Julie's image moved through his head again.
They were meeting tomorrow night for his cooking lesson. That had probably been a bad idea. She was going to be a distraction. He should cancel.
On the other hand, he really wanted to see her again.
It was just one date. Then he'd get back to business.
Chapter Four
Friday night after work Julie met Matt at the door of the Brandon Street Supermarket. She'd been half-hoping he'd text her and call the whole thing off, but she hadn't heard a word from him.
She straightened as she saw him get out of his car and stride across the lot. Wearing jeans and a zip-up jacket over a dark t-shirt, he moved with confidence and graceful athleticism, and more than one woman gave him a second glance as he passed by. Matt didn't seem to notice the attention, his gaze sweeping the area until it settled on her. His lips curved into a smile, and he gave her a wave.
Her breath caught in her chest, and a shiver ran down her spine as he approached. He was a really attractive man with his wavy brown hair, tan skin and beautiful green eyes. And his broad, powerful shoulders and long, lean body made her stomach tighten. He was both a man's man and a woman's man, and no doubt thousands of kids looked up to him, too. That made him the perfect choice for a celebrity chef, but absolutely not the perfect choice for her.
But this wasn't a date; it was business. She was keeping the celebrity happy. She was protecting her event. She was doing it all for her company, she told herself.
But not even she completely believed that.
"You're late," she said, deciding to go on offense. Because being angry at Matt helped keep the warmer feelings at bay.
He glanced down at his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Three minutes."
She shrugged. "Late is late."
"Let's not waste any more time then," he said, waving her toward the entrance. "What are we making tonight?"
"I thought we'd go with scallops and a creamy risotto with a kale salad on the side. The prep isn't too difficult and the scallops cook quickly. Risotto can be a little tricky but it doesn't take long to cook. I hope you like fish or at the very least that you're not allergic to it."
"I do like fish and no food allergies, so it sounds like a good plan."
She grabbed a basket as they entered the store. "Great. I made out a list."
"I figured," he said with a small smile. "You seem like a planner."
"I'm a busy woman. I like to be efficient."
"It wasn't a criticism," he said lightly. "So what's first?"
"Let's get the scallops," she said, heading toward the butcher. "They're the centerpiece of the dish."
They'd barely made it to the fish counter when two young boys came running over to ask Matt for his autograph. He happily obliged, signing one's baseball cap and the other's t-shirt. Following the boys were a dad and two little girls, then two women, one with a baby, the other with a toddler. And then there was the beautiful redhead in the short skirt and high-heeled boots who told Matt he was her favorite player and wanted to take a selfie with him.
Judging by her tone, she wanted to do a lot more with Matt than just take a picture with him.
Julie got the scallops and headed off to finish the shopping, leaving Matt with his fans. She should have anticipated this happening. Autograph seekers had often waylaid her father when they were out as a family. Her dad had always been happy to stop and talk with fans, just as Matt had done, but her mother had hated the constant interruptions. She couldn't really blame her. What started out as a task for two had often ended up as a task for one, just like today.
She picked up the rest of the groceries and then proceeded to checkout.
"There you are," Matt said, meeting her in line. "Sorry about that."
"It doesn't matter. Does this happen to you a lot?" she asked, as she unloaded her basket.
"In San Francisco, yes. Not so much other places. I'll pay for this," he added, moving past her to slide his credit card through the machine. "Did you get everything we need?"
"I think so."
"Thanks Julie." He gave her a smile that made her feel like an idiot for being pissed off at him because he was popular. It wasn't like he'd done anything to draw attention to himself. And it probably wasn't that fun for him to be accosted everywhere he went.
"No problem, but when we get to your place, you're going to be doing the cooking, and I'm going to be advising."
"And eating," he said. "Hopefully, it's good."
"Hopefully," she echoed, as they paid for their groceries and headed out to the parking lot.
She followed him to his condo, which was only about a mile away. He lived on the top floor of a sixteen-story brand new building overlooking the bay and the nearby ballpark.
After setting the bags down in the kitchen, Matt gave her a quick tour of the spacious two-bedroom, two-level unit. The first floor was composed of the kitchen, dining room, living room, media room and bathroom. Upstairs were two master suites, each with their own bathrooms and sweeping views of the city. Also upstairs was a fitness room complete with treadmill, elliptical, weights and other fitness machines.
It was a great space, she thought. Everything was new, freshly painted, and there was no clutter anywhere.
"Your home is really nice," she said as they made their way back into the kitchen. "Have you lived here long?"
"No, I moved in about three months ago when the building was finished."
"I've never lived anywhere new. I grew up in a house that was fifty years old when my parents bought it, and the apartment building I live in now dates back to the nineteen-forties."
"My sister says this place has no soul," he said, stopping by the sink to wash his hands. "But everything is new."
"Well, I guess that's a little true," she said. "You just need to make the space more personal."
He shrugged. "I'm fine with it the way it is."
"How old is your sister?"
"Claire is twenty-three."
