by KD Fisher
“Sorry,” I murmured, but I wasn’t really as Matt turned, holding me in his big arms and surrounding me with his body heat. He was always so solid and sure around me.
“I love watching the sun set.” Matt’s voice was soft, and I realized he was looking not at the dusky ribbons of rose and gold on the horizon but down at me.
My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t anticipated what hearing the word love in Matt’s low, husky voice would do to me. I wanted all of that affection for myself. I twined my arms around his neck. We stood together for a long while, just breathing and watching as the sun dipped behind the mountains and the shadows stretched out long on the snow.
When Matt looked down at me, his eyebrows knitted together, I worried he was about to bring up the job thing—the question of me leaving, the prospect of me staying, the chance that this could become something real. I didn’t know what to feel about it, much less what to say. Smoothing my fingertips over his face to relax his features had its intended effect: Matt smiled shyly and grazed my lips with his. I had never been with someone who liked kissing as much as Matt. Not that I was complaining; I couldn’t get enough of the feeling of his mouth on mine, simultaneously possessive and tender.
“Do you have to go home?” he asked, turning back in the direction of his cabin. Even with the windows dark, the place was inviting, blanketed in clean white snow and surrounded by frosty evergreens. I couldn’t wait to get inside.
“No. Unless you want some time to yourself tonight? No worries if you do.” I dreaded the prospect of falling asleep alone, but I also didn’t want to be the clingy weirdo who ignored social cues and overstayed his welcome. The fear of being honest about what I actually wanted was hard to shake.
“Mikah.” Matt sounded almost stern, and damn, if it didn’t turn me on a little. “You know I want you to stay.”
I grinned, relief unwinding the tight fibers of my muscles, although part of me wondered if this conversation had taken on a larger significance. “Okay. Then I’ll cook for you. If the grocery store’s still open, I can make you anelletti al forno, although I doubt they’ll have the right kind of pasta…. I could probably get away with ditalini if they have those.” I was rambling, but Matt didn’t seem to care.
“I like when you speak Italian.” His voice dipped low and heat pooled in my groin.
“Davvero?” I teased, rolling my r’s exaggeratedly. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” I wasn’t opposed to doing a little bilingual dirty talk in bed.
Matt grabbed my hand, tugging me up the stairs to his cabin. It was undeniable that I was letting myself fall in too deep with Matt. But I had no desire to pull away. Because I knew this was it. This was the kind of relationship I’d scrambled to build with guys like Josh who were more interested in keeping their options open than investing in the person right in front of them. When I was with Matt, I could feel his care, bask in his affection, surround myself with his… love? Ugh, I needed to calm the hell down. I shook my head at my own stupidity. People didn’t fall in love this quickly. There was no way what I was feeling was anything more than a heady crush. Matt was a practical, even-keeled guy. I doubted he had any misconceptions about what was going on between us.
The moment the front door clicked shut, Matt pushed me back against it, his thick arms framing my body. Everything between us was electric heat as our lips touched. Matt was rushed and eager, his movements a little clumsy. My head spun, but I was grateful for the distraction from my typical overthinking and brooding. Matt held me close, his breaths coming heavy, body warm against me. Sinking into the slick daze of lust, an unexpected laugh bubbled up from my chest. We probably weren’t going to make it to the grocery store.
Chapter Twelve
Matt
“HOLY fucking shit, bro. Your boyfriend is loaded.” John’s face was the picture of disbelief as we pulled up to the Cerullos’ giant house.
“Jonathan Haskell! Watch your language.” Katie swatted his arm.
I said nothing. I’d definitely been surprised when I pulled up to the expansive log-and-stone mansion on Christmas Eve, so I really couldn’t imagine how John and Katie were feeling now. The well-maintained trees around the house were tastefully uplit, and the wide brick driveway was packed with luxury cars. As we drew closer to the house, a young woman in a red parka jogged over. She gestured for John to roll down the window of his truck. A hot flare of uncertainty had me pressing my lips together, wondering if she was going to ask us to show some kind of invitation.
