The Matchmaker's Plan

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

His thumb brushed absently across her hand and his gaze dropped to study the top of the table. She thought he was withdrawing, that he wasn’t inclined to share anything personal with her because he didn’t trust her enough. But after a few minutes…what seemed like very long minutes…he looked up with a slight, offhand shrug. “I’ve always resented my parents for the choices they made. Pretty selfish, huh?”

  Her eyes misted with sympathy. “I don’t think so, Matt. Your parents are wonderful, generous people, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t make their share of mistakes.”

  “I’m not going to do that with my child,” he said.

  She offered a soft smile. “We’ll make mistakes, Matt. We just have to do our best not to make big ones.”

  “Then we should definitely paint the nursery pink.”

  The curve of his lips made her pulse race. She was so in love with him, her heart ached with the pleasure of it and she almost—almost—told him so. “It’s a boy, Matt,” she said instead. “I just feel it.”

  He withdrew his hand and picked up his wine-glass, tipping it toward her in a salute. “You’ve been wrong before,” he replied, taking a drink. “Do you want anything else before we go? Coffee? Dessert? I’ll bet they make pretty good cinnamon toast here.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve already gained thirteen pounds and I’m barely halfway through the pregnancy. I’m afraid I’m not even going to fit into my dress for Saturday’s ball.”

  He set the glass down, exhaled slowly. “I talked with Jessica today. She’s going to step in and take over the last of the arrangements so you can relax and just enjoy the event.”

  A chill of annoyance trickled like ice water down her back, robbing her pleasure in the evening. “Jessica is assuming my duties as chair of the Black-and-White Ball?”

  A guilty expression flitted across his face and was gone. But she’d seen it. And she knew.

  “It was my decision, Peyton. I thought it would be best.”

  “Because you discovered I’m incompetent?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No, of course you didn’t.” She knew the source of this decision, suspected she knew the gist of the evidence against her. What she didn’t understand was why Matt hadn’t given her even the benefit of the doubt. “Because we both know I’m very competent and that I’ve done a damn good job in planning this event.”

  “I had what I believe to be valid reasons for my decision. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “No. I want an answer. A real one. Not excuses.”

  “I don’t make excuses.” He placed his napkin beside his plate with unwarranted emphasis. “You’re out as event chair. Jessica’s in. I made the decision and I stand by it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what’s behind this whole date night, isn’t it, Matt? You brought me out to a public place, softened me up with a good meal, a lot of small talk and a pseudo exchange of personal secrets, just so I wouldn’t make a scene. Tell me, Matt, was this Jessica’s idea, too? Did you and she discuss the best way to inform me of your nasty little plot? Or did you think of this romantic evening all on your own?”

  “As usual, Peyton, you’re making a big deal out of something that isn’t that complicated.”

  She tossed her napkin onto her plate and leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her voice low but forceful. “And, as usual, Matt, you’re willing to believe anything Jessica tells you.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you here.”

  “You have no intention of discussing it with me anywhere. We’ve been having this same argument almost from the first minute I began volunteering at the Foundation, and it is always about Jessica. No matter what the problem, it somehow always comes back to her. You never question her, never consider that someone else could legitimately view the situation from a different perspective, never allow yourself to believe there could be any other interpretation of what she chooses to tell you.”

  “Jessica is an employee who is paid to do exactly what she does.”

  “Oh, really. You hired her to ensure that a handful of bigoted old women are allowed to ridicule every new idea presented to their so-called advisory board? You hired her to stand back while new volunteers are humiliated for daring to suggest it may be time to change the way things have always been done? You hired her to inflame a minor disagreement into a raging tantrum of wounded pride and imagined insults? Because that is what Jessica does. That’s why the Foundation has lost some valuable volunteers in the past several months. Women like Judy Statton and Lindy Howard, Audra Rey and Tracy Moore. And those are just the ones I personally know about. They took their volunteer hours, their donations and their energies to other nonprofit organizations because they have a lot to offer and they were stifled and unappreciated at your foundation. It may be true they don’t have the financial resources of Olivia Renwick or Natalie Bonner or the Gardners at this time in their lives, but in a few years they will. So you’ve not only lost their enthusiasm and the vitality they have to give, you’ve lost their future contributions.” She pushed back and stood up, angry with herself for believing he’d changed, for thinking he was going to allow her to participate in this relationship as a partner. “And now, Matt, you’ve lost me, too.”

  He was also angry as he rose to his feet. “This whole uproar is about table decorations, Peyton. Table decorations! Do you know how much I hate that? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been caught in a squabble like this over something as stupid and unimportant as whether or not there are flowers on the tables?”

  “I thought you loved the Danville Foundation, Matt. I thought it was possibly the only thing you did truly care about. And yet, after everything I’ve just said, you still want to pretend this is about trivialities. That isn’t leadership, Matt. That’s denial. If you don’t want to make the tough choices, then step back and let someone else do it. But don’t tell me that the decision you made today was based on anything more than the fact that you don’t want to be bothered with the truth.” She shook her head, knowing she was either going to start crying or go around the table and kick him, hard, on the shin. As neither action would do anything other than irritate him further and upset her more, she held out her hand expectantly. “May I have the car keys, please?”

