Page 12 of The Fiance Dilemma

Cranky, sweet old man. He must have been exhausted from all that yelling.

I turned to study Matthew’s profile as he stared at Grandpa. My hand reached out before I could stop it. Matthew’s eyes plunged downward, landing on my fingers as they wrapped around his forearm. His clothes were still so damp.

“Stay,” I told him. “You can have more food. Grab a shower and borrow some dry clothes. Then crash on the couch. It’s comfortable and it’s late. I’d feel a little better if you stayed the night. Grandpa will too.”

Matthew hesitated, brown eyes still fastened around my hand. It was my left, I realized. He was probably inspecting Ricky’s ring, thinking howcrazyandludicrousI was. “All right,” he finally said.

I released him and stood up, the tip of my nose almost brushing his throat with the motion. Warmth rose to my cheeks as I stepped aside. “I’ll get some blankets and a towel for you. You can get started on the sandwiches if you want.”

Then I whirled on my heels, deciding that what I felt in my gut wasn’t rejection.

Matthew couldn’t reject someone he didn’t have.

It was just guilt. And disappointment. And exhaustion. Matthew was probably right. I was a little crazy, and my plans always were a little ludicrous.

And we couldn’t do this.

An engagement wasn’t a quick patch over a flat tire. It wasn’tsomething you faked for the sake of a narrative, or for a relationship with a parent that I didn’t even know how to navigate. It was a commitment. A promise.

A walk down the aisle.

Although that had never been the case for me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Matthew slept like the dead.

Which didn’t justify me watching him sleep for what had to be close to fifteen minutes now. But what was I supposed to do? My living room stood between the stairs and the kitchen. And he was currently occupying my couch. And I liked to do something while I had my morning coffee—gallons of it, after the night I’d had. So although I would have loved to give Matthew some privacy, it had been practically impossible to do so.

He looked… like a truck had run him over, frankly. His dirty-blond strands were a tangled mess. One of his arms was thrown over his head, while the other hung over the edge of the couch. And I could see a socked foot peeking out of the blanket. It was cute. If not for the fact that Matthew was bare chested under the blanket, and Grandpa’s borrowed pajama top laid on the floor in a heap of checkered flannel.

I sipped at the tiny mug containing my fourth espresso. “I’m a creep,” I murmured, tilting my head from my post at the armchair.And this needed to stop. He was a guest. And I was ogling him. Like a weirdo with nothing better to do.

I cleared my throat. “Matthew?” I called, and when he didn’t react, I said a little louder, “Matthew Flanagan?”

I watched him for a few moments, but he didn’t even stir.

He left me no choice, really.

“MATTHEW!”I exclaimed.

The man sprung upward, producing his glasses from somewhere and slipping them right on. Wide brown eyes met mine.

I smiled at him. “Good morning, sunshine.”

He blinked, sleep still tugging at his features and hair pointing in all directions. Also? The blanket had come down to his waist and I could see… his very glorious chest. Golden skin. Pecs. What had to be a seriously hard stomach. Holy shrimp. Matthew was…

“Ripped.”

“Thanks,” he said, his hand landing over his collarbone and scratching a spot. He yawned lazily. “What time is it?”

My eyes widened a little as I tried to keep them on his face. I had really said that out loud. “It’s a little after nine,” I answered. “And you’re welcome. And also, can you please cover yourself? That’s… a lot of man boob you’re flashing.”

It was slow, but a smirk took shape around his mouth. “That’s why you were watching me sleep?”

A scoff left me. “I was not.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “But I wouldn’t mind if you were.”

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