She never mentions her husband or kids. Ever.
She rarely wears her wedding ring anymore.
Straightening his tie, he watched as his mother got in line to pray beside Vivienne's casket, while his father stood nearby, chatting with several other men from their neighborhood.
After picking up a prayer card, Nick made his way to Linda. He hadn't seen her in years.
Taking her hand in his, he said, "I'm so sorry for your loss. Your mom was a wonderful woman."
Linda tilted her head at him. "I'm sorry, and you are…?
"Nick. DeRosa. You used to babysit my brother and me. My folks are, well, were neighbors."
"Oh, of course I remember you," she exclaimed as she threw her arms around him. "You're a lot taller than I remember, though. How are your parents?"
"They're here, actually." He pointed them out in the crowd.
Linda nodded. "So you must know my cousin, Mattie, right? She came to live with us when her Mom passed, remember?"
Here we go.
Nick took a sharp breath. "Yes. I remember Mattie. Is she here?"
"No. The poor kid was beat. I sent her home about twenty minutes ago. I can tell her you stopped by, though."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Nick assured her. "You've got enough on your mind."
Linda gave him an appreciative smile.
It's now or never, dummy.
"So, tell me. What's she been up to?"
* * *
As promised, the day after the funeral, Mattie arrived at her and Nick's usual spot at their usual time. She had barely eaten for four days, wasn't especially wowed by the sunrise erupting in spectacular fashion over the lake, and hadn't given much thought to the cold shoulder Nick had been giving her since February. Feeling truly and completely like an orphan, it was everything she could do not to lose it.
Staring straight ahead, she didn't notice the other runners jogging by her, the cyclists whizzing past, or the dog walkers, and rollerbladers. And she didn't see Nick coming toward her. She only felt his arms when he wrapped them securely around her, holding her up and holding her together in a way she struggled to do on her own.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." He nuzzled into her hair.
It took everything in her not to collapse into a sobbing, guilt-ridden mess.
At that moment, there was nothing she wanted to do more, but she knew she couldn't bear having to raise her guard again as soon as his sympathetic mood lifted.
Several deep breaths later, she asked with the stoicism of a war-weary general, "How far today, Coach?"
He brushed an errant strand of hair off of her face, looked her in the eye, and asked, "You sure you're up for it?"
Her heart tumbled in her chest.
Nodding, she sighed, "I missed it."
I missed you.
For a split second, she felt like he was peering into her soul, searching for more, but she wasn't ready to deliver. Not yet.
* * *
Early the next week, Mattie popped into Dianne's office. "He should be here any minute."
Dianne, her eyes fixed on her computer screen, replied, "Good. And what are you making?"
"Lentil bean and turkey meatloaf with maple syrup glaze."
"Sounds yummy," she sang out while her hands flew over her keyboard. "Is the kitchen ready?"
"I guess." Truth was Mattie didn't have to do much more than bring Nick down to the kitchen and follow Pete the producer's directions. Why she was standing in the doorway to Dianne's office wringing her hands, she had no idea.
Punching the Enter key, Dianne sent the email she had been drafting and looked up at Mattie. "Sweetie, is something wrong? You look distressed."
Mattie left the open doorway and took a step closer to Dianne's desk. "Here's the thing," she started. "That morality clause, remember?"
Dianne nodded at her.
"Was that really Nick's idea or was it Lester's because I keep playing what you said over and over in my head, and I don't think you made that very clear."
Peering over her reading glasses, Dianne shrugged, "What does it matter? Either way, you play, you don't get paid."
It was times like this when Mattie was certain Dianne had been a member of the mafia in a previous life. She could just picture her wearing a fitted pinstripe suit with black and white spectator pumps while ordering hits on women who shopped at discount clothing stores or colored their own hair.
"That's extortion."
"No, sweetie. That's keeping our jobs."
Mattie sighed and hung her head. Strapped for cash, the Gazette had her over a barrel, and she knew it. But she didn't have to like it.