  He wasn’t through arguing his point. She could see that, but she was through. She wasn’t going to fight him over a charity event. She wasn’t going to fight him at all. Not anymore. Their gaze held for a moment, the air sparked with tension and energy, pulsed with unspoken emotion, and then he reached into his pocket and handed her the keys. “I’ll be out as soon as I’ve taken care of the bill,” he said.

  She didn’t bother to answer, just picked up her purse, draped her cardigan across her shoulders and walked out of the restaurant. Before he ever even came out the door, she was already on her way across the Newport Bridge.

  MATT COULD NOT BELIEVE she’d driven off without him. But the evidence was irrefutable. The Mercedes and Peyton were gone. Not even a set of taillights flickering in the distance. She must have driven out of there like a bat out of hell. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he decided he’d call a cab.

  But first, he was going back inside the restaurant to order a stout drink. Maybe two. After all, why hurry? There was nothing at home for him but more argument. And frankly, between Jessica and Peyton, he’d had his fill of tempests in teapots.

  Turning on his heel, he abandoned the parking lot and returned to the restaurant in search of some liquid consolation.

  PEYTON NEVER EVEN SAW the car that hit her.

  One minute she was telling Matt—in absentia—that he was an idiot, and the next a flash of headlights was coming toward her out of nowhere.

  An instant of awareness—no longer than a pair of heartbeats—before the crash, the horrendous pow! of collision.

  And then…nothing.

  Chapter Ten

  Matt paid the driver and walked toward the house, considerably worse
for the wear of having replayed the argument over and over in his head while his whiskey sour sat untouched on the bar. Only when the front door was flung open before he reached it did he realize the house was blazing with lights, charged with intangible tensions.

  “Matt!” Ainsley grabbed his arm and jerked him inside. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your cell phone? What were you doing out so late? Are you hurt? Were you in the car? What happened to you?”

  He sobered quickly from what little alcohol he’d actually consumed. “Slow down, Baby. I’m fine. What’s going on?”

  “There was an accident, just this side of the bridge.”

  Fear gripped him. “Peyton?” He could barely breathe the question, couldn’t find the words to ask.

  “At the hospital,” Ainsley answered. “Ivan’s with her. That’s all I know. The police called here first, but all Frederico could understand was that they wanted a phone number…so he gave them mine. We thought you were in the car, too, and that you must have been thrown out in the crash, although I told the police you always wear your seat belt and I didn’t see how you could have just disappeared. They’re probably out there searching for you still. We’ll have to call and let them know you showed up.” She paused for breath, barely. “Where were you anyway? And why was Peyton driving home alone?”

  Matt stopped listening. “Where’s your car?” he asked.

  She divined his intention and grabbed the car keys before he could. “You’re in no condition to drive,” she said, running ahead of him outside to where her car was parked. “Get in.”

  The tires couldn’t have turned more than three times before Ainsley was at him again with the questions. “What happened, Matt? How did you get to Danfair? Do you realize it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning? Why was Peyton out so late? Was she with you? Why weren’t you with her? Oh, how could this have happened? You can tell me, Matt. You can tell me anything.”

  “Women keep saying that to me,” he said, because he was scared, because the thought flitted through his mind and came out his mouth. Ainsley was scared, too, hence her babbling. He inhaled a shaky breath and made himself focus. “I don’t know what happened, Ainsley, except that she drove off without me. I guess she was heading back here, but I don’t know. She could have been going anywhere.”

  “So you went out looking for her?”

  He frowned. “No. I went back inside the restaurant and ordered a drink.”

  “What restaurant?”

  “The one where we had dinner.” His fingers drummed nervously on the armrest.

  “Oh, you had dinner.”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “No, you said you went looking for Peyton after she drove off without you.”

  Sometimes he wondered if women ever actually listened to what a man said. “No, I said, she drove off in a huff and left me at the restaurant,” he repeated. “I went back inside and sat at the bar for a while, then I called a taxi and went home.”

  “A huff?” Ainsley tossed a glance at him, gripped the wheel as if her life—or maybe Peyton’s—depended on it. “What did you do to put her in a huff?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he snapped, feeling as guilty as sin. “Why does it have to be my fault?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Matt. Talk to me. For once in your life, let someone help you.”

  He looked at her then, her gold hair muted in the darkness inside the car, her expression drawn taut with worry, and he wondered when she’d grown up and why it was difficult for him to accept that. He’d always thought he’d played the role of big brother just right, giving his siblings the proper amount of protective concern, telling them they had nothing to worry about, pretending he never felt weighted down with the responsibility he carried. But maybe he’d gotten that all wrong, too. Maybe Ainsley thought she’d been a burden to him. Maybe she’d grown up believing her role was to make him smile and laugh, to pretend she had no worries so she never added to his. Maybe she’d absorbed a message from him that he’d never meant to send. “What did you think of me when you were younger, Baby?”

  Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I’ve always thought you were wonderful. You know that.”