"Does she live nearby?"
"No, she's in medical school in Los Angeles."
"Really? That's a lot of work."
"It is a lot of work, but she's a great student and very determined. She wants to be a pediatrician. And I'm sure she'll make that happen. She's a force of nature."
"Sounds like that quality runs in your family," she said dryly. "You're a bit of a force yourself."
"Wait, was that a compliment?"
"Just a fact."
"Well, let's see how this force does in the kitchen. What's first?"
She started, realizing she'd forgotten all about cooking. She'd been far more interested in getting to know Matt than in producing a meal that would make him a contender in the cook-off. She took out her phone to review the recipe. "Why don't you grab a large saucepan for the risotto and a frying pan for the scallops. We'll also need to chop the mushrooms that will go into the risotto."
He opened a cupboard and took out some pans. "Will these work?"
"A bigger saucepan would be better," she said, watching as he exchanged pans. "At least you know what a saucepan is?"
"I'm somewhat familiar with what is used to cook, just not how to actually use it."
"Your mother didn't try to teach you at some point? Or were you just too busy with baseball?"
"My mother was more busy than I was. She worked two jobs for most of my childhood, so dinner often came out of the freezer. I can heat things up and use the microwave."
She paused, frowning as she realized she knew next to nothing about Matt Kingsley beyond his baseball reputation. "What was your mom's job?"
"She worked in retail sales during the day and for an office cleaning service at night."
"What about your dad?"
"He died when I was eleven," Matt replied, his eyes turning somber. "He'd gone sailing with some friends, the first time he'd done anything for himself in years. The boat got caught in a bad storm. It ended up breaking apart, and my dad didn't make i
t back to shore."
She stared at him in shock. He'd told the story pragmatically, but there was a pain in his eyes now that made her ache for him. "I'm so sorry, Matt. I had no idea that your father died when you were young."
"It isn't a subject I talk about much, although it's not a secret." He paused. "Right before his death, my father founded a startup computer company with a friend of his. Unfortunately, after my father died, his friend couldn't make the company work. He ended up losing everything my dad had invested in the business and then some. My mom had to sell our house to pay off my father's debts. Then we moved into a two-bedroom apartment that became home for the next six years. My mom had a room and then we had two sets of bunk beds in the other. When Claire needed more privacy, she ended up in my mom's room, and my mother would sleep on the couch."
She was really surprised by his story. She'd had no idea he'd gone through such a tragedy or had had a difficult childhood. "It sounds like a bad time. I'm kind of shocked I never heard any of that before."
"I don't talk about it much. My mother is a really private person, and she hated for anyone to know that my father had left her with so much debt. Once we moved away from the old neighborhood and started over, it was like having a new life, and we didn't talk much about the other. But I have a lot of respect for my mother. She went from being a stay-at-home mom raising four kids, to someone who had to find a way to support herself and the family. She rarely complained about it. She always had a great attitude and just kept telling us to move forward and not look back. We didn't have a lot of stuff or space in our lives, but there was a lot of love."
"Couldn’t anyone help? What about your grandparents?"
"My mom's parents sent money when they could, but they weren't well-off. My dad's parents were older and sickly. They would also chip in at times, but it was really up to my mother to keep the ship afloat. I was the oldest, so I tried to step up—be the man of the family. Not that I knew what that meant when my dad died, but I did my best to contribute. I'd mow lawns, walk dogs, whatever the neighbors wanted done." He smiled. "I'm sure the few bucks I came up with were like pennies to my mom, but she always told me how proud she was of me, and she'd put the money I earned in a coffee can and said she was saving it for an emergency."
"I'm sure she was proud of you," Julie said, realizing that she felt a little proud, too. She probably should have done some research on Matt. She normally did that with the celebrities they worked with, but she'd been so fixated on the fact that he was a baseball player she hadn't looked beyond that. She hadn't wanted to know more, but now she did.
"When I graduated from high school," Matt continued. "My mother handed me the coffee can and told me to use the fourteen hundred and twenty-seven dollars I'd made over the last six years for school." He smiled at the memory. "I couldn't believe she'd never touched it. But she'd always felt bad that I was worrying about money instead of just being a kid."
"How old were your brothers and sisters when your father passed away?"
"Connor was eight, Claire was five and David was three."
"So they were all really young."
He nodded in agreement. "Yeah. It's hard to remember now a time when my dad was with all of us. David doesn't remember him at all. I used to feel badly for him, but sometimes I'm not sure that it isn't a good thing. He doesn't feel as much sadness for what he has no memory about."
"But you remember a lot, don't you?"
"Everything. It's a blessing and a curse," he said lightly. "So what do you want me to do with these pots?"
She started, realizing that she'd lost all track of what they were supposed to be doing—which was cooking.
"Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it," Matt added with a smile. "I'm all yours for the night, Julie."
His words sent a pack of butterflies dancing through her stomach, which was crazy, since the last thing she wanted was for him to be all hers. Wasn't it?
