus man. When he got tired of Jason, he uncovered Zoe and started on her. Hours passed, and he didn’t think of Abby any more than every few minutes.
Matt jumped as something slapped his calf and dropped to the floor behind him. He shook his head and kept washing his carving tools as Chris scooped up his flip-flop.
“I see we took our six-year-old pills today,” Matt observed, smiling over his shoulder.
“Got a lifetime prescription I have to use up,” Chris shot back, laughing as he plopped on a high table. “So…Abby coming over for dinner?” he asked, swinging his feet as he leaned back on his hands.
Matt turned back to the sink. Nabbing a lint-free towel from the stack on the counter, he started to dry his tools. “Not tonight.”
“All-righty, then. Grab your board. Don’t shake your head at me. It’s been weeks since you were out there. The water misses you. The gulls miss you.” He grinned slyly. “The old ladies that wait for us to come in miss you. They say hi, by the way.”
Matt laughed, rubbing his eyes with one hand while setting the tools down with the other. “I can’t. I just have to finish Zoe’s feet, and this thing is done. Tools were just getting sticky; I wasn’t quitting for the day.”
Chris was relentless, sweeping the tools off of the table and whisking them over to the cabinet. “Now you are.” He shut the cupboard door with a click. “There will always be another project, Matt. You’ll choose that over and over, and then one day your choices will be gone, because the good things will get tired of waiting for you or you’ll be out of practice at doing them.”
Matt was taken aback by the shadow of age that settled into his cousin’s eyes, and he answered gently. “All right. Lead on.”
Chris’s sunny smile broke from his momentary clouds. “Great. Meet you outside in ten minutes.” He headed for the door, already slipping off his threadbare tee and kicking his flip-flops into the corner.
Matt located his wetsuit on his closet floor. Twisted around it was a ribbed tank clearly too small to be his. Matt balanced in his crouch, impulsively bringing it to his face and inhaling. It was faint, but he could still detect the blended scent of Abby’s lotion, sunshine, and his cologne. He smiled and laid it on his pillow.
“Ready, cuz?” Chris’s bright voice shook Matt from his fugue.
“Sure,” Matt answered. He ignored the tiny smile on Chris’s face when he spotted the tank top.
An easy walk took them to the beach. As he paddled out, Matt realized that he wasn’t looking forward to his ride with any great enthusiasm. If he was being honest with himself, and he was trying very hard to be so, the pleasure he’d seen in Abby’s eyes the first time she’d watched him walk out of the water had become the reason for his afternoon rides. At first, the knowledge that she found him attractive had been an ego thing, but it had quickly evolved into a simple happiness that he made her smile.
“Head in the game,” Chris called in warning across the water. “Big one coming in.”
Matt spotted the wave, grateful that Chris had given him time to scramble to his feet before it was upon them. The concentration needed to maneuver the surf to shore provided a welcome relief from the stress party Matt’s life had become.
Ever since he was a child, Matt had found a peace in the forgetful Pacific that he’d never found anywhere else…until he was curled around Abby. He wondered if it had been the same for his dad with his mother. He’d never had the guts to ask, but he wondered if it had come down to location for his parents. Did Ted balance woman against water, with Janet the loser, or was his lifestyle just not enough for his wife? In the same position, which he found uncomfortably close to home, what would Matt do? He pushed the thought away, unwilling to consider a world in which he might have to choose one or the other and terrified that it wouldn’t be up to him. He paddled out time and again, letting the water and the sunshine wash his mind free of worry.
By the time the surf had calmed for the day, Matt was feeling more relaxed than he had for days, and even more so after a shower, a quick dinner, and two scotches. He and Chris lounged on the floor of their living room, tossing popcorn into their mouths and watching movies until late that night.
Finally, Chris snapped off the TV. “I’m done being your distraction because you were dumb enough to send Abby off tonight—g’night.” He ambled down the hall, and Matt heard his door snick closed.
Wham. All it took was that simple statement, and the worries Matt had been repressing all day resurfaced. What the hell was I thinking? battled with Gotta be realistic—she’s leaving until he decided to let them duke it out in his subconscious while he handled stress in the best way he knew. Grabbing the bottle of scotch, he flipped off the television and lights on his way to his studio. Once there, he uncovered his Zoe sculpture again. After getting out his tools, he poured another drink and downed it before setting to work.
An hour later, he stepped back, smoothing the left toenail with his thumb. Done. Pouring another two fingers of scotch, he sipped it, thinking. Too late and too much drink to start the kiln or start on anything new. His eyes flicked to the covered sculpture in the corner. Probably not the best idea to uncover that, not when he was already fixated on sliding between Abby’s sheets and nestling her against his chest, despite what he knew was the best course to follow. Still…sculpting Pretty’s cold clay had helped him sleep before he’d fallen in…whatever…with the warm, human woman who was the inspiration.
He snapped off the lights and stood looking through the window at the moon. In five days, he’d have as much chance of touching Abby as he had of touching that silvery sphere.
A light tapping at the front door drew his attention. In his hurry to answer it before the sound awakened Chris, Matt bumped into a chair and then the doorway just before stubbing his toes on the bag he’d dropped in the living room earlier that day. Cursing and cradling his wounded foot, he yanked open the door.