“Good evening,” she chirped. “I’m happy to park the car for you if you folks want to head inside.”
John grumbled something about being able to park his own damn truck but handed over his keys. As much as I wanted to see Mikah, part of me regretted agreeing to come to this party. John didn’t have a whole lot of patience for the rich vacation-home crowd, and I didn’t have a whole lot of patience for crowds, period. I tugged at the hem of my sweater as we walked up the pathway to the house. The flagstones were cleared of snow and flanked with what appeared to be flickering candles in decorative white and silver bags.
As John, Katie, and I had clambered into his truck to head over to the party, I’d insisted the event wasn’t going to be all that fancy. Sure, Mikah’s family was rich, but Christmas Eve had been a casual, cozy night. The focus had been on the food and enjoying each other’s company. Clearly I had been wrong. Ahead of us a pair of women in impossibly high heels and slinky black dresses giggled as they picked their way up the stairs to the door. My heavy cream-colored cable-knit sweater and the nicest pair of jeans I owned were probably going to stick out a little bit. At least John and Katie looked classy. Katie wore a pretty blue velvet dress, and John had reluctantly put on the khakis and a black button-down his wife had picked out for him.
John continued to curse under his breath as we walked through the open door. The floral arrangements had been updated. Gone were the red poinsettias and sprigs of pine and holly. We were greeted by a towering twist of white peonies and roses interspersed with silver twigs and birch branches in the center of the cavernous foyer. Clearly, Mikah’s stepmom knew a great florist. Glancing around, I saw no sign of Mikah or any member of the Cerullo family, only throngs of strangers in dark suits and elegant dresses.
“Wow, Matt, this really is… something,” Katie murmured, her eyes darting around just as mine had. I’d never heard her voice sound so small.
“Yup.” I nodded, now desperate to find Mikah. Maybe we should head out? This wasn’t our kind of party.
“Matt!” A high, clear voice rang out, and Elena poked her head around the archway leading to the kitchen. “Yay! Mikah was getting ready to text you.” She barreled toward us, her baggy gray dress and long sweater a welcome sight. She wasn’t even wearing shoes, just a pair of mismatched wool socks.
“Thanks for having us.” I fell back on manners. “This is my brother, John, and my sister-in-law, Katie.”
Before either of them could respond, Elena was kissing their cheeks and inviting them to follow her into the kitchen for a drink. Damn, she was such an easy person to like. As relieved as I was to see Elena, that didn’t stop me from scanning the crowded kitchen for Mikah’s smoldering brown eyes and mess of curls. People chatted amiably in groups of three or four, sipping champagne in tall flutes as jazz music filtered in from the living room. A few waiters in starched white shirts drifted around with tiny appetizers arranged on trays.
A heavy hand, too big to be Mikah’s, grabbed my shoulder, and I turned to find Luca clutching a glass of red wine, his face impassive.
“Hey,” I said, pushing down my desire to immediately ask where my… Mikah was.
“Good to see you, Matt. Mikah’s around here somewhere. He couldn’t wait for you to show up.” Luca made it sound like a bad thing.
I nodded, glancing over at Elena, who had gotten John and Katie situated with food and drinks. The three of them were laughing. Figuring it would be rude to excuse myself back to mor
e pleasant company, I turned my attention back to Mikah’s older brother.
“You want something to drink, man? My dad pulled some of the Sassicaia out of the cellar. It’s killer.”
Having no idea what that was, but figuring it was wine, I shook my head. I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable around Luca. And he didn’t necessarily seem like a bad person, but something told me he had an issue with me.
His broad shoulders relaxed a little, and he scrubbed a hand over his beard. “Look, Matt, can I be honest with you?”
I thought the question was rhetorical, but Luca waited for me to nod before continuing.
