Page 29 of Matteo

I’ve never had goat cheese before. I use a small piece of bread and take the smallest taste. Hm, salty and creamy. It’s yummy. All three pieces and the goat cheese are gone along with half of the bowl of soup. Careful, I put the tray at the bottom of the bed, breathing a sigh of relief it doesn’t jostle or anything.

Layla is gumming a teething ring attached to her purple dress. “Are you teething, baby?”

Her answer is a smile and a trail of drool. Chuckling, I clean her up with one of the two linen napkins from the tray. Happy, she cuddles into me. It isn’t long before she falls asleep in my arms.

Once I’m sure she’s asleep, I shift her onto her side with a pillow propping her up.

Two episodes into the series, heat hits me—pulling my eyes to the open door. Matteo is leaning against the frame. I’m guessing he worked out and showered because his hair is damp, and he’s changed. Although he’s in black sweats again, instead of the long-sleeved black shirt he was wearing, he’s now in a plain white t-shirt. The shirt is too thick to see through, yet his muscles are clearly defined. I wish the shirt was as wet as I am at the sight of him.

Oh my god, where the hell did that thought come from? And how am I not afraid of him when he’s big and strong?

“How are you feeling?”

Words won’t come. I’m supposed to tell him to go to work. Except I don’t want him to. All I want is to ask him to hold me again.

He moves slowly until he’s right beside me. Down on his haunches, we’re eye to eye. Concern is in every inch of him. “What is it? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“You should be at work?” The words feel creaky.

Tilting his head to the side, he studies me. “No. You need me. Here is where I should be. The clinic can run without me. You’re stuck with me for the next few days. I took today and tomorrow off. I’m off Wednesday for the New Year holiday. Since we’re only open for six hours, the clinic is operating on a skeleton crew. I didn’t dare put myself on the schedule. My staff begged for the time and a half hours.”

I laugh at the mock horror on his face.

“My brother’s nanny will be here in the afternoon to help you with Layla on Thursday. If you’re not okay with the nanny, I’ll cancel her and stay here with you. You let me know what you need.”

Everything eases inside me until he tells me a nanny will be here. I want to argue against a nanny, except my throat is too tight to let more than a few words out. “Thank you.” Is little more than a whisper.

His face is soft with something I can’t read. “No thanks are necessary. I’m happy to be here with you and Layla. I’ll let you enjoy your show.”

“Please don’t go.” I rush to stop him. Oh god, how embarrassing. I can’t look at him. I’m being all needy and pathetic.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Matteo drag the chair from the desk close to the bed. He sits down and leans back. “I’ve heard a lot about this show. How is it so far?”

I’m stunned, unable to answer his question.

A dimple appears. “You need me. So, I’m here. Whether it’s at home or beside you watching television. I see you finished off the goat cheese. If you liked it, there’s an herbs and chives one I had to force myself to stop eating.”

“I can’t wait to try it. I’ve never had goat cheese before. I was afraid I wouldn’t like it.”

During the episode we chat about our favorite snacks as we both become engrossed in the show. My hair is driving me crazy. It’s in its usual braid that’s becoming so loose I need to undo it and braid it again. I get frustrated and undo it.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to grab a brush for you?”

I sigh. “I need to brush it out and braid it again, except I’m not in the mood to deal with it.”

“I can do it. If you’re okay with me…”

“You can braid hair?” I’m shocked.

He does that exhale laugh thing. “I can. Many of my patients were girls with long hair. Their moms weren’t always there. And they needed someone to braid it…” The smile slips. “Before they lost it to chemo.”

My chest does a weird twisting thing because I know he would have been as sad as the girls who lost their hair.

A clearing of his throat tells me I’m not wrong. “I can do a French braid or a simple braid. Whichever one you want.”

“Yes, please.”

“Where’s your brush?”

---