"It's only for what—four more months?" Dianne continued. "Besides, I thought you agreed that this was a simple business transaction?"
Four more months? Nick had barely said "boo" to her since the 5k. She thought she was resigned to the fact that he had no feelings for her whatsoever. Then he came at her with that bear hug the day after the funeral.
There was no business in that transaction.
Mattie stood firm and declared, "Dianne, I don't think I can do this any more."
In reply, her editor smiled at her through clenched teeth and pointed at the door.
Seeing this only stoked Mattie's frustration. "You want me to leave? Fine. I'll leave, but not until I say this: Nick DeRosa's one of the best people I know. He's changed my life in ways that I can't even begin to articulate, and I'm not going to spend the next four months pretending otherwise."
She glared down at Dianne who, by now, had covered her face with both hands.
Mattie lifted her chin and closed her eyes. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"
Damn. It.
She turned around and found herself face to button-down-shirt-stretched-over-chiseled-chest with Nick.
Fighting back the urge to unbutton him with her teeth, she willed her eyes upward until they met his. Aside from the crinkles in the corners that hinted at a slight sense of amusement, his face showed no expression whatsoever.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, her face fifty shades of embarrassed.
"How long have you been standing there?"
He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Kitchen?"
He was giving her an out, and she grabbed it with both hands.
Good man. Did I tell you he's one of the best I know?
"Right. Follow me."
Together, they made their way to the test kitchen. After Pete Fleming, the short, spindly segment producer, greeted them, Nancy Braley appeared out of nowhere, wearing a low-cut mini dress.
Mattie suspected that, over the years, Nancy's criteria for the perfect man had morphed from tall, dark, and handsome to breathing and walking upright. As soon as she laid eyes on Nick, she wedged herself up against him like a rabid fan out to get a selfie with her favorite rock star.
"Hi, Nick," she gushed. "My name's Nancy. I'm the Gazette's food editor."
"Assistant," Mattie corrected. "Assistant food editor."
Ignoring the distraction, Nancy guided Nick behind the food prep counter and pointed out everything she had already prepared. "Here's the recipe. I already made one that will be finished by the time you're done making this one, but you'll be making two because we always feed the crew after a show. The lentil beans are in this bowl. Here's the garlic you'll chop, and this is a grater for the onion. I used the food processor to dice the baby carrots, but the viewers might like to see you chopping them by hand. Any chance you can take your shirt off?"
"Nancy!" Pete and Mattie exclaimed in unison.
Ever the hunky professional, Nick smiled and said, "How about I just roll up my sleeves?"
Fanning herself with her hand, Nancy sputtered, "Oh sure, yeah, that'd be fine."
Clearly enjoying the unbridled adulation, Nick surveyed the ingredients, scratched the scruff on his face, and said, "OK, I think I've got it."
Mattie stood nearby watching as shades of the Nick she used to know and loathe s
tarted to manifest in the otherwise potentially adorable man. When he caught Mattie's eye and nodded her over, she joined him behind the counter.
"You're helping me out, right?" he asked under his breath as he edged them both out of Nancy's earshot.
Mattie frowned. "I'm not cooking this. You are."
Nick tightened his grip on her arm. Looking over at Nancy who was checking the oven temperature, he whispered with the urgency of a big game hunter who just realized he had no bullets, "What do you mean you're not cooking? I'm not doing this by myself."
Looking puzzled, Mattie asked, "Nick, are you nervous? Don't be. I'll be watching from right over there." She pointed to a chair behind the massive video camera aimed at him like a cruise missile.
Next, she recited his own words of wisdom. "If you don't think you can do this, you won't."
A crease formed between his dark arched eyebrows as he glanced at the chair. When he turned his big hazels on her, his anxiety was palpable.
You're lovin' me now, aren't ya?
Well aware that this would have been an opportune time to announce his full name at the top of her lungs just to get him to cooperate, Mattie did the next best thing.