“Mikah’s an amazing kid. I mean he’s my brother, so of course I love him. But he—” Luca smiled softly. “He’s brilliant. And he cares a lot, you know? Even though he puts up a front and tries to act like stuff doesn’t bother him. He’s, well….” He pressed his lips together firmly, clearly weighing his words. “He’s sensitive. And I think this year was tough on him. Not only with the job thing, but…. He just doesn’t have the greatest self-esteem right now. And when Mikah actually lets himself feel something, he feels it, you know? So I’m worried about him with you. How he’s going to handle you two splitting up when he goes back to New York. I can tell he likes you a lot.” Luca’s gaze fell on the necklace. I’d been messing with it in the car and had forgotten to tuck it under my sweater. Plus I’d kind of wanted Mikah to see how much I loved it. Now, though, I quickly hid it away under the knit fabric.
“Okay,” I said simply after another long, uncomfortable pause. My mind was racing. Concern and a sharp pang of sadness warred with my desire to ask when exactly Mikah was going back. I knew it was a conversation we’d both been avoiding. My emotions weighed so heavily on my chest, I had to will myself to breathe.
Luca’s face transformed, and he put up a hand. “Sorry to be so blunt,” he hurried to say. “But I don’t want to see him heartbroken. And honestly, I meant it when I said you seem like a good guy. I don’t want you to get too wrapped up in this either.”
It’s a little late for that, I wanted to say, but instead I lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “I really care about Mikah. Distance isn’t gonna change that.”
Thin arms snaked around my waist, and Mikah’s familiar citrusy smell washed over me. I couldn’t help but grin. He looked adorable in a slightly rumpled white shirt untucked under yet another of his raggedy black sweaters. I would miss those ragtag things. He pressed his lips gently to mine, and I let my eyes drift shut, just for a moment. As much as kissing Mikah had quickly risen right to the top of the list of my favorite things in the world, I was still a little uncomfortable with the display of affection in such a crowded room. It was still a new thing for me to show affection in front of strangers. But if anyone cared that two men were kissing, they certainly weren’t showing it. Not even Luca seemed bothered.
“Was my brother being weird?” Mikah directed the question at Luca instead of me.
Luca made a so-so gesture with his hand while I shook my head.
“Ugh. Luca, stop being the worst. Anyway, sorry it took me so long to find you.” He kissed me again, grinning hugely. A genuine smile, warm and bright. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had seemed so happy to see me. My face heated. “I got trapped in a conversation with some old dude complaining about how bad public schools are. Seriously, if I have to listen to another person who has spent literally zero time in a classroom, bitching about public education, I’m going to start screaming. Like actual full-blown yelling in public.”
I laughed. “I always liked school.” This was true. School had been a safe, structured place. A place where I could lose myself in numbers and solve problems that made sense.
“I knew I loved you.” He squeezed my bicep playfully, but the words still hit my stomach like a huge gulp of something hot. “You want a beer or something? There’s other stuff too, champagne, water, mocktails….” Mikah inclined his head vaguely in the direction of the living room.
“What the hell is a mocktail?” I asked, and both Mikah and Luca laughed.
I tried to follow what Mikah was saying about fresh fruit juices and herb infusions but was immediately overwhelmed by the crush of bodies as we wandered into what had once been the Cerullos’ living room. The space was wholly transformed. The soft leather sofas and oatmeal-colored tufted armchairs were nowhere to be seen. In their place was a silver-and-white dance floor and a half-dozen spindly cocktail tables topped with candles and fresh flowers. Strings of white lights stretched overhead. A full bar was set up next to the roaring fire, and a live jazz trio played lively, unobtrusive music. It was strange seeing a woman with flowing gray hair, seated at the piano instead of Mikah, watching her hands rather than his as they slid over the black and white keys. I knew absolutely nothing about music, but I liked the way he played better. I was probably more than a little biased, though.
Most of the guests clung to the edges of the enormous living room, drinking and chatting, but a few older couples swept around the dance floor with confident, practiced movements. Almost everyone was dressed beautifully, in sharp, well-fitting suits and elegant dresses. Once again I tugged at my sweater, the wool feeling suddenly too hot and too rough against my skin.
“I kind of figured you might not be big on parties,” Mikah said in my ear. I shivered at the brush of his breath over my skin.
