Page 8 of The Fiance Dilemma

“Oh,” I said, retrieving my hand and wiping the cut with the sleeve of my robe. “Don’t worry, it’s just a…” I trailed off. “Matthew?”

His eyelids were at half-mast, and before I could do anything about it, he dropped to the ground.

CHAPTER THREE

When Matthew came to, he did so with a startled gasp.

I pushed a mug in his direction and forced myself to give him my warmest, most welcoming smile.

He blinked at me.

My lips fell. “Please drink this? I’ll be right back. I’m a fast changer, and Grandpa Moe will keep an eye on you.”

I couldn’t blame Matthew for his confusion or reluctance to accept the mug. I couldn’t blame Grandpa Moe for the complaint that left him either. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, so the moment the tea was in Matthew’s hand, I whirled around and sprinted upstairs. And the second I closed the door to my bedroom, I sank to the ground.

My eyes closed, shoulders resting against the wooden surface.

All the air in my lungs left me in a hissed, “Shit.”

No, I corrected myself. This wasn’t ashitsituation. It was atruckload of cow dung clogging all five of your senseskind of situation.

Because tonight… had beena lot.There were comedysketches less far-fetched than what had gone down. Grandpa Moe screaming like a wolf had just sneaked into the coop and slaughtered half his chickens had only been the cherry on top. I still wondered how I’d managed to keep cool when Matthew had plummeted to the ground. How we—and yes, I was bringing the old man with me on this—had made a six-foot-something adult man collapse. Just like it happened to my clay when it didn’t hold its shape. One second he was there, strong and solid and seemingly safe between my hands, and the next turn of the wheel he was smudged all over the floor.

Only, Matthew wasn’t clay. Or a project I could mold into the shape I wanted. He was my sister’s best friend. A person with a life, who I’d pulled into my mess. This wasn’t something I could fix by stiffening him with a blow-dryer, as much as I wished I could. Actually, forget that. I shouldn’t even be thinking of stiffening or blowing Matthew dry.

I reopened my eyes, stood back up, straightened my back, and refocused on my task. Change. Not digress. So I slipped into my en suite to clean the algae mask off my face, making a mental note to throw the rest of the can away. It had bad juju, I decided. Once that was off, I scrubbed at my hands, put a Band-Aid over the cut on my palm, and slipped into the first thing I found lying around. Leggings, tank top, and a cardigan. Brushing my hair with my hands only once I was trotting my way downstairs.

“Is the tea okay?” I asked, not even completely through the kitchen threshold.

The man sitting on my pink easy chair remained silent, his eyes meeting mine as I came to a stop in front of him.

“It’s chamomile,” I commented to fill in the silence. “My mom used to prepare it for me when I felt sick or I had a bad day. I figured you’d had one of those. So I thought it’d help. Comfort you. It makes me feel like new.”

Matthew seemed to ponder his answer before giving me a curt, “Thanks.”

It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but at least the color had returned to his face. It was a nice face, now that I could see it under proper lighting. Square jaw, straight nose, full lips, and brown eyes hiding behind glasses. I’d cleaned them up for him during the couple minutes he’d been out of it. They’d been a little stained from the rain and it was the least I could do, all things considered. I… liked them. His glasses. I’d never seen him wear them in pictures. Or whenever Adalyn had FaceTimed him and I’d been around to steal a glance or exchange a hello.

They made him look… different. More… I didn’t know. I supposed that hardly mattered anyway.

“Your hand okay?” Matthew asked in a deep, raspy voice.

“Yes,” I admitted, relieved at the fact he was talking. I grabbed a stool and placed it in front of him before plopping down on it. “It was nothing. Just a tiny cut,” I lied. It hadn’t been that tiny.

“You were bleeding, Josie.”

“I was, yup. But let’s not talk about that. I’m okay, and I’d hate for you to… go all ghoulish again.”

“It’s fine,” he commented, dragging the mug to his mouth. “I can’t remember the last time that happened. I think being caught in the rain didn’t help matters, and my body just gave out for a moment there.” His hands lowered the tea to his lap. Brown eyes roamed across my face, then down, taking me in slowly, or lazily, or maybe tiredly, before returning back to mine. “You really are a quick changer.”

“It’s one of my superpowers,” I said with a chuckle. But it was short-lived. I hadn’t been the only one in need of a change of clothes and I hated the reminder. I eyed the damp jeans and even damper sweater on him. “We took off your leather jacket when we moved you inside. You muttered something under your breath, and Isupposed it was about that.” There was a new, awkward beat of silence. “It’s going to take some miracle to bring it back to life. Sorry. Probably your boots, too, if I’m being honest. I didn’t take those off you, but I wanted to. Ideally, I should have removed every item of clothing off you. But Grandpa Moe didn’t let me.”

Matthew’s eyebrows rose.

“I obviously mean it in a practical, medical way,” I explained. “Not in alet’s strip you to your underwearkind of way.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up.

“I wouldn’t undress an unconscious man,” I assured him. “Not unless I was sure his life depended on being, you know, naked. And yours didn’t. You were mumbling stuff. So you were mostly fine. And it would have been really awkward to carry you inside naked.”

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