Page 54 of To Believe In You
“He turned on you awfully fast back there.” Matt’s injury had turned his voice nasally, but he still managed to sound confident.
She pulled her lip between her teeth. “I should’ve known better.”
Matt pointed toward a drive sloping up a gentle hill to the left. “That’s it.”
She flipped on her signal, and her headlights illuminated the gravel. She pulled to a stop on the concrete pad by the garage, and a motion light flipped on. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Not my first bloody nose.”
“Has it stopped bleeding?”
He lowered the wad of towels, the stain shocking, even in the dark. “Soon, I think.”
“I’ll wait with you.” She unfastened her seatbelt and popped open her door. Oh, wait. Did he even want her company?
He didn’t so much as shoot her a sideways glance to see her worry as they walked to the door, much less respond to it, as he pulled keys from his pocket and let them in.
The dining room and kitchen extended to the right, mostly separated from the living room by a staircase leading to a dim second floor. The carpet had frayed along the edge where it met the tile of the kitchen and dining area, but the color remained creamy and clean. The pattern in the tile and the style of woodwork suggested the house was three or four decades old. But instead of dated, it looked … settled.
Like a home rather than the impersonal mansion where she’d spent her childhood.
“Did you grow up here?”
One handed, Matt untied his shoelaces before glancing over the space. “Yeah. They built it when I was two or something.” He kicked off his shoes and motioned to the kitchen table. “Take a seat. I’m going to grab a real towel.” He disappeared up the stairs.
Lina slid out of her heels and crossed to the table, the tile cold beneath her feet. She rolled one of the wheeled chairs out. The cushions had been worn flat, but once, they’d probably been an investment.
She sat and smoothed a hand over her skirt.
From somewhere upstairs she heard an exclamation of surprise. “What happened?” The female voice must belong to his mother.
A low murmur marked his reply, and when his mom spoke again, she did so too quietly for Lina to understand from this distance.
Matt appeared a minute later, a rag piled over the paper towels. He’d shed the suit jacket and dress shirt. She’d once imagined he would look dashing in a tux—and he had. But in the dress pants and the close-fitting tank he must’ve worn under the shirt?
Funny how holding the rag near his face flexed his bicep.
Their eyes locked, and he froze as if he knew exactly what had captured her attention.
Cheeks burning, she focused on her hands.
“Mom thinks she can get the stain out.” His continued hesitation seemed to wordlessly ask if he needed to go put on more clothes, but when she stayed still, he pulled out the chair adjacent to hers and sat.
Lina cleared her throat. “I suppose she has a lot of experience.”
He rested his elbows on his knees, and when he focused on her without moving his head, furrows marked his brow.
“Cleaning up blood.” Was it too soon to tease him? Well, she’d come this far. “As your mom.”
The corners of his eyes tightened with amusement, and he lowered his line of sight again.
“With so many scars, can you even remember what they’re all from?”
He opened his free hand palm-up. A white line crossed his index and middle fingers between his first and second knuckles. “Lawn mower blade. I had them off the machine to sharpen them.”
He straightened and rotated his arm. Another scar traced his triceps. “The corner of a shed we used to have.” He rubbed a finger near the greater-than-shaped mark on his temple. “Snowboarding.”
“And this?” She touched a finger to where another sharp line cut his scalp. His short hair was surprisingly soft, and her other fingers twitched with jealousy, but she withdrew. She shouldn’t have invaded his space in the first place. It wouldn’t do to run her hands through his hair.