She smiled and mouthed, "Gotcha."
Mattie 1, Coach zip.
Before she could gauge his reaction, Nancy held out his-and-her Team Plate Spinner aprons. "Okay, you two. Put these on. Now, this set was designed for only one cook behind the counter here, but Pete's going to pull back to squeeze you both in.
Nick shook his head in mock disapproval while he tied his apron behind his back. "Is that any way to treat one of the best people you know?"
Coach 1, Mattie zip.
"Now, above all, remember," Nancy whispered to them both, "this is all about easy-to-make meals, so you've got to get it prepped, in the oven, and taste-tested in under ten minutes. And don't forget to make it look easy and have fun."
"Ten minutes? You have got to be kidding me," Mattie said to Nancy's back as she left them alone on the set.
What followed were the longest ten minutes of Mattie's life. She struggled to maintain a sense of decorum—no small feat considering the heat of the oven pulsing behind her and the hot studio lights baking her from above. Her close proximity to Nick certainly didn't help matters. Try as she might, there was no way to avoid bumping into him.
When she felt his hands on her waist as he tried maneuvering around her in the miniscule space, she was certain she would spontaneously combust. The first time made her feel uncomfortable, like he was assessing her BMI. The second time, though, the gentle squeeze of his strong hands and the feel of him brushing up against her sent a low volt of electric current coursing throughout her.
I'm happily married. I'm happily married. I'm happily married.
By the time they were both squishing their bare hands in the large bowl of raw meatloaf ingredients, she finally began to understand the meaning of "food porn"—a phrase Nancy used regularly to describe her favorite cable food shows.
When a strand of hair fell across Mattie's face and she had no way to brush it back, she resorted to rubbing her forehead against Nick's upper arm.
"Sorry," she sighed when he looked down at her, his expression full of curiosity.
Turning to the camera, she continued, "You want to really get your hands in there good to make sure everything is mixed together thoroughly, otherwise the flavor won't be consistent throughout."
After a minute of squishing the goo, Nick looked at her and murmured, "Is this good for you?"
She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact for fear she would either jump him on the spot or burst out laughing.
"Yeah, that feels really good." She pulled her hands out of the mixture, certain that her cheeks were sporting blotchy crimson patches.
When Mattie turned to wash her hands in the tiny sink, Nick stood next to her with his hands in the air.
Thanks for the well-equipped kitchen, Nancy. Not.
"Just give me a sec"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phil mouth, "Two minutes."
The next thing she knew, Nick was standing behind her. With an arm on either side of her, he took her hands in his and started lathering them together.
"Sorry," he breathed into her ear.
Mattie stared into the sink, feeling the heat of his body press against her back, and watched as his hands enveloped hers under the cool water. After he scrubbed her palms, he worked his fingers between hers and slid his hands back and forth over them until they were clean. It was a utilitarian effort, but she had never experienced anything so erotic.
Phil turned to Nancy who was standing nearby, gnawing on the tip of a pen like a dog does a chew toy while she watched them get busy in the kitchen. "She's married, right?"
Nancy chuckled. "Yeah. I actually feel sorry for the guy, whoever he is. He doesn't stand a chance."
Blowing out a big breath, Mattie quickly dried her hands on her apron, tucked her hair behind her ears, and turned to slide the meatloaf into the oven while Nick retrieved the already-cooked one from the upper rack.
Per Nancy's instructions, he used a metal spatula to shimmy out a piece and slid it onto a plate that was waiting nearby. After he heaped a bit of it on a fork, he held it out for Mattie to taste. When she raised her face toward it with her mouth open, he said, "It's hot. You'd better blow on it first."
From behind the camera, Nancy groaned.
And so ended their first cooking demonstration.
After seeing it for herself and downloading a copy, Mattie could certainly see why Lester had instructed Dianne to shelve it. Nancy Braley, however, informed Mattie that she had received no such directive and went ahead and linked it to her "Quick and Easy Meals" page.