Abby stood on the porch, hand upraised to tap again. She stepped back, startled, as the door flew open, and dropped her hand to her side. She leaned her head against the doorframe. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
Matt lowered his foot and searched her eyes. “I thought we were getting together tomorrow,” he whispered. He glanced behind him and drew the front door closed as he stepped outside. “It’s late.”
“I know, but—” Abby’s voice tightened, and she stopped. The unhappiness on her face tore at Matt’s heart, and for one minute he wished he’d never ambled over to check on that bike accident so many weeks ago. Life had been so much easier when he didn’t care. Then her eyes filled with tears, and he forgot about himself.
“Abby? Is everything all right?”
“I need you,” she said bluntly. “This is probably stupid. But I can’t think of anything worse right now than ending this day without you. So, would you take me to bed?”
Matt took her hand and drew her toward him. In five days, the small, strong hand he was now caressing would be on the other side of the country.
The thought put a knot in his stomach. Five days. It felt like a sentence.
He was torn. A large part of him was ready to step back, to keep the conversation light, the patter snappy, and the door open for a quick retreat. The better part of him, though, recognized that a line had been crossed.
It was the latter part of Matt that gently drew Abby into his arms, cradling her against him and bringing her into the house, into his bedroom. He could
feel the slow thumping of his heart and hear Abby’s heart beating in faster counterpoint when he buried his face in her shoulder.
“Matt?” Abby’s fingers were soothing on the back of his neck.
“I just…” Matt stopped speaking as he pulled his face back and his eyes met hers. He traced the curve of her cheek with the back of a forefinger. Abby smiled, and he let his fingers drift to press against the back of her neck while his thumb caressed her cheek. He leaned in for a hesitant kiss.
Five days.
Matt kept his eyes locked on Abby’s except for the brief instant when her sweater went over her head. He wanted to remember her exactly as she was at that moment, hair wild from his hands and her sweater, face flushed and lips parted.
Five days.
His gaze trailed down her body, followed by his hands. He laid her back on the bed, tracing her lower lip with his tongue before taking it into his own mouth and sucking gently. His hands caressed her skin, pebbled with gooseflesh in the cool room, and he tried to memorize each individual texture of her body. His breathing sped as he kissed her shoulders and her stomach and her thigh. “Abby,” he whispered, his voice rough and almost unrecognizable as he tossed her jeans toward the chair.
Five days.
Abby whimpered when he left her to shed his own clothes, but he was soon back. He needed to feel her hands on him, tracing the muscles in his arms and chest, traveling lower to grasp his hips and pull him tight against her, stroking the insides of his thighs and the small of his back. He needed to feel the softness of her belly against his, the grip of her calf as she drew him deep inside her. He needed to hear her indrawn breath when he drew her leg higher, kissing the inside of her knee. To hear her whispered endearments, to call her his Pretty. To feel the tension ratcheting up in his body and hear her panting his name as her heart raced along with his.
Five.
Abby’s cries of pleasure mixed with his own gasps when their mouths parted and Matt buried his face in her neck, seeking solace in her scent, the salt-taste of her skin, the feeling of the blood pumping just under the surface. He refused to lose himself this time, trying desperately to store up all the sensations against the day they’d be gone.
Days.
He failed miserably. Long before Abby’s low moan of release, even longer before his own body froze in orgasm, he was lost again, feeling rather than thinking, knowing nothing but here and now and yes. Abby stroked his hair and murmured low words of comfort and care. He needed that, too.
But most of all, he needed to fall asleep with Abby curled up warm against him and to know he would wake up and she would still be there.
Deep inhale.
Slow exhale.
A vague outline of Matt’s face appeared as the moon shone through his bedroom window. Abby traced his features, the same way she’d tried to catalog each sleeping breath and the warmth of his skin against hers since she’d awakened.
She barely restrained herself from reaching out and touching the curve of his lower lip, not willing to wake him before she had a chance to finish her study. Looking at his features objectively, Matt wasn’t perfect. His eyebrows were thick and untamed, creating a visual sign of his determination that belied his laid-back façade. Nose slightly crooked, mouth wide, jaw strong…in pieces, he was ordinary. But when his mouth stretched into a slow smile, Abby couldn’t breathe.
A tear pooled at the corner of her eye and spilled over the bridge of her nose. Moving gently, she adjusted her hand so it wetted her skin rather than Matt’s. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Abby? she thought. You’d think twenty years of dating would have taught you to not get attached, especially to a vacation romance. She opened her mouth, trying to breathe in and out evenly so she wouldn’t sob. She’d been doing so well, too, enjoying each day as it came and not living in any moment but the present.
Then Matt had looked at her, those eyes that always twinkled were suddenly intense and not laughing at all. And he’d touched her, loved her, like there was no one else in the world. Now all her careful barriers lay in pieces around her feet.
Matt’s hand came up to cover hers before she had a chance to covertly wipe it on the sheet. He raised her chin. “Abby?” he asked softly, his eyes troubled. He stroked the side of her face, pushing her hair behind her ear.
