Page 71 of My Undead Heart
“Yeah.” He chuckles. His movements in his kitchen are smooth, practiced, and I like watching him all domesticated while he brews a pot of coffee and grabs a few items from his fridge. He flicks the gas on, lighting up a burner before he plops down a skillet.
“Omelet?”
“I usually have a handful of dry cereal on my way out the door.”
Matt blanches and shakes his head as if that’s the most horrible thing he’s heard.
“That or I don’t eat at all.”
He shakes his head, dropping a handful of chopped veggies into the pan along with three eggs. I don’t know if he expects me to eat all of that, but it smells really good—even better when his coffee brewer stops and he pours me a cup.
“Sugar or cream?”
“Yes, please.”
“I was afraid of that.” He winces and his brow lifts. “Trust me?”
There are those words again. They hold so much more than a casual exchange or silly banter. While my mind doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, as if it’ll let him know exactly how much power he holds between us, I do in fact trust Matt Haywood. “Yeah.” The word escapes my lips and he almost looks surprised.
He doesn’t miss a beat though and turns, pulling out a small glass bottle that holds an eyedropper. One drop in my coffee and then he’s opening one of his canisters of powder to stir that into the mix.
“I swear to God, if you fuck up that coffee I will never forgive you.” He laughs. I’m not kidding, though. “Seriously! What the hell are you putting in it?”
He turns, hands me the mug and picks up the spatula to flip the eggs. “Try it.”
I roll my eyes, completely skeptical, and bring the cup to my lips for a tentative sip. Shit. That’s actually good. Sweet and creamy. I continue to drink, not sure exactly what magic he used but not even caring because ... coffee.
“Here, eat up.” Matt flips the finished omelet onto a plate and sets it on the counter between us. He hands me a fork, but doesn’t move to cut the giant serving in two or grab his own utensil.
“I can’t eat all of this.”
“Mia, you need to eat,” he says almost irritated.
My eyes bug out at his words and I sit taller in my chair. “So, you’re telling me what to do now?”
His eyes narrow and his lips tick up with that confident smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
Fuck that! Standing from the stool, I don’t look back. I stomp to the couch to grab my shoes and head for the door. I don’t even take the time to put them on I’m so angry.
“Mia! Where are you going?” Matt calls and he’s so damn fast he beats me to the door before I can unfasten all the locks. His lean body covers mine from behind as his hand holds the door shut. Not forceful or angry, if anything he’s going out of his way not to touch me with the movement. “Mia, talk to me.” His voice is void of all teasing and humor.
“I’d like to go home now,” I manage.
“Let me get dressed. I can take you,” he offers and backs away from the door. The space allows me to breathe easier and I turn my chin to find him still watching me. “I’m sorry, tell me what I did. I won’t do it again.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. What to eat. Or where to go. Who I can or cannot hang out with.” My thoughts are like vomit from my lips. I have to get them out because up until a few minutes ago, I started to believe Matt was different than the rest. It saddens me he’s not. That he feels one night of unbelievable fucking gives him the right to begin demanding things.
“Mia.” His voice alarms me, it’s so full of agony, and when I meet his gaze his eyes hold the same. He steps forward and takes my hands in his. “I promise I will never change you. I like you exactly the way you are. I’m sorry about the eggs ... I ...There ...It’s a thing with me. But that’s my issue, not yours.”
I’m stunned silent by his apology. That and his admission compels my interest to discover exactly what he means. Before I can ask, he continues to speak.
“I’m sure it’s pretty obvious by now, but I didn’t have much growing up. We were dirt poor, actually. So many days we went hungry. I remember my mom used to give me the food off her plate, lied that she was full because she knew I wasn’t. Of course, stupid kid that I was, I didn’t see how she went without. Not until I got older. That’s my problem, Mia. My issues. I’m sorry I was pushy with the eggs. You can eat or not. Just don’t leave angry.”
He deflates all of the righteousness from my sails and I’m left reeling from his words because I saw none of it coming. The space between us prickles with the honest sharing of his past—one that’s full of pain and regret. Matt’s gaze falls to the floor and I hate that his joy and laughter have been stolen by our own personal fears.
“So, I don’t have to eat?” I set him up because I need to lighten the mood. I’m not good with deep feelings. This is much more personal than my comfort zone allows.
Matt lifts his gaze. “No, only if you want. You’re not starving.”