  “But what else? The truth, Ains. Not just what you think I want to hear.”

  The frown softened and she chewed on her lower lip for a minute or two while she contemplated the answer. “I thought you were strong. And handsome. I thought you were wise and a little stern. I thought you never laughed enough. I thought you didn’t really like to talk very much and that you always had something important on your mind.” She paused, cast him a worried glance. “But mostly I thought you were sad and often lonely, even when we were with you.”

  So much for thinking no one had ever seen past his facade. “And now?”

  “Now? I think you’re still sad. I think you’re still lonely. I think you have a chance to change that. But I don’t know if you’re going to take it.”

  What if that chance was gone? Snatched back before he could claim it. Now, Matt, you’ve lost me, too. Tears ached behind his eyes and gathered into a knot of pain in his throat. He swallowed hard and turned his head toward the window and the darkness beyond it.

  Ainsley took a hand from the wheel to touch him with comfort. “She’s going to be all right, Matt. She is.”

  She had to be. He couldn’t bear it if she wasn’t. “The baby,” he said then, suddenly realizing what else was at stake. “Is the baby…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t ask, couldn’t believe he might lose what he’d only so recently realized he truly wanted.

  Ainsley bit her lip again. “There’s some concern about the baby, Matt. That’s all I know.”

  The ache became unbearable. Fear seized his heart and crushed it in a vise of terrifying possibilities. “I love her,” he said, not knowing until that moment that he did.

  Ainsley gently squeezed his arm. “I know you do. After all, I am a matchmaker.”

  PEYTON CAME AWAKE slowly, aware of an overall ache that seemed to have settled deep into every muscle of her body. Her eyes drifted open to take in the sterile drabness of a hospital room. The starchy bleached linens felt cool beneath the exploratory movements of her fingertips. There was a hum of machinery somewhere nearby, a rustle of movement beyond her vision. She remembered a doctor in green scrubs who’d asked her name and what day it was. She remembered telling him—or someone—she was pregnant. Five months, she thought she’d said. And then…The memories blurred again at that point, blipped off into some distant galaxy of forgetfulness.

  Her hand slid to her stomach, searching and thankfully finding the firm bulge that meant the baby was still there. She pushed at it and felt the flutter of his kick. He was okay. She sighed and turned her head on the pillow.

  Matt was asleep in a chair, pulled up close to the bed, his head propped on one hand but still drooping toward his chest. He’d have one heck of a pain in his neck when he awoke, she thought. Just looking at him made her feel better, so she lay there and watched him sleep while the baby moved inside her. She must have dozed off again, because when she opened her eyes for the second time, Matt was standing by the window, looking out at a sunny day. “Hello,” she said.

  He turned and she saw the haggard lines on his face, the worry in his eyes. “Hello,” he answered softly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, I think. A little sore. The baby’s okay, too.”

  Crossing to the bed, he picked up her hand and held it tight in his. “They’re still waiting on a couple of tests, but the doctors seem to think everything looks normal so far. You have a slight concussion, some bruising, but no broken bones. Thank God you were in the Mercedes and the air bags worked the way they’re supposed to.”

  She tried to remember but couldn’t quite do it. “Was I in an accident?”

  “Another car hit you. The police believe the other driver had had one drink too many, but he passed the Breathalyzer, so he was only cited
for speeding. They said you were going a little too fast, as well. You were lucky, Peyton. It could easily have been much worse. Much worse.”

  “Hmm.” She didn’t feel alarm or even a great deal of concern. Probably the bliss of medication. Or simply knowing neither she nor the baby had been seriously hurt. “Why was I driving?” she asked. “Do you know?”

  “You don’t remember driving off and leaving me at the restaurant?”

  That sounded vaguely familiar. “How did you get home?”

  “Took a cab.” He squeezed her hand, looked distraught. “You scared the life out of me, Peyton. I am never going to argue with you again. Ever.”

  “That seems a little drastic, Matt. Some of our arguments have been very…stimulating.”

  He sank into the chair, never easing the security of his grip on her hand. “This one very nearly cost me my wife and daughter.”

  “Son,” she responded automatically. “And we’re both okay, Matt. You can stop looking so despondent. Everything’s fine. I’m not going to die. I barely even have a headache. If you keep this up, they’ll have to bring a bed in here for you.”

  “If it comes to that, I’ll just climb into your bed.”

  “Now that sounds like the man I married.”

  He dropped his gaze, brought it back again to meet hers. “I hoped it might sound a little like the man you love.”

  Her breath caught at the hope that suddenly blossomed inside her, banishing the ache. “It sounded a lot like him, if you want to know the truth.”

  “It’s time for truth between us, Peyton. No more pretending. No more hiding. I’m in love with you. It’s been coming on so gradually, I didn’t even know it until last night when you told me I’d lost you, too. And then, when I found out you’d been in an accident…” His voice broke and his hold on her hand—and her heart—tightened. “I thought I might have lost you and the baby and I…I knew then that you’re all I really care about. You’re all that matters. Without you, without the future we backed our way into, I’d have nothing but a sad, lonely life.”