* * *
An hour and a half later, Matt sat back in his chair at the dining room table, having finished off the remarkably good dish he'd managed to cook with Julie's help. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal, and it certainly hadn't been here in his home. It felt good to eat in, to have a beautiful woman for company, to not have to be on for anyone. It was interesting, but with Julie, her candid dislike of his job and his fame, he actually found it easier to just be himself.
"Full?" she asked, spooning the last bite of scallop into her mouth.
"Stuffed. That was damn good. I must admit that I'm amazing."
She laughed at his cocky words. "And so humble, too. Let's not forget I was behind you every step of the way. So I'd say you were competent. Amazing is still a ways off."
"I'm not averse to some practice. We should do this again. In fact, I was thinking I should try another recipe, and then we can decide which one is better."
"Whoa. I think it would be better to just perfect this one. You only have a week." She started to get up, but he immediately waved her back into her seat. "You sit. I'll clean up."
"I was just going to take my plate to the sink, but fine. I'm happy to let you clean up. It's been a long day and an even longer week," she said.
"Let's go into the living room. The dishes can wait." He grabbed the bottle of wine off the table. "Bring your glass."
As she settled on the couch in the living room, he couldn't help thinking that he really liked this mellowed-out version of Julie Michaels. She was still in work clothes, black slacks and a teal-colored top, but she'd taken off her blazer while they were cooking, and her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders.
While her eyes were a little tired, they were still the prettiest blue he'd ever seen. And her lips were soft and tinged pink from the red wine she was sipping. He had an almost irresistible urge to kiss her. With any other woman, he would have sat down next to her and done exactly that. But he felt like he had to tread carefully when it came to Julie. She wasn't as bitter or as angry around now him, but she was still skittish, and he didn't want to scare her off.
He took a seat in the armchair adjacent to the couch. He'd had a hard week, too. Letting out a sigh, he tossed back the rest of his wine, then set his glass down and kicked up his feet on the coffee table.
"That was a big sigh," Julie commented, giving him a thoughtful look. "Rough week?"
"You could say that."
"But the season hasn't started yet. Shouldn't this be the easy part of the year for you?"
"Unfortunately the off-season now seems to be filled with other commitments. I spent the early part of the week in New York doing an ad campaign for jeans. I had to play model for two days. It was boring as hell and not my scene."
She suspected he'd looked pretty damn good in those jeans. "I'm sure you were paid well," she said.
"Very well. I actually have more respect for models now. It's not as easy as I thought it was. I was glad to get back on the plane, come home, and hit the practice field."
"Does your arm hurt, Matt?"
He realized he was subconsciously rubbing his right shoulder. "Yesterday was the first day I'd thrown in a month. It's a little tweaked, hopefully nothing more than that. I like to start the season off feeling healthy and strong. However, it's not just my arm that's bothering me though. I picked up a hitch in my swing, and it's pissing me off." He paused, frowning as he realized how small his problems must look to her. She worked hard to help people who were dealing with serious issues like hunger and homelessness. "I know—smallest violin in the world right?"
"Everyone's problems are important to them," she said, surprising him a little.
"That’s a more generous response than I'd expect from you."
She shrugged. "We all get upset about petty things. I was really annoyed yesterday when I couldn't get a password to work on my computer. I had to take a breath and remind myself it's not that big of a deal." She tilted her head as she sipped her wine and gave him a long look. "Tell me somethin
g, Matt. You're a superstar, we both know that. You've set records, broken records, been named MVP, so do you really have that much left to prove?"
"I do," he said. "I need to put a few more good seasons under my belt before I run out the clock."
"You're only twenty-nine. You have a lot of time left. My father played until he was forty-one."
"He was lucky to stay healthy and that good that long." Matt was surprised she'd brought her father into the conversation.
"Yeah, my dad was always lucky."
He waited for her to continue, but that seemed to be all she wanted to say about her dad.
She took another sip of wine, then said, "How did you get into baseball? Did your father play with you?"
He smiled at that thought. "No, my dad was not an athlete at all. He was a nerdy computer genius. However, my grandfather on my mom's side used to play, and he was the one to show me how to throw a ball. He loved baseball. When I was eight years old, we went on a family trip to Boston, and my grandpa took me to Fenway Park. I stood at the top of the stadium and looked down at the shiny diamond and then out at the fence they call the Big Green Monster and knew that one day I was going to hit a homerun over that very high wall. Being in that park was like walking through time. I could almost hear the sounds of the past, the old wood bats echoing the sound of every hit, the calls for beer and hotdogs. It was the most incredible place I'd ever seen."
He saw a light of recognition in her eyes. "You've been there, haven't you?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean about being able to hear the ghosts of the past there."
He could hardly believe they'd actually connected over something related to baseball.
"So your grandfather was the one who fueled your interest in the sport. Tell me more about the early days. Were you good from the very beginning? One of those kids who is just an outstanding athlete?"
All Your Loving (Bachelors & Bridesmaids) Page 4