Even without advertising, it only took four hours for it to become the top-rated story by unique clicks for the day. By the next morning, it was the top-rated clip for the week. By the end of the second day, it was on its way to becoming an Internet sensation, and Mattie had the privilege of witnessing a historic moment when Lester himself did something he had never done before—admit to Dianne that he was wrong.
* * *
Three days before the half marathon, Mattie was about to wake up from a delicious dream. In it, she was being kissed, and it wasn't the sort of closed mouth peck Eddie used to impart; it was a long, slow, lovely, probing sort of kiss—the kind that leaves even the hardest of hearts breathless and the likes of which she had only ever experienced once before.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Nick's face above hers, but it was wrought with worry. "Come on, Mattie," he yelled, though his voice sounded far away. "Wake up. Don't leave me. "
She sat up with a start and looked around her empty bedroom. Grabbing her phone, she saw that it was six-twenty in the morning and someone had just texted her. It was Nick.
"Where r u?"
Dammit.
She leapt out of bed. Even with her windows cracked during the night, the air inside of her apartment felt muggy. Outside, it would be worse.
She pulled on a pair of fire engine red running shorts and a matching sport bra over which she yanked a gray dri-FIT tank top. Grabbing her sunglasses and keys, she shut her door behind her, texting the entire time.
"Sorry. Overslept. Be there in 5."
If Mattie felt frisky after her dream, seeing Nick standing on their usual corner, shirtless and wearing the shortest of running shorts didn't help. Not many men could pull off that look, especially so early in the summer, but Nick, more muscular than the stereotypical string bean distance runner, was already tan and turning heads.
As she approached, he took off his sunglasses to reveal the same unsmiling expression she assumed he'd use to intimidate his high school runners.
It didn't work on her. Not bothering to suppress a grin, she cried, "How are ya?"
He frowned at her. His reply was self-evident. "I'm hot."
Mattie couldn't keep her eyes from sweeping his big guns, sculpted chest a
nd chiseled abs. Forcing herself to look in his eyes, she pointed out over the lake behind him.
"Check out that gorgeous sunrise."
When Nick turned, she bolted in the opposite direction. When she was several yards away, she pulled off her tank top and yelled over her shoulder, "Come on, slow poke. What are you waiting for?"
Nick stood for a minute, wondering what had come over her. He'd never seen her like this. He laughed out loud when he saw her rip off her shirt like a seasoned pro in the midst of a long, hot run. Given the heat and humidity, most everyone out running that morning had already done the same. That she did it at all spoke volumes about how much more confident she had become.
The old Mattie never would've done that. Not in a million years.
It was the first time he saw her in anything besides baggy workout gear or loose-fitting business clothes. She looked good. She looked fit. With a full view of just how good of shape she was now in, he took his time catching up to her.
Ever since her cousin had informed him that Mattie wasn't married, his emotions had swung between elation and hurt and everything in between. Why hadn't she been honest with him? Was it about her job or was it about him? Why didn't she trust him with the truth? Was she still in love with Eddie? All questions he could've asked if he had waited for her to tell him herself. As it was, he cheated by taking advantage of a kind acquaintance at her own mother's wake.
How low can you go?
When he was right behind her, he stretched out his hand and gave her ponytail a light tug.
She glanced back at him, smiling. "Slacker. What took you so long?"
"Shut up and run," he chuckled. "We're only going as far as Montrose today."
As they bounded north up the path that cut through Lincoln Park, Mattie exclaimed, "I can't believe I'll be running a half marathon in three days."
The wind kicked up, doing little to alleviate the stifling humidity. To their right, swells of waves in Lake Michigan crashed against the breakwaters. To their left, the patches of sky between the Gold Coast high-rises looked as if someone had painted them dark gray.
Nick stared straight ahead. His eyes were on the path, but his mind was on what he would rather be doing with Mattie.
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