“They’re okay,” I lied. I had never liked parties. Not the loud get-togethers my parents had occasionally hosted. Not the barn keggers filled with girls I disappointed and guys who chugged beer after beer, crushing the cans and tossing them aside. Not even fancy events like this. Although, aside from Katie and John’s wedding, this was really the only party of the tiny-appetizer-and-wine-in-glasses variety I’d been to.
Mikah’s fingers, so cold I startled at the touch, slipped under my sweater and massaged the bare skin of my lower back. I leaned into him the way Moose did when I scratched the right spot behind his ears. My whole body went slack. My weight was too much against Mikah’s smaller frame, though, and we both stumbled. A giggle bubbled out of Mikah’s throat as I braced a hand against the wall to keep us from falling. His eyes went wide, and I realized I was basically pinning him into the corner. But then he was kissing me, and all that mattered was the softness of his lips on mine and the feeling of his fingers, still gently kneading my skin.
“Whoa,” Mikah sighed as he pulled back. He was grinning and blushing and looked so cute I never wanted to stop kissing him. “Okay, we can’t keep doing that in this crowded-ass room. But, how about I entertain you with some gossip?” He laced his fingers with mine and pulled me to the bar, quickly grabbing us two glasses of champagne.
I couldn’t help laughing. Mikah’s frantic energy made everything fun. I loved how he bounced between driving me wild with gentle touches and searing kisses to cracking me up as he surreptitiously pointed out various women Luca had slept with. Apparently four of them were fitness models with huge Instagram followings. Really, though, I had no idea what a fitness model was, and farming forums were about as social-media savvy as I got.
“Okay…. So check out the guy talking to Naomi.” He gestured slyly to a handsome black man wearing what looked like a very expensive dark blue suit. “That’s Ken Ezekiel.” Mikah said the name like it meant something big.
I shook my head.
“Sorry, I forget not everyone is a poetry fanboy like me.” Mikah rolled his eyes at himself. “He’s the editor-in-chief of Incanto Magazine. He used to teach writing at Harvard too. But of course he left right before I got there. I’ve probably read Vermillion, his first collection, about fifty times. Anyway, I guess he has a place out here, and he does yoga at Naomi’s studio. They’re, like, actual friends. Who knew Naomi was so cool? He came to Thanksgiving, and I was ridiculously nervous. I thought I was going to swallow my tongue. He’s a supernice guy, though. He even offered to read my stuff… which, like, no way. That’s too scary to even think about because my poetry is emo garba
ge.”
I could have let jealousy swell big and toxic inside me. I could have worried that I was all wrong for Mikah. I could have flushed with shame because I knew nothing about poetry other than the few fragments I remembered from English class. But more than anything else, I was eager to listen. I loved learning from Mikah. Loved the way his hands flew wildly when he got excited. Loved that his voice got clear and strong when he was talking about something that interested him. Loved the way his eyes went liquid and sleepy when we touched. I loved him. The words were in my mouth, and I liked the way they felt there. But I swallowed them down. Telling Mikah would only make things harder for both of us. Those words wouldn’t make him stay. Wouldn’t take away the hurt when he left.
I squeezed Mikah’s shoulder. “Could I read it? Your writing, I mean.”
“Maybe someday. If my stuff is ever decent.” His tone was casual, but as he realized the implication of his words, his face crumpled. Someday wasn’t happening. Mikah was leaving. We might exchange the occasional bland text every few weeks, nothing too personal, but those would get further and further apart. We’d disappear from each other’s lives, fading to warm memories and nothing more.
I took a small sip of my champagne. I hardly ever drank aside from the occasional beer if I went out for a quick meal, but I knew I would never be able to touch champagne again. The soft, bright flavor would only remind me of Mikah.
Stefano and Naomi danced gracefully, holding each other close and moving slowly to the music. On the other side of the living room, Katie cajoled my brother to dance, his hands stuffed in his pockets while she tossed her head back in exasperation. They’d be dancing in no time, Katie beaming and John looking like he was stepping over broken glass instead of the polished surface of a temporary dance floor.