Page 70 of The Fiance Dilemma

Because Sam and Nick were right, I was a runner, and therefore, this is what I did best.

Another knock on the door made me notice that I’d been standing there, staring into space.

I squared my shoulders. Clasped the knob. Turned it.

It’ll all be fine. You’ll say hi. He’ll reply with a small smile, because that’s the man Matthew is. Good, kind, no matter what. Would you like to come in? I think we should talk.

Matthew’s eyes met mine.

My breath caught.

His mouth twitched. But it wasn’t a smile. “Ah… fuck, Josie.”

Ah fuck, Josieindeed.

He looked so handsome in front of me. At my door. Right here with me. Should I make small talk? Follow that with a joke? Oh, the plan had been to—

“You can’t avoid me anymore,” he said. “Please.”

Straight to the point it was. I couldn’t complain, really. It was one of the things I liked the most about him. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” I answered, voice weak, the lie rolling off my tongue. It was one of the things I liked the least about me. At least lately.

“I went on a mental health walk.”

That chipped at the armor I was set on keeping around my chest. That was what Grandpa had meant, then. He’d seen Matthew on that walk. Hearing him say the words didn’t sit well with me. Itmade the sour taste at the back of my mouth even more sour. Mental health was important. My kitchen covered in mascarpone cheese and egg splatter was proof of it. “Did it help?”

Matthew’s jaw clenched. Then he pulled something I’d somehow missed from behind his back. “I made you a pie.”

The armor clunked to the floor. “You did what?”

“I made you a pie.”

My chest went warm and cold, soft and tender, exposed to everything he’d say now. My words were nothing but a whisper. “But no one ever bakes for me.”

“I do.”

He did.

Every ounce of fortitude and stubbornness in my body melted away with those two words. Every fear that had kept everything inside me so taut, so high-strung, as if ready to break, receded from view.

Matthew made me a pie.I’d been here, hiding, for three days, like the coward I was, letting him believe things I didn’t really think, but that I couldn’t put into words, and he’d showed up at my door with a pie he’d baked for me.

“Let me in?” he asked.

A broken breath left me, and I hoped to God that I wasn’t going to cry, because it’d be so silly. This was just pie. Matthew stepped forward, as if in response to that thought. The side of the tray brushed my shoulder. It smelled like apples and cinnamon. He reached out with his hand, his thumb swiping across my cheek. When he brought it down, there was a splatter of what had to be egg white clinging to his finger.

“Tiramisu,” I murmured. “That’s my version of a mental health walk.”

Matthew’s eyes flashed with understanding. Something else too. “Let me in, Josie.”

Iknewthat if I told him to leave, he would. I also wondered if the words meant more to him than just stepping inside my house. They probably did, and that was fair. I wouldn’t turn him away, though. I didn’t think I could, as scared as I’d been and was still.

“I think we should talk,” I said, just like I’d rehearsed in my head. I moved to the side. “Take a seat in the living room, please. I’ll bring the plates.”

Matthew’s apple pie was fantastic. A little too much lemon for many, but I liked my apple desserts more sour than sweet. Although maybe sitting down to eat hadn’t been the best idea. Because now, dangling off a corner of Matthew’s lips was a tiny crumb of caramelized pastry. So small I was only noticing it because I’d been fixated on his mouth.

The little moans he made while he cleaned off his plate.

It was truly unfair how much he loved to eat and how happy it made me to watch him.

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