“Our time’s almost over,” she whispered, her voice wobbly. “Ready to run away from the crazy lady yet?” Her arm snaked around his chest, and she clung to him.
Matt lifted her arm, and Abby had a moment of panic that he’d ask her to leave. No man like Matt remained unattached unless it was by choice.
Instead of sliding out of the bed, he moved closer. “You’re not crazy, Pretty. We’ll just have to make this the best part and worry about after summer later. If you want.”
The unsure tone of his voice caused a pang in Abby’s chest. She touched his cheek and smiled. “I want.”
Matt’s eyes scanned her face, and then he kissed her, hard and deep and hungrily, moving onto his back and bringing Abby with him until her body lay over his. She settled against him and listened to his breathing become deep and even.
Chapter Fifteen
AFTER NEARLY KILLING HIMSELF roughing in the new statue, Matt was grateful when Abby appeared in the doorway of his studio he next morning. Dropping his tools on the worktable, he was across the room in four steps. He stopped her laughter with a hard press of lips that morphed into a searching kiss. She relaxed in his arms, and Matt gathered her even closer.
“I’m getting you dirty,” he murmured.
“I don’t care,” she said, smiling. “Sarah called. She got an invitation for a last bike trip, and Claire had an extra day scheduled off from art camp, so I’m yours today. I thought maybe we could surf a little?” She laughed self-consciously. “Play in the water, anyway. What do you think?”
“I can’t think of anything better,” Matt answered with a wide grin. “Let me clean up.” With a last kiss, he led her out of the studio. He stopped in his bedroom to grab a swimsuit. “I’m glad you came over last night. I’d never have slept if you hadn’t.”
Abby laughed. “You would have just worked on your sculpture. I know your methods now.”
Matt tugged a shirt over his head before he answered. “No good anymore. I tried that. I need you.”
“Abby, the human sleeping pill.” There was an undertone of sadness to her voice.
“No. I know you’re thinking about that idiot in Boston, and just…no.” He smoothed his hands up and down her arms. “I can’t lie, Abby. I do like your body. But more than that, I like you.”
“Okay,” Abby said.
“No, not okay. Really. I don’t want to miss one more minute.”
Abby’s arms locked fiercely around him. “Neither do I.” They rested that way for a moment, with Matt’s cheek pillowed on Abby’s head as it lay against his shoulder.
“We good?” Matt asked. Abby nodded.
She stepped back and smirked. “Well, if that wasn’t a trip back to junior high summer camp. All we need to do now is exchange notes with ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no’ written on them.”
Matt snorted. “You are a wicked woman, Abby Reynolds. Maybe that’s why I l…ike you.”
His slight hesitance didn’t seem to register with Abby. She ran her finger up his side, and he let go of her, laughing. “Come and give me another surfing lesson.”
After a stop at Abby’s house to grab her suit, they hit the beach. Taking Abby out into deeper water than they’d entered last time made it prudent to ride a single board. Matt smiled at her enthusiasm as she called out each wave, and he obediently got to his feet at her command, if only to have an excuse to stand close behind her.
Coming in after yet another ride, he was surprised to see Chris standing at the tide line, tossing a football from hand to hand and grinning. “Hey, cuz,” Chris said. “Two days in a row? The old ladies will go into shock.”
Abby laughed. “I’m in the mood f
or ice cream. There’s usually a guy over that way. Anybody else want something?”
Matt shook his head, and Chris said, “I’ll take one of whatever you’re having.” As Abby headed up the beach, the guys began tossing the football.
“I’m not really riding today, just playing with Abby.” Matt watched her walk away. “Thanks for yesterday, by the way. I needed it.”
Chris laughed. “No argument here. And you owe me another one. I cleaned up your tools and covered the new clay.” He snorted. “I’m starting to feel like a maid. You mess it; I clean it.”
“Holy shit.” Matt hadn’t thought for a minute about the sculpture he was working on in his haste to be with Abby. “Thanks again.”
Chris nodded. “So…speaking of serious…” he said, raising an eyebrow at Matt.
“Guys, remember? We don’t talk about these things.” Matt threw the ball harder than he had before.
“I claim a relative exemption,” Chris said placidly, tossing it back. “Are you just playing with Abby? She’s a nice lady. I gotta say it.”
“I know that, I promise.” Matt caught the ball and exaggeratedly crossed his heart.
“Good to know. Have you talked about after? Will there be an after?”
His cousin’s questions were hitting too close to home, probing sores that Matt wasn’t ready to tend. “Chris…” he warned.
“I’m just saying. I know it’s not my beeswax, but damn…you’re looser than I’ve ever seen you. Happier. She lives a long way away, and neither of you is getting any younger. This isn’t the time to be timid with the words.”
That stung. “That’s my business. And you’re not the one to talk about hiding and being scared. Do something with your life, then come talk to me about being timid.” He fired the ball hard, and Chris leaped up to catch it with a quiet “oof.”
He lowered the ball to his side, and they stared at each other. “You may be right, cuz. Maybe I am hiding. But at least I’m not hurting anyone else by doing it.”
The Art of Appreciation Page 20