Page 78 of Matthew
“Thanks,” she said, smiling in that way that undid him a little more every time. “I’m glad you made it.”
Nothing would’ve kept him from showing up.
“I brought bribes.” He held out the wine and the box. “The bakery twins insisted this dessert would complement any meal.”
“Then we’re off to a good start.” She took them, brushing her fingers against his in a casual move that didn’t feel casual at all. “Come on in.”
He followed her inside, the air cooler, the lights low. Sammy thumped his tail against the kitchen wall in lazy welcome before padding over for an ear scratch.
“Something smells amazing,” he said, eyeing the skillet on the stove.
“Chicken and dumplings. Grandma Jo’s recipe,” Callie said, moving toward the counter. “Maggie says it has healing powers.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He helped set out bowls, aware of how easily they fell into rhythm. It wasn’t only the comfort, it was therightnessof it.
They sat down across from each other at the small kitchen table, steam curling from their bowls. A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of gardenia and sun-warmed grass.
For a while, they ate and talked. About Sammy’s squirrel vendetta. About the customer who tried to return a rose bush because it “looked at him funny.” About Rosie forgetting her lunch and blaming the clipboard.
It wasn’t until the dishes were cleared and the wine poured that the mood shifted.
Matthew leaned back slightly, watching her. “Thanks for this.”
Callie looked up, wineglass halfway to her lips. “For the food?”
“For the invitation.” His voice was quiet. “For letting me in.”
She set her glass down, her gaze steady. “You’re already in, Matthew. You just haven’t figured that out yet.”
That cracked something open in his chest.
He stood slowly, walking around the table. She rose to her feet and met him halfway. For a beat, they stayed still, breathing the same air, close enough to feel the tension humming between them.
Her voice was softer now. “What are you waiting for?”
He answered with his mouth.
The kiss was deliberate—no crash, no urgency—only the slow, searing kind of connection that came from knowing exactly what he wanted.
Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, and that was it. The last thread of his restraint snapped. He cupped her jaw and deepened the kiss, pouring everything into it. Want, yes. But also reverence.
Because this woman, this moment—they weren’t temporary.
They were everything.
Her hands moved to his shoulders as he dragged his mouth down her jaw, her throat, then lower, his grip steady on her waist. He took his time, reveling in her hitched breaths and soft moans. She was beautiful and amazing, and he was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch to be part of her world.
Taking advantage of the space, Matthew lifted Callie into his arms, carried her to the living room and gently laid her across the settee portion of her sectional.
Anticipation and need burned in her gaze as she leaned back slowly, eyes locked on his, with a look of already knowing exactly where this was headed.
And she welcomed it.
Matthew dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice rough as gravel, “and I will.”
How the hell he’d do that, he had no idea. But for her